>>5770885

“I don't see what you're so excited about,” Johannes points out, “It's not a social call. She has business there, that's all.”

“Yes, but isn't it so cool? She might even get a chance to see the Regent in person!” Harriet gushes, “Oh, well, maybe not but you never know! So what we were talking about was-”

“What you were talking about,” Persephone interrupts, “I haven't had a chance to get a word in edgewise – OR work on my report!”

“You'll have plenty of time for that later,” the excitable girl counters, flapping a hand at Persephone's complaints, “Clarissa said she'd probably be working until the evening, so we were talking about meeting her down in the capital and surprising her with a little celebration. Doesn't that sound like fun? I know we don't always get a chance to celebrate much, so I just thought...”

Her voice trails off here, fading out to nothing as Johannes scowls at her. “Do what you want,” he says, brushing past her and making for his room, “I have work to do.”

“Oh dear,” Persephone purrs, smirking to herself as Johannes vanishes into his room, “Lucas, dear, would you keep an eye on him for me? Just until he's had a chance to calm down a little, just to make sure he doesn't do anything too silly.”

You give her a quick nod as Johannes emerges from his room, a thick wad of folded paper tucked under his arm. He starts to leave, and you leave with him. You're halfway to Master Brehm's quarters before he notices you, or stops pretending to ignore you. “What are you following me for?” he asks bluntly, scowling at you, “I can hand in my report by myself.”

“I'm just here for moral support,” you suggest with a shrug, “I'll go away if you prefer. Just say the word.”

Johannes continues to glare at you for a moment, then shrugs. “Fine,” he decides, “Do what you like.”

-

With the terrible dignity of a man facing the gallows, Johannes passes his record over to Master Brehm and waits. The old man takes it and skims down the first page before setting the papers aside. “I'll give that a proper read later,” he explains, “Give me the summary. Ten words or less please.”

Johannes gives him an incredulous stare, cogs turning within his mind as he tries to think. “There were spirits, banished now,” he states, speaking through gritted teeth, “Some complications, incident now resolved.”

“Well, you might not get many points for poetic elegance but it'll do,” Master Brehm decides, nodding to himself with a crafty smile. It feels like a long time since you've seen him joking around like this, but now the humour seems vaguely artificial. A well crafted fake, but a fake nonetheless. “Reports aside, there's something I wanted to talk to you about,” he continues, “Both of you, actually – it's quite convenient that you both stopped by.”

[2]

>>5770886

“You see, some of the instructors here like to get together now and again to talk business. Nothing official, mind you, nothing on the record. There's a certain freedom in such things – of course, there's a certain risk as well, but we all know our limits. We know which lines are not to be crossed,” Master Brehm explains, “There's going to be a gathering tonight. I thought you might be interested in coming along.”

“We're not instructors,” Johannes points out slowly.

“Well, no,” the old man agrees, “But you'd be my guests – I still have enough clout to bend the rules a little, not that there are really any “rules” to speak of...”

Tonight, he said. Between Harriet's idea of a celebration and Cloranthy's little “favour” at the archives, your schedule for the evening is starting to seem very busy.

>You'll spend the evening helping Cloranthy with her favour
>Harriet's idea of a celebration seems like the best plan
>Master Brehm's invitation sounds too good to pass up
>You've got other plans... (Write in)
>Other

>>5770888
>>Harriet's idea of a celebration seems like the best plan
Me thinks Clarissa got 'employed' as part of her to get her (and maybe us) out that double agent fiasco.

>>5770891
>as part of her to get her
as part of her deal*

>>5770888
Tough choice... Was Cloranthy's thing time-sensitive? If so:
>You'll spend the evening helping Cloranthy with her favour
But I don't think itnwas, being a general haunting investigation in the linraries if I recall? In that case:
>Master Brehm's invitation sounds too good to pass up
We can eke out some answers!

>>5770888
>Master Brehm's invitation sounds too good to pass up

“Tonight isn't the best time for it,” you mention as you weigh up the options, glancing briefly across at Johannes. He just gives you, of course, an indifferent shrug – no hint of an opinion one way or the other there. “But you've got me convinced,” you decide eventually, giving Master Brehm a nod, “I'll accept your invitation.”

“Well, I'm glad that you can make time in your busy schedule!” Master Brehm laughs, “It's not exactly brandy and cigars, but I think you'd get something from it. A chance to meet new people, if nothing else, and you ought to know how important that is by now.”

That, unfortunately, is something that you're coming to learn.

“Right then. After sundown, come and find me here. I'll take it from there,” the old man continues, giving Johannes a nod, “As for you, I'll be giving this report a good look over. Don't look so worried, lad!”

He doesn't look especially worried, you don't think, but maybe the old man can see something you can't. With that last thought, Master Brehm dismisses you with a casual gesture and turns his attention to the report.

-

“This isn't a good way of doing things,” Johannes mutters as you're walking back to the dorm, “Things should be done through proper channels, not... like this. Secret meetings under the cover of night...”

“It doesn't seem like much of a secret,” you point out, “Unofficial, maybe, but that's hardly the same thing.”

He just grunts at first, although you can see the thoughts churning in Johannes' head. “I'll come too,” he decides eventually, “This doesn't mean that I approve, but I ought to see it for myself before condemning it.”

“It might even be fun,” you suggest, trying to eke out even the slightest hint of happiness. With your attempts falling on deaf ears, you give Johannes a shrug of your own. If he's really that determined to be miserable, you're content to leave him to it.

-

You spend much of the day getting some much needed rest, catching up on lost sleep and a few stray chores around the dorm. Chores aside, you find the time to stop by the archives and warn Cloranthy not to wait up for you – she takes the news with good humour, only mocking you a little bit about spending your evening with a gang of old men.

Then, as sundown approaches, you find yourself wandering back to Master Brehm's office. You've dressed casually for the evening, but your revolver remains a familiar weight in your pocket. No matter how harmless this evening might seem, you're not about to go in empty-handed. Johannes is waiting for you when you arrive, standing outside the office like a sentry. Sparing him a curious glance, you knock firmly at the door and show yourself in.

“There you are!” Master Brehm announces, rising from his desk, “I was wondering if I needed to send out a search party. I see that Master Crane has decided to join us – oh yes, I can hear you skulking around out there!”

[1]

>>5770919

Nobody spares you a second glance as you walk through the academy with Master Brehm, following him up stairs and along corridors. You're not particularly familiar with this section of the academy, your normal errands hardly ever taking you into the upper levels. It strikes you, then, just how large the academy really is – and how much of it seems to go unused.

An air of secrecy descends around you as you arrive at a large door, the tarnished metalwork glinting faintly in the lantern light. Master Brehm knocks once, just once, then waits. A short moment later, the door swings open to reveal another man, an instructor that you vaguely recognise by sight. The instructor studies you, giving Master Brehm a faintly disapproving look before standing aside to allow you inside.

The first thing that catches your eye is the great brass telescope looming over the rest of the room, the sight so impressive that you barely notice the other Exorcists milling about around it. Forcing your gaze down, you count a dozen in all – not many, and the size of the room makes their number seem smaller still.

Amongst the gathering, there's only one other instructor that you know by name and that's Master Rosenthal. He stands with a small group, listening intently to their discussion but saying nothing. Master Brehm scowls only slightly when he notices Rosenthal, then quickly moves on to point out a few faces.

“There's Hayes – there, with the eyepatch. He's had a lot of experience with the forbidden arts, digging out cells of necromancers and destroying them. Quite the expert, you could say. Hmm, and that man he's talking to is Eminescu,” the old man murmurs, “Used to be a soldier for the longest time, came to his talent quite late. Not much of an Exorcist, if I'm being honest, but he's gathered a certain respect as an instructor.”

“Doesn't look like they're having much fun,” you point out, noticing the thunderous scowl on Eminescu's face.

“This is a place for, ah, robust discussion,” Master Brehm reminds you, “Where we can thrash out our differences in private, so we can be in agreement come the light of day. Come, let's see what they were talking about...”

As Eminescu storms away, Master Brehm leads you over and gives Hayes a formal bow. Hayes just waves the formality away, touching his patched eye slightly as he notices you and Johannes. “Bringing your students here, Brehm?” the scarred man begins, “Well, that's fair enough. You'll finally have someone here to agree with you.”

With a hard bark of laughter, Master Brehm slaps him roughly on the arm. “How long have you been waiting to use that one, you dog?” he asks with a grin, “And you sounded so proud of it too!”

“As I should be, I'd say,” Hayes points out, although the good humour quickly drops from his face, “You came a moment too late, just missed the most remarkable suggestion. Ah, it leaves a foul taste in my mouth just to think of it!”

[2]

>>5770932

“It's this... war talk again,” Hayes continues, casting a dark look at Eminescu's retreating back, “They're saying that the Reivians are preparing to use spirits against us. If true, our “friend” there seems to think that we ought to be brought under the direct control of the military. The needs of the state and all that.”

“Nonsense!” Master Brehm scoffs, “They would never!”

“There's talk,” Hayes continues stubbornly, “There's a faction within the palace that has always resented our independence, but they've never had enough clout to do anything about it. But now, if the bloody Reivians give them an excuse...”

“What are you talking about?” Johannes asks, giving the man a suspicious look.

“Not a follower of politics, eh? I can't say I blame you... The academy, you know, is completely independent. Now, because we're not idiots, we try our very best to work with the Regent and his lot. But, and this is the important part, he doesn't give us orders,” Hayes explains with a wicked grin, “But there's always been people who don't like that – people who, dare I say, see us as a threat.”

Now it's Master Brehm who glares across at Eminescu. “And he's actually speaking up in favour of this?” he mutters, “The bastard...”

“Oh, I'm sure the Reivians are a threat. They need stamping out, no doubt about it, but they're not the real threat. There's no use in fighting off an invader if your nation is rotting from within. The military faction would have us all on the front line, and then what?” Hayes snarls, “Then every heathen scoundrel would feel emboldened to crawl from their holes and start causing havoc, that's what!”

This conversation went sour quickly. Master Brehm turns away with a grimace, his eyes widening slightly as he spots someone on the other side of the room. “Hayes, you dog, we'll have to finish this another time,” he remarks, “Johannes, there's someone I want you to meet. Won't take a moment – Lucas, would you keep Master Hayes out of trouble?”

He doesn't exactly give you much choice, practically dragging Johannes across to where a tall woman is holding court over a few of her colleagues. Looking back to Hayes, you give him a weak shrug.

“Your boy there,” Hayes murmurs, nodding towards Johannes, “Too honest for his own good.”

“Too sane to get involved with politics,” you agree, “I think he's in the minority here.”

“Unfortunately true. It's a dirty business – give me an honest fight any day,” the Exorcist sighs, “I seem to spend more time in the palace than in the field these days. But, well, it's hard to argue with an army massing on the border...”

>If the Reivians are using spirits, don't we have a duty to protect the Accord?
>Can it really be that bad in the palace? These factions sound like trouble
>It's not our place to be getting involved in politics. Not if we're supposed to be independent
>I had questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>5770954
>Can it really be that bad in the palace? These factions sound like trouble

>>5770954
Where did the intel that Reivians will use spirits come from? It's in no one's interest to escalate to that level. Except for our own internal threats.

“Can it really be that bad in the palace?” you ask quietly, automatically looking back to see if you might be overheard, “These factions sound like trouble.”

“It's bad. Worse than I've ever known it,” Hayes replies, grimacing and shaking his head, “There's always been squabbling and scheming, of course there has, but not like this. Now... Listen here, this doesn't leave this room, okay?”

“Of course,” you assure him, letting Hayes lead you a few paces away.

“Our beloved Regent has found himself in an impossible position. As far as the military faction is concerned, he's weak – he won't take the drastic action needed to counter the Reivian incursions. He's weak enough that there's talk of... replacing him,” the Exorcist murmurs, rubbing his patched eye once more, “And if they get their way, you can be damn sure things will change around here. Now Sheol's lot, they have a lot of say in the palace too – we'd normally rely on them to counter the military's influence, but not this time. Things are different this time.”

“Different how?” you ask, feeling your head starting to spin.

Hayes waves his hand in a vague gesture. “There's a lot of talk about how we have a sacred duty to defend Ixtab. Of course, we DO have a sacred duty to hold the city but Sheol's lot have been especially noisy about it lately. The church and the military are reading from the same page,” he sighs, the fury bleeding from his voice, “Kid, we're fighting a losing battle. Those damn Reivians and their spirits have done us in, and they don't even know it.”

“Where did this talk of spirits come from, anyway?” you ask carefully, “They would have to be desperate to resort to something like that.”

“There've been reports from the front line. Reivians calling down fire from the sky, strange priests seen amongst their troops... it's hard to know fact from fiction, but there's certainly something strange going on,” Hayes explains, “As for WHY they'd do it, I can't say. Desperation would be one thing, but it doesn't fit. If anything, we should be the ones getting desperate. If you ask me, the military is just taking advantage of rumours. The common soldier always talks, it's up to the officers to make sense of it.”

“Still...” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “They're saying one of our people was out there, looking into it. Another internal threat, just like that swine Eminescu...”

Clarissa, you realise with a start. He must be talking about her first mission out west. It seems like such a long time ago now...

“Just keep your head down and stick to your duties,” Hayes warns, grabbing your arm with a sudden desperation, “Don't let yourself get drawn into their mess, kid. It's just another way of getting yourself killed, and it won't be a good death. Take it from someone who knows.”

[1]

>>5770984

Taking his hand from your sleeve as if burned by its touch, Hayes sketches a hasty bow before retreating. You start to follow, then hesitate and let him go. Unseen by the rest of the lingering Exorcists, he slips out the door and vanishes, leaving you with a profound unease. Once again, you find yourself peering into a world cloaked in shadow.

Trying to shake these thoughts, you wander through the hall listening in to the occasional snippets of conversation as you pass groups by. Here, an aged man argues for a particular translation of a distant Akklo dialect. And here, a slightly younger man argues philosophy with his companion. Scholarly talk such as this would normally fascinate you, but now it seems so...

So pointless. If men like this see fit to distract themselves with idle debate while the world burns around them, perhaps the military faction is right – perhaps independence is a luxury that the academy can no longer afford.

With a start, you shake these unexpected thoughts off. They almost seem like someone else's thoughts, something that exists outside of your own mind. More disconcerted than ever, you look around for a moment before spotting Master Brehm still talking with the woman. They catch notice of you as you hurry across, with Master Brehm waving a greeting.

“Perfect timing!” he announces, “Ma'am, this is Master Hearne. One of my best people, you know.”

“He's in the top five,” Johannes drawls, giving you a nod.

“Lucas, this is Madam Lilias,” Master Brehm continues, “She's a friend of the academy, and something of an expert in the forest kingdom.”

“So much as anyone can claim that,” she adds, giving you a warm smile. Straight away, you can tell that she's not an Exorcist herself – there's a softness about her that feels alien here, that immediately marks her out as an outsider. “Your instructor told me about you. He said that you found a site of ritual significance to the foresters,” she continues, eyes widening a little with curiosity, “I plan on visiting it, as soon as I can get permission from the top brass here.”

Of course. The cave down by the southern coast. You're not likely to forget about THAT in a hurry. “They'll probably welcome the help,” you tell her, “The last I heard, progress was slow.”

“Well, slow progress is still far better than what I'm used to,” Lilias remarks with a cheerful shrug, “I was talking to your handsome friend earlier. It sounds like he had a run-in with a forester as well. He certainly had a lot of questions about her!”

Johannes scowls at this, but doesn't disagree. It's hard to imagine him pestering Madam Lilias with questions about anything, but that forester woman really did get under his skin.

“I only wish I was able to answer more of them,” she adds with a sigh, “Even as an “expert”, I still have some pretty serious gaps in my knowledge. Don't we all?”

[2]

>>5771012

“Well, enough of me feeling sorry for myself. Where were we?” Lilias thinks for a moment, “Oh yes, your forester lady. She sounds fascinating, from what Master Crane was telling me. Probably a priestess of the Great Mother, although that doesn't really tell us much. It's not exactly an organised faith, you see. All priestesses – and priests, I suppose – have their own ways of doing things. At least, um, as far as I know. After all-”

“You still have some gaps in your knowledge,” you finish for her.

“Exactly!” she agrees eagerly, “It's quite fascinating, actually. Your friend was telling me about how this forester was able to carry out a Rite of Banishment, how such a thing could be. I have this theory, you know, that you could call upon ANY sufficiently powerful spirit in order to banish a lesser spirit. You would call upon the Sun King, of course, but a forester would naturally call out to the Great Mother. So...”

She pauses here, her words trailing off. Her voice – loud as it is – has attracted more than a little attention from the other Exorcists in the room, and none of it good.

“Oh. Oh bugger,” Lilias groans softly to herself, “I shouldn't have said that, should I?”

“No. No you shouldn't,” Master Brehm scolds lightly, “I think you might want to make a quiet exit, my dear. For your own safety if nothing else.”

You think that last part was intended as a joke, but it doesn't quite land.

“You might be right,” she agrees, wincing a little, “Um, Master Hearne. Perhaps we could meet up again – somewhere a little more private – to talk a little more? I'd like to hear about your own experiences with the foresters, especially that site of yours.”

This offer is greeted by a cold silence. You can practically feel the other Exorcists listening in, waiting for your response in unspoken judgement.

>Certainly. We can continue this conversation then
>I don't think that's a good idea, actually
>I have another idea... (Write in)
>Other

>>5771025
>Certainly. We can continue this conversation then
I want to compare notes. The Forest Kingdom is for sure going to be a major player in the upcoming events.

>>5771025
>Certainly. We can continue this conversation then
She's probably gonna pump us for information

>>5771025
>Certainly. We can continue this conversation then

The seconds drag out, each one feeling like an hour. All the while, you feel the weight of the staring eyes around you. Their weight grows heavier and heavier, but you're not crushed by it – instead, you feel a stubborn anger flare up in response. You won't be judged by the likes of them. With that, your resolve hardens and you give your answer.

“Certainly,” you tell Madam Lilias, “We can continue this conversation then.”

“Oh. Oh, really?” she replies, your answer taking her by surprise, “I wasn't actually expecting... Tomorrow, perhaps? I won't be in the capital for very long, so...”

“Tomorrow should be fine,” you assure her, hoping that circumstances don't make a liar out of you. She nods quickly, still looking a little startled at the unexpected turn of events, then starts to make a hurried exit. As she leaves, you glance back around at the assembled crowd – they carry on their hushed conversations, not one of them looking your way.

-

“You'll be wasting your time,” Johannes mutters, watching as the other Exorcists mill about in their loose groups, “She doesn't know anything. She has THEORIES, but no facts. If I wanted wild speculation-”

“Maybe I do want some wild speculation,” you interrupt, “I'm curious to see what she has to say, even if they are just theories. I have a few theories of my own, and I'm curious to see how they compare.”

He just stares at you for a moment, his eyes blank and sullen, before letting out a heavy sigh. “This was a mistake,” he admits eventually, “I don't even know why I came here in the first place.”

This time, you're the one who says nothing. You can tell that he's disturbed, unsettled by Hayes and his political talk. Too honest for his own good, that's how Hayes described him.

“I won't ever understand these people. Their scheming, their plotting... that's fine – I don't WANT to understand them,” Johannes continues, his brow furrowed with a scowl of anger, “I know my duties. I know the Law, and the Accord. There's no room for theories, no room for ambiguity, with these. This is what I've sworn to protect, and that's what matters – above all else.”

These words seem to hang in the air for a long moment, as if carved into a wall of stone. The words themselves are resolute, admirably so, but something about them sends a chill of dread through your heart. The words, somehow, feel like a death sentence.

But for who?

>Going to take a pause here for today. Current plan will be to continue on Saturday, leading into Sunday this week

>>5771084
Thanks for running

>>5771084
I finally caught up and I LOVE this quest. I love this weird setting that feels like a mix of Feudal Japan and Victorian London, and the whole system of spirits and such.

From what we've seen I say it's worth we meet with Lilias, maybe in a near future we can go with her to the site in the South and maybe get into the Forest Kingdom. And my theory is that if Persephone it's called "of the Moon" and Lucas "of the Forest" they might have a deeper spiritual connections with their villages and it can manifest on them (With Persephone always being cold and having all those blue veins, and maybe Lucas might feel hotter to the touch than the normal people.) If my theory it's true that light explain how we have so many vivid dreams, tightly connecting with what we do, perhaps the people of the Forest Kingdom have a way to commune with the Spirits via dreams, actually gaining insight or maybe being able to gain access to our Unconsciousness and so gain access to the spirit world.

Also, maybe we should truly seek out other teachers, or even go with Roerich and see if we took the best choice by not accepting Omoris' offer with how fucked the ritual was

File: Cloranthy Lowe.png (526 KB, 1200x764)

526 KB PNG

“In the first days, all of the land was like a forest – a dark forest, alive with beasts. Men learned to be silent, because speaking up was to invite disaster. Men learned to roam, and to cover his tracks too, because hiding away would only invite disaster. And so, men lived a life of fear – until the Sun King came to burn away the forest. Suddenly, men could settle down and live in peace. They could speak to one another, to learn and to grow. It was the beginning of a golden age.”

“But not all of the forest was burned, and not all men left the forest,” Madam Lilias says, reciting the words of a well-rehearsed story in a low murmur, “Those were the first foresters. They learned too, learning ways to repel or command the spirits that had once preyed upon them – and, the stories say, it was the Great Mother who taught them their ways.”

“I read once that the Great Mother was, you know, the origin of all life,” Cloranthy says slowly, carefully. You had decided that the archives would be the best place for a quiet conversation, and it was inevitable that Cloranthy would join you. Even if you hadn't invited her, you have little doubt that she would have invited herself soon enough.

“That's a common claim, yes, but it's really not true. It doesn't even make much sense when you think about it – how could a spirit create life in this, the human world?” Lilias gives a slight shrug, smiling apologetically at Cloranthy, “You can't really trust a lot of what people have written about the forest kingdom, I'm afraid.”

“Oh sure, I know that NOW. Back then, though, I read a lot of stories about the forest kingdom. Loved them, really, and then my boy Lucas here came along to tell me that they were all bullshit,” Cloranthy explains, giving you a wicked grin, “So now, as punishment for crushing a young girl's dreams, he has to come and hang out with me. Pretty awful, isn't it?”

“That's not EXACTLY how it happened...” you point out, holding back a groan, “Anyway, that's ancient history by now so-”

“So's this,” the young woman interrupts, her eyes flashing bright with mischief, “Actually, this is WAY more ancient.”

Madam Lilias clears her throat, causing you both to look around. “In truth, we know very little about the Great Mother,” she admits, “My strongest theory puts the Great Mother in opposition to Adhra, Lord of the Barrier, although I cannot say for certain what that really means. Some of the evidence I've seen, well, I dare not speak of it aloud...” Her voice trails off here, and she allows herself a tiny shudder of disgust.

“I think I know what you mean,” you agree, taking a breath before telling the story of your investigation on the southern coast. Madam Lilias listens with care, her eyes steadily growing wider and wider as your story goes on.

[1/2]

>>5771681

“Fascinating, simply fascinating!” Lilias murmurs when you finish, “It definitely sounds like a shrine to the Great Mother. It couldn't be anything else! Ah, but to find one outside the forest kingdom's borders is curious. I simply must see it for myself!”

“I mean yeah, the shrine sounds cool and all,” Cloranthy mentions, “But what about the weird fish monster that they cut open?”

“I... cannot fully explain that,” Lilias admits, bowing her head slightly, “But I've heard of such things before. Rather, I've seen depictions of them – woodcarvings, paintings, these sorts of things. Always the same strange fusion of man and beast. The foresters always spoke of them as sacred things, objects of both fear and awe. If they spoke of them at all, that is – quite the taboo against discussing them with outsiders, as you might expect.”

“Naturally,” you agree, with Cloranthy nodding along with you. A silence falls over your little group, but not an especially unfriendly one. With company such as this, even a gruesome topic of conversation doesn't feel so bad. When you think back to the inhuman corpse, and the blasphemous paintings of man and beast, you can face them without shuddering.

A short while passes, then Lilias lets out a low sigh. “I really do hope that I'm granted permission to see this site for myself. I've put in a formal request, so now I just have to wait,” she complains, looking around the archives, “But at least I'll have plenty to occupy my time. I've always wanted a chance to peruse the archives here...”

Just as you're wondering if Lilias is about to ask you to play the role of guide, you catch a glimpse of white in the corner of your eye. Sweeping past you with a determined grimace on her face, Persephone marches through the archives. It's strange, seeing her in a place like this, and you automatically find yourself following after her. “Hey!” you call out, your voice seeming painfully loud against the silence surrounding you, “What are you doing here?”

“Doing a little bit of research,” Persephone answers simply, “That IS what people do here, is it not?”

“Well, yes, but...” you pause, shrug, continue, “How was your celebration last night?”

“Simply ghastly. A truly miserable experience,” she tells you with a dramatic shrug, “I might be exaggerating a tiny little bit, but it wasn't exactly the roaring success that dear little Harriet was hoping it would be. I do hope she's not taking it too hard...”

With that, Persephone turns away and continues her march towards the rear of the archives – where, as you're painfully aware, the unsorted papers are kept.

>You should head back and see what else you can get out of Madam Lilias
>Perhaps you can lend a hand and help Persephone with this “research”
>You should check up on Harriet, see what happened with her night out
>You've got other plans... (Write in)
>Other

>>5771683
>Perhaps you can lend a hand and help Persephone with this “research”
And probe for more details on what the hell happened at the party.

>>5771685
>>5771683
+1

If Persephone is looking for something in the unsorted papers, she's going to be there all day at least – and likely far more than that. You've had that unenviable task before, and you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy. At the very least, a second pair of hands might make the process a little more bearable. So, following her to the far end of the archive, you gaze up and down the rows of almost identical boxes.

“So,” you begin, “Where do we start?”

“How should I bloody well know?” Persephone answers, “This is your territory, isn't it? I should be the one asking you that question!”

“Well, you should probably start by telling me what you're looking for,” you suggest, gesturing to the rows of boxes, “It might not narrow things down by much, but it'll give us something to go on.”

Persephone sighs, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she thinks. “I'm looking for anything related to an Exorcist here, a man named Lowry,” she explains, grimacing a little as she says the name, “He's dead now, dead or missing. I asked around a little, and they say that when an Exorcist is lost all their unfinished work is bundled up and dumped here. In case anyone else wants to finish what they started, I suppose.”

“Ah, then this might not be TOO painful,” you tell her, nodding with faint relief, “The Exorcist boxes are normally marked out, that should make them a little easier to find.”

“I hope so,” she mutters, gesturing for you to lead the way. As you start to walk the length of the hall, checking each box as you go, you think back. That name, Lowry, sounds faintly familiar. Roerich mentioned it, you recall, the name of another Exorcist who visited the monastery in search of answers. Rites for calling up the spirits of lost knowledge, wasn't it?

You can't help but steal the occasional glance at Persephone as you work, your eyes always drawn back to her. The dim light of the archives suits her well, her paleness almost seeming to glow in the faint lantern light. Her face is wrinkled with faint distaste, as if the smell of dust in the air is bothering her, but her eyes go about their search with an eager, predatory light.

“Lowry,” you repeat aloud, “Not a man I've ever met.”

“I met him. Once. A rather unpleasant experience, I'm sad to say. Fortunately not one that will be repeated, if he really has done the decent thing and got himself killed,” she replies, frowning a little at the memory, “It wasn't all that long after I arrived here, in fact. It... well, shall we save the reminiscing for later? I can't concentrate like this.”

You're just looking for markings on a box, it doesn't exactly demand a lot of attention. But, of course, that's not the point. With the slightest of shrugs, you let her keep her secrets. For now.

[1]

>>5771726

You find a few marked boxes, marked with red ink in the top corners, but none of them seem to relate to this Lowry. Undeterred, you let your mind wander as you continue the search. “So this party...” you mention, speaking up to fill the silence, “What exactly happened?”

“Nothing much,” Persephone answers, “And that, I would say, was the problem.”

Silence again, as you consider this. Maybe you don't know enough about parties, but you haven't a clue what she's talking about.

“Our dear friend Clarissa clearly didn't want to be there, but of course she was perfectly polite about the whole thing. Can you imagine it? You've got Harriet, being as disgustingly enthusiastic as she always is, desperately trying to force Clarissa into having fun, but with absolutely no success,” she explains, grinning a little despite herself, “It was, quite simply, an ordeal.”

“And Clarissa didn't just, you know, say that she wasn't in the mood?” you ask.

“You'd think that would be obvious thing, but no,” she shrugs again, starting to speak only for her eyes to fall on another marked box. Pulling it out, she grabs a handful of papers from within and skims down one. “Here you are, you bastard!” she crows, “I've got you right where I want you!”

Good news, you assume. Carrying the box over to a reading table, Persephone sets it down and starts to unpack the loose papers. “I remember Lowry catching me on my own in one of the classrooms,” she says as she sifts through the pages, “He started asking me all these questions about my home. Normal sorts of questions, but the WAY he was asking them was... not at all normal.”

“I realised, straight away, what he really wanted to know. He couldn't just come out and say it, but he wanted to know all about what happened,” she continues, “Well, I wasn't telling him anything. Even as a weak, naïve little girl, I knew that it would be trouble.”

“So?” you ask, “What did you do?”

“I kicked him in the shin, then ran as fast as my little legs could manage,” Persephone answers with a laugh, “After that, I did everything I could to stay away from him until, one day, he simply vanished. Good riddance, I thought.”

“And now you're looking through his papers, looking for... what, exactly?” you wonder, giving her a curious look, “What are you expecting to find?”

A long silence, broken only by the whisper of paper. “I don't know, actually,” Persephone admits eventually, “But this seems like the closest thing to a lead that I've got. Lowry was onto something, I'm sure of it. I just don't know exactly what. If there's nothing here then... well, I suppose that's it. End of the road. But if there IS something here...”

“It might still be the end of the road,” you warn.

With a grin, Persephone reaches across and punches you on the arm. “Look at Mister Pessimism over here!” she teases, “Feeling particularly gloomy today, are we?”

[2]

>>5771755

Most of Lowry's papers seem innocent enough, mostly personal letters recovered from his quarters. There are a few unfinished reports, but none of them seem especially notable – commonplace cases of disturbed spirits or ceremonial tasks, suggestive of nothing except a case of laziness regarding paperwork. The personal letters mean nothing to you either, mostly discussing the affairs of distant friends or family members.

Then your eyes fall on a familiar name – Omiros.

“Is that-” Persephone begins, leaning over your shoulder to peer at the page. Practically pressing her cool cheek against yours, she reads the letter. Trying your best to ignore her presence, you focus on the words before you. In his letter, Omiros warns against being too hasty, assuring the reader – Lowry, of course – that the “promised times” would come when ordained. Men ought not to force the hand of the gods, the priest warns. The letter closes off with an instruction – continue your duties, act only when called upon.

Sitting back down in her own seat, Persephone considers the letter for a moment. “Shit,” she whispers eventually, “They were up to something, the pair of them. These... promised times they're talking about, what do you think that means?”

“As far as I'm aware, Sheol's teachings don't mention any such thing,” you reply slowly, searching your mind, “And Master Brehm never taught us about such a thing. Maybe we need a different teacher.”

These last words, you murmur with an ironic smile. Roerich's words, coming back to haunt you. Persephone doesn't smile, though, her brow merely furrowing in a vile scowl.

“Forget that,” she declares, “Those bastards are just going to keep their secrets to themselves. Who would you even turn to anyway? What kind of “teacher” are you suggesting?”

You can think of a few ideas, although... not many of them are what you might call “orthodox”.

>Someone from the forest kingdom, perhaps. They might know something we don't
>The centipede cult likely holds many secrets, forbidden though they may be
>Sheol's church knows much, but I fear that door is closed to us now
>How about... (Write in)
>Other

>>5771777
>Someone from the forest kingdom, perhaps. They might know something we don't
There are secrets there, obviously. They're at the centre of all of this, and for all their vile heresy they're not NEARLY as creepy as Centipede necromancers or soul-damned Sheol mystics.

And NO, Persephone, this is NOT about that woman...

>>5771777
>Someone from the forest kingdom, perhaps. They might know something we don't
>Maybe even Harriet first teacher, the Revian. But with a war so close and maybe a lot of years since she was instructed, hi might be either dead or at the other side of the border

“Someone from the forest kingdom, perhaps,” you suggest, “They might know something we don't. Their whole understanding of history might be different to ours. What might be a dark secret for us, might be a common tale for them. While their ways may be... vile, they're nowhere near as bad as some of the other powers out there.”

“Rather less prone to playing around with the dead, I expect,” Persephone agrees, tilting her head slightly. She actually seems to be giving the idea some genuine consideration, which is more than you had been expecting. “Though, one thing strikes me,” she adds, “Are you sure-”

“This isn't about HER, no,” you finish for her, “I'm just being pragmatic here. I can't think of anyone else we might turn to, except... well, Harriet mentioned a mentor. A Reivian. Under normal circumstances, they might be able to help as well. But now, with all this talk of war...”

You finish this thought with a shrug, leaving Persephone to figure out the rest. She sighs, leaning forwards on the desk and toying with some of the loose pages. “But still, you're missing one very important point,” she mentions, “How are you actually proposing to get them to help you? Just stroll up to the edge of the forest and say hello?”

“Give me a break, I haven't thought that far ahead yet!” you laugh, “Besides, we're just talking hypotheticals now. Just coming up with ideas. The actual planning can come later. For now, let's focus on the last of these papers. Have you noticed anything else?”

“Hmm, well, I did notice one thing. A name that seemed to keep coming up,” Persephone recalls, picking up one of the pages and studying it, “Buchholz, that's it. Doesn't mean anything to me though.”

“He was a philosopher,” you recall, “Wrote about virtue, mostly. What it means to live a good life, that kind of thing.”

“...How do you even KNOW these things?” the pale girl remarks, raising an eyebrow at your knowledge.

“Master Brehm gave us a test last year, he was part of it,” you remind her, “Don't you remember?”

“I probably failed that test,” she replies with an indifferent wave of her hand, “Anyway, our dearly departed Lowry seemed to refer to this philosopher of yours quite a lot. Virtue... is that all he wrote about?”

You think back a little more. “He proposed that men could never live a life of perfect virtue. The nature of the world is such that men, inevitably, would be led to some kind of vice, no matter how petty or trivial it might be,” you answer, “That wasn't such a popular idea. It was deemed to be “demeaning to the human spirit” or something like that. He wasn't denounced or purged, but it certainly hurt his popularity.”

“Hmm,” Persephone muses, “Was that on the test too?”

“No,” you reply, “I'm just really good at my job. Perfectly modest about it, too.”

[1]

>>5771808
>The nature of the world is such that men, inevitably, would be led to some kind of vice, no matter how petty or trivial it might be
is this about creating "perfect" humans, whether it's a fusion of man and beast or man and spirit?

>>5771820
Or perhaps by perfecting Sheol machine and excising souls they deem itredeemable? Maybe banishing 'negative' aspe ts of man and spirit beyond the veil?

>>5771833
Or maybe erasing that which makes Man to fall into vice

>>5771833
>>5771836
so is Persephone ALL vice? She's pretty alright to hang out with if so.

>>5771839
"Come on Persephone, don't look at me like that! They said that the perfect Man comes with the union of Man and Spirit. We HAVE to engage on a sex marathon and have a child, it's hinted RIGHT HERE"

>>5771808

“Suppose there's a connection,” Persephone says suddenly, as she's packing away the loose papers, “This miserable philosopher of yours and the “promised time” that Omiros writes about. What if there's a connection there?”

“A promised time where men can truly live a life of perfect virtue,” you suggest, “It would be a world without hunger or want, without pain or sorrow.”

“Like Shang-Han!” she continues eagerly, “That's what Lowry really wanted to know about, and Omiros... well, I don't quite know what his game is yet, but he's a part of this too. It's all here, it's ALL connected!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, but there are still too many unanswered questions for you to get carried away. “It's all connected, you're right. But we don't know exactly how. Maybe we've got this backwards,” you muse, “What if this is creating perfect men first, then those men will create this promised time. Except...”

“Except you CAN'T create perfect men,” Persephone points out, “Your philosopher friend said so.”

“Philosophers can be wrong, you know,” you pause for a moment, “How would you even “create” a perfect man, anyway?”

“What does a perfect man even look like?” she counters, meeting your question with one of her own, “And if you make a joke about looking in the mirror, I'll hit you again.”

Not much of a threat, all things considered, but you keep your mouth shut regardless. It would've been a pretty lame joke anyway. Her point remains, though – your idea of perfection might be very different to, say Omiros' idea. Who would be the judge of such things?

You can almost hear the gnawing wheels of Sheol's machine turn, your thoughts inevitably creeping towards some terrible theory, but then a new sound shatters the archive's stillness – the clatter of hurried footsteps. You jolt around, just in time to see Harriet rushing towards you. She waves, panting heavily from the sprint.

“We... we're all wanted...” she gasps, straightening up and taking a deep breath, “We're all wanted in Master Brehm's office. He looks awfully serious about it too, you'd better not keep him waiting!”

With the tattered threads of your theory drifting out of reach, you glance around to Persephone once more. She just gives you a shrug, a wan smile, then turns to leave.

-

The office feels very cramped with all five of you standing inside, plus Master Brehm himself behind the desk. A letter lies before him, folded over so that you can't read anything from it. The old man's eyes are fixed on the letter, such that he doesn't seem to notice you all for a long moment. Then, finally, he speaks.

“I've got a job for you,” Master Brehm begins, “This letter arrived this morning, from an old friend of mine. It tells of some disturbing signs, and I want us to look into it. Perhaps it's nothing, but-”

“All of us?” Clarissa asks softly, “...This isn't an official investigation, is it?”

[2]

>>5771851

Clarissa's question is met by an awkward silence, broken only when Johannes clears his throat. “What disturbing signs?” he asks simply, staring straight ahead as he waits for his answer.

“Men had stopped attending his sermons. At first, just one or two. Then more – dozens, now. Worse, some of those men have gone missing entirely. He writes that he tried raising the matter with the governor, but nothing came of it,” Master Brehm explains, “In his letter, he seems convinced that fell powers are at work. I'm willing to trust him on that.”

“Where would we be going?” you ask next.

“Metora, a large mining city by the eastern mountains. Close to Selengrad, actually, they're practically one and the same these days. The men were mostly miners and foundry workers, reliable men and dutiful worshippers until this,” the old man answers, “There's something else. In his letter, my friend pleaded for my help - he wrote that there were things he didn't dare put on paper, that he would only speak of. I shudder to think of what that might be.”

“Why bring so many of us?” Harriet says nervously, gathering up her courage to speak aloud, “I thought, um, we normally do things in pairs. A partnership is harmonious, isn't that what they say?”

“Metora is a big place, bigger still if we need to operate in Selengrad too. It would be too much ground for just two agents to cover,” Master Brehm explains, “Besides, I wouldn't want you to be left feeling lonely back here!”

The attempt at humour falls flat, dying like a soldier in the trenches. “I'm asking for volunteers,” the old man continues, quickly moving on from his weak joke, “I'll go myself if I really have to, but I'd rather not. Now, who feels like a field trip?”

“I'll do it,” Johannes answers bluntly, although he says nothing else. His reasons are his own.

“Very well,” Clarissa agrees, giving him a nod, “If that's what you wish.”

Harriet looks around for a moment before giving her answer. “Oh gosh, I don't know if this is such a good idea...” she murmurs, “No, I'll go too. It's about time that I got some proper work done.”

Persephone just scowls, no doubt irritated at the interruption to her own research, but nods. Then it's your turn to give an answer. Like Persephone, you can't help but feel a pang of frustration – the mission would take you a long way from the capital, and just when you were starting to get somewhere here.

>You'll join the investigation with all the others
>You'll stay behind. Master Brehm has more than enough help already
>Other

>>5771872
>You'll join the investigation with all the others
It's not a coincidence that Selengrand had another cultist cell, where that guy was taking the card and inform of the failed ritual. We'll need to keep an eye and an ear out and see if we find the same guy that the letter was going to be sent to. And surely the kid from the cult will be there if he heard something from Selegrand, things like these always happens and that was a loose end we left behind. The temptations of the Centipede are strong, and stronger with peope like the kid.

>>5771872
>You'll join the investigation with all the others

>>5771872
>You'll join the investigation with all the others
If Brehm wants us all, it's because he thinks he needs us all. Our friends are going somewhere dangerous.

Selengrad, you recall, may already be compromised. The necromancers were supposed to have a cell there, and its influence may have spread into Metora by now. Little wonder, then, that Master Brehm's friend suspects the worst. That settles it then – your own research will have to wait for a while. With your mind made up, you give Master Brehm the nod.

“I'm in,” you tell him, “When do we leave?”

“Noon. I want to leave as soon as possible, but we'll all need some time to make preparations. Better pack a bag, because we might be away for a while,” the old man grimaces slightly at the thought of the long journey ahead, “Right then, you're dismissed. Meet me in the front courtyard at noon, is that understood?”

No questions here.

-

“I don't think this is a proper use of academy resources,” Clarissa mutters to herself as she examines her revolver, peering down the sights. Since the last time you saw her, she's taken to wearing a second gun in a shoulder holster, the straps crossing her chest like a corset. You're not exactly sure what she's expecting, but if it makes her feel better...

“You're still coming along though,” you point out, adjusting the sword at your side.

Clarissa glances around at you, a slight flicker of pain darting across her features. “Well. I owe Master Brehm this much,” she admits, “And if this really is something serious, I'd never forgive myself for staying behind. Selengrad, you know-”

“I know,” you finish for her, “It can't be a coincidence, right?”

“We'll see,” she murmurs, holstering her revolver. She seems on the verge of saying something more, but the silence draws out without interruption. Finally, as if reaching a decision, she moves to tuck her hair up under a drab blue army cap and moves to leave. It's only then, as she's at the doorway, that she looks back. “Be careful, okay?” she warns, “Keep yourself safe.”

“Don't worry about me,” you assure her, but she's already gone.

>I'm going to pause things here for today. I'm hoping to continue this tomorrow, but things aren't 100% at the moment
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5771907
Thanks for running Moloch!

>>5771907
Thanks for running! Excited for this next arc.

Knowing that it would be a long journey ahead of you, you came prepared – still thinking about your conversation with Persephone, you borrowed one of Buchholz's texts from the archives. His classic, in fact, a book called “In Search of Virtue”. Dense, as the old classics so often are, and often using a dozen words where one or two would suffice. But, it gives you plenty to read while the carriage rattles its way towards the western border.

“The perfect man, the man of true virtue, would not even be capable of comprehending vice or sin. This, the old man told me. Thoughts of lust, or greed, or wrath would be utterly alien to him, unknowable even. But a man such as this, I asked the old man, would we really recognise him as a man at all?”

You find yourself drawn back to these words, reading and rereading them until you force yourself to turn the page. When you read them, you find yourself imagining Lowry studying the exact same words. What must he have felt when he read them?

Enough of this. Marking your place in the book, you tuck it back into your backpack and glance out the carriage window. The sky outside is grey, darkening with each passing minute, and the western mountains are still just a blot on the horizon. There's still a long way to travel, and you're rapidly running out of daylight.

“We'll be stopping soon,” Master Brehm announces, as if reading your mind, “Rest up, and then we'll be back on the road.”

He makes it sound like a threat.

-

When you finally stop at a waystation along the road, night has well and truly fallen. Eagerly escaping the cramped carriage, the rest of your cohort start to make their way inside. Just as you're following them, though, a low voice calls out to you.

“Master, here,” the voice implores, “Lend a hand, if you would be so kind?”

The carriage driver, you realise as you turn. The man is struggling with unloading some of the cargo, the chest too awkwardly sized for just one man to carry. As you hasten to help him, his voice drops lower still. “Got a tip for you,” he murmurs, “If you get in a tight spot in Metora, there's a man who might be able to help you.”

You tense up, looking around at the young driver. His face is perfectly blank, as if he hadn't said anything at all.

“Fellow by the name of Bellerose, at the army barracks,” the driver continues, “You've got a mutual friend, if you catch my drift.”

For a moment, your mind whirls as you try to think who he means. Contacts in the military, this appalling secrecy...

“Malinowski?” you whisper, thinking back to your one-time inquisitor. He was supposed to be looking into the Selengrad cult too, now you think about it...

But the driver just shrugs. “Many thanks for your assistance, kind master,” he says simply, turning away and leaving you to your business.

[1/3]

>>5772538

The sun hasn't even fully risen by the time you're back on the road and moving again. Trying your best to ease the stiffness out of your aching limbs, you look down at the notes Master Brehm has prepared for you. Metora is a large town, or perhaps a small city, based near Selengrad in the western mountains. A natural home of industry, with the nearby mountains rich in coal and metal ores, it has a reputation to match Selengrad – known to be a place of hard, vital, and thoroughly joyless work. The town – or city, whatever – has a particularly large temple devoted to Adhra, in his guise as a craftsman. The rest of the file means little to you, focusing more on dry statistics about the factories and foundries themselves.

“Does this stuff mean anything to you?” you ask aloud, your question directed at nobody in particular, “Anything at all?”

“They've been missing their production quotas,” Johannes explains.

“They're also missing a bunch of their workers,” Persephone adds, “I'm hardly an expert in these things, but that probably has something to do with it. Also, while I don't want to criticise our benevolent leaders, I can't help but notice that they care an awful lot more about the missed quotas than the missing workers.”

“Oh, don't be like that!” Harriet protests, “I'm sure they care about the workers too, they just-”

“Enough chit-chat,” Master Brehm scolds, “You're all gossiping like a bunch of old women!”

After this, nobody says very much at all.

-

You make good time, arriving in Metora by nightfall. Taking your baggage with you, Master Brehm leads you straight towards the temple. Even without his lead, though, you'd struggle to lose your way here – the temple rises high over the rest of the homes crowded around it, white stone gleaming despite the thick smog that fills the air. The town, on first glance, is a place of dizzying contrasts – some of the streets are wide and open, to better move cargo through, while the rest are tight and winding like a rat's nest.

The foundries are mostly built up on the higher levels of the mountain. It helps with the smoke, you suppose, clearing the air a little bit. Even so, you feel the urge to cough with every lungful of air that you draw. Persephone clasps a clean handkerchief over her face as she walks, while Clarissa and Johannes stubbornly march on ahead. Harriet, meanwhile, just looks like she's about to throw up.

“Having second thoughts?” you ask quietly, touching her arm. She straightens up immediately, trying to force a cheerful smile before breaking out into a bout of coughing.

“Maybe a few,” she admits, “But I'm here now, aren't I? I'll just have to make the best of it!”

One day, that optimism of hers is going to reach its limit. When that happens, you shudder to think what might come of it.

[2/3]

>>5772540

The temple itself is deserted, seemingly abandoned by all living things. At the far end of the hall, a tall statue looms high over the emptiness. Master Brehm scowls as he looks around, searching as if his friend might simply be hiding behind one of the many columns lining the hall. When there's no such appearance, he gestures for you to stay close and moves to the rear of the temple. Discretely hidden behind the statue, you spot a small door leading to the priest's private quarters.

“Unlocked...” Master Brehm murmurs as he tries it, “No sign of damage either.”

He opens the door, and you step inside to have a look around. The quarters are tidy and cosy, the walls lined with well-organised bookshelves, but still there are no signs of life. No signs of trouble either, though. The sense of absence is so total, so absolute, that you're left numb by it. As you're fumbling for a next move, you hear a faints scuffle of footsteps from the temple entrance. Fighting the urge to draw your gun, you step back out from the priest's quarters and-

And almost walk straight into her.

-

The woman, with her thick mane of messy brown hair and oversized glasses, seems like she knows her way around the temple, although she flinches back away from the sight of you. “I'll go, I'll leave!” she cries, “Just don't hurt me!”

“I'm not going to hurt you!” you quickly assure her, grabbing her lightly by the arm before she can turn and flee, “Who are you?”

“I'm... I'm Valentina,” she answers, her fear fading, “I'm Master Kauffmann's assistant here. Are you... have you found him?”

“He's missing too, then,” Master Brehm mutters, emerging from the quarters to take Valentina off your hands. “Come inside, lass. We've got a lot to talk about,” he continues, “Come on, settle down now...”

Even as he leads her inside, Master Brehm looks over his shoulder to give you a grim look. Things are worse than he feared.

-

“She's resting now. I don't think we should crowd her just now,” Master Brehm decides, although from his tone it's clear that he wants nothing more than to question her, “Well then, class, it's time for you to impress me – where should we start?”

“The letter mentioned that the governor isn't doing anything about the missing men,” Clarissa recalls, “If true, that's a serious dereliction of his duties. I'd like to start there.”

“He won't know anything,” Johannes argues, “I want to find some of the workers themselves, see what they know about their missing colleagues.”

Both valid options, and then there's Bellerose, your “friend” in the military. Something of an unknown variable for now, you realise. You're not sure what kind of help he might be able to offer.

>You'll start by speaking with the governor, to see what he knows
>You'll start with the miners, the workers
>You'll start with Bellerose, your contact with the military
>Other

>>5772543
>You'll start by speaking with the governor, to see what he knows

>>5772543
>You'll start by speaking with the governor, to see what he knows
Comparing his story, or understanding of events, TO that of the workers could be key.

>>5772543
>You'll start with the miners, the workers
we grill the governor with whatever we find from the workers.

Although from past experience, we may want to consider time constraints and other agendas playing out. The factory smoke isn't making particular patterned messages, right?

We also have a passing familiarity with the materials and places needed to set up the necro rituals. We could look for those instead.

“I think I'll start with the governor too,” you decide, nodding towards Clarissa, “He's supposed to be in charge here. Either he knows what's going on, or he'll have some very difficult questions to answer.”

“Very well then. You two can start with him – I'm sure he won't mind being woken up at this hour,” Master Brehm chuckles, “Johannes, my boy, you can start with these workers of yours. I'd rather you didn't go alone, but...”

His voice trails off here, as he glances across at Persephone and Harriet. Not exactly exactly the ideal sorts to rub shoulders with a mob of labourers, you think to yourself. Johannes just shrugs. “I'll be fine. I can take care of myself,” he insists, “It'll be easier this way.”

“Suit yourself,” the old man decides with a shrug of his own, “We're going to take another look around here, then, while we wait for Miss Valentina to recover her strength. I don't want her left alone.”

“We'll meet up later and compare notes,” you tell Johannes, “I get the feeling that the governor and the workers are going to be singing completely different songs.”

-

Even without a map, you've got a fair idea of where to find the governor – you noticed a manor at the edge of town as you arrived, the rich home placed where the air is as clean as possible. If he's not there, you'll be very much surprised. So, taking a moment to get your bearings, you set off with Clarissa and plunge into the dense maze of streets.

“We might not be alone here,” you murmur to Clarissa, “Malinowski has someone in the city.”

“I see,” she replies, her voice low and hushed.

“You don't sound very surprised,” you point out.

Clarissa shrugs slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “It makes sense, this close to Selengrad,” she explains, “And I suspect that he has “someone” in every city.”

Accepting this point with a nod, you fall silent and focus on the narrow streets around you. Most of the buildings here look as though they were thrown up in a hurry, a temporary solution to house new foundry workers that grew to become a permanent part of the city. But every so often, you stumble across a remnant of the older city, the original city, half-buried under shacks and hovels. These occasional glimpses of white stone always come as a surprise, as if you've turned a corner and emerged into a completely different city.

A hushed, hollow boom rolls out from some vast distance, causing you both to stop in your tracks. “Artillery fire,” Clarissa whispers after a moment, “We're close to the border, remember? It probably came from... from the south.”

“From Ixtab,” you state, unnecessarily.

“From Ixtab,” Clarissa agrees, grimacing a little at the thought, “Those bastards are... Ugh. This isn't the time or the place for that, okay? Just focus on the task at hand.”

You're not sure if those last words were meant for you, or for Clarissa herself.

[1]

>>5772599

Your Exorcists credentials are met with some degree of scepticism, but they buy you entrance into the governor's manor nonetheless. There, you're promptly made to wait while the governor makes himself ready to meet with you. With nothing else to do while you wait, you gaze around the manor's atrium – thick carpets on the floor, oil paintings on the walls, all very nice and civilised. Somewhere deeper within the manor, you can smell incense burning to cover the smell of the foundries.

Finally, you're summoned to the governor's chambers and, as expected, he looks less than pleased to see you. The governor looks like he might have been a strong man once, before long years of idleness leached away his strength. Now with an unsavoury hint of flabbiness about him, he still wears the uniform of a retired army officer with a stubborn pride. Clarissa's face twitches slightly as she studies him, a slight flicker of expression that suggests, to your keen eyes, a deep reservoir of contempt.

“Welcome to Metora,” he begins, regarding you with bloodshot eyes, “You'll forgive me for being blunt, but what business would a pair of Exorcists have in our fair city?”

“We're investigating a recent spate of disappearances,” you answer, cutting straight to the point, “Most notably, that of Master Kauffmann. I understand he was the priest here, is that correct?”

“I believe so, yes,” the governor replies, idly toying with a fountain pen, “Although we never had much cause to speak.”

“Regardless, he is now missing,” Clarissa points out, “Tell us, please. How are things in town? I understand that you've been missing your production quotas. May I ask why?”

Irritation flashes across the governor's face. “Damage to furnace six, that's all. It'll be repaired soon, I assure you. Is the academy now concerning itself with production quotas too? I would have thought you had enough to keep yourselves busy,” he remarks, still scowling a little, “I don't know what you're expecting to find here, but everything is under control. These men, you understand, are not “missing” - they are, I expect, deserters. The work that we do here is difficult, not everyone can handle it. Men come and go, it's nothing more sinister than that.”

“Factory workers, perhaps, but a priest?” you ask, “I understand that Master Kauffmann came to you about these missing men... excuse me, these deserters. You did nothing about it, is that correct?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” he snaps, “Send out a search party to try and drag them back to the factories? They're not worth the time – easier just to bring in some new bodies to replace them.”

>I see. We have no further questions
>We're close to the border here. Do you ever have trouble with the Reivians?
>Have you ever needed to bring in Exorcists before?
>Do the workers themselves ever give you any trouble here?
>I have some questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>5772646
>I expect that you would be concerned about deserters selling your knowledge elsewhere. If they decided that a kindly priest looking for them was too risky to allow back to town...

>>5772646
>We're close to the border here. Do you ever have trouble with the Reivians?
>Do the workers themselves ever give you any trouble here?

>>5772658
Supporting. Clever way to make him actually give a shit, by making it personal and giving him selfish motive.

>>5772646

“I would have thought that you'd be a little more concerned about these “deserters” getting loose,” you muse, “Especially if they start selling your knowledge elsewhere.”

“They don't know anything!” the governor snarls, all but snapping his fountain pen in half. As if surprised by his own outburst, he is silent for a moment before speaking up once more. “These men, you understand, are just labourers. They know how to work in the mines and the foundries, but any beast can claim that,” he continues, “Besides, who would they sell this supposed knowledge to?”

“We're awfully close to the border here,” you suggest, casually glancing at the old map framed on the office wall, “Do you ever have trouble with the Reivians?”

“Those mongrels? Oh no, no. They wouldn't dare,” he remarks, letting out an arrogant laugh, “The second army is based in Selengrad, not even half a day's march from here. If they ever set so much as one foot across the border, they would... wait, you're not suggesting that the Reivians have anything to do with these... these desertions, are you?”

“We can't rule it out,” Clarissa adds, her voice flat and hard, “We can't rule anything out yet. Anyone could be responsible for this farcical situation. Anyone.”

The governor lapses into silence again, allowing you a moment to think about your next moves. “Let me be clear,” you tell him quietly, “A priest of Adhra is missing, along with a number of your workers, and you are doing nothing about it. Because, in your own words, they're not worth the time. Now, if something were to happen to them, you can see how that would look, yes?”

Another silence as your words sink in, the governor's face darkening as he realises the situation he's found himself in. “I can arrange for some troops to search the mountains,” he offers at last, speaking through gritted teeth, “Of course, I'll do what I can to make sure your priest comes home safely.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Clarissa assures him, “Oh, and the workers too?”

“...The workers too,” he mutters, with only the barest attempt at sincerity.

“Speaking of the workers, have they ever given you any trouble here?” you ask, “You know the sort of trouble, I'm sure.”

“There is a certain level of misbehaviour that we accept, even tolerate. Drinking, brawling, that sort of thing,” the governor explains, “You can't ever stamp it out completely. The men need their outlets. But they've never taken it too far. Never damaged the foundries or fought with the soldiers. They'd be up against a wall and shot in an instant if they ever tried something like THAT!”

“And the conditions here?” you wonder, “Do you think the workers find them... satisfactory?”

The governor just shrugs – who cares, his gesture seems to say.

[1]

>>5772698

“So what do you make of him?” you ask, as you're walking back to the temple with Clarissa.

“A despicable man, mostly,” she replies simply, although her brow creases with a slight frown as a thought occurs, “...He didn't seem particularly surprised to learn that the priest was missing, did he?”

“Or he just didn't care. Not until he thought that it might come back to bite him,” you suggest, “I don't know, maybe Johannes was right. He didn't seem to know anything. I'm not exactly holding out much hope for this search party either. Well, whatever. Do you want to head straight back, or take a bit of a look around first?”

Clarissa looks about the city, a faint look of distaste on her face. “I suppose we can take in the sights,” she decides eventually, “Not that there's really much to see. Look, we can barely see the night sky with all this smoke.”

You look up and, just as she says, all but the brightest stars have been smothered by the thick miasma of smog. You find yourself looking for patterns in the smoke, any hint of shape or form. It's so thick and filthy, you almost expect to see centipedes writhing within. But no, it's just smoke. Nothing more than that.

The city feels deserted, far quieter than you might expect even for this late hour. Heavy with fear and anticipation, the air itself seems to weigh you down as you walk. Once or twice you come across crude markings painted across some hovel wall or another, but these seem like common graffiti. Even so, it's not hard to view even the most innocent marking as some kind of covert cult symbol.

Your rambling walk takes you nowhere in particular, serving only to heighten your disgust with the city. Even in the dark of night, the foundries still belch smoke into the sky and wink with flickers of fire. You always thought the capital was bad, but it's a paradise compared with a blasted monstrosity like Metora.

The sooner you can be done here, the better.

-

“I've never actually been in a temple to Adhra before,” you think aloud as you enter the temple, “There aren't many of them, are there?”

“Not really, especially compared with Sheol or the Sun King himself,” Clarissa agrees, “And most of Adhra's temples are in places like this. The Lord of Barriers grants things their shape and form, and only by his grace are men to alter them. Well, it's not quite as strict as that these days, but you get the idea. It's a shame though, isn't it? Without the Lord of Barriers, none of this would be possible and yet he is all too easily forgotten.”

“People take shapes and forms for granted, while death is always right there ahead of them,” you suggest, “Little surprise that Sheol gets all the attention, when you think of it that way.”

“Yet Adhra still has his temples and his priests,” Clarissa muses, “Even a forgotten god still has that much.”

“Perk of the job, I suppose,” you remark, allowing yourself a humourless laugh.

[2]

>>5772768

Judging by the smell of ale on his breath, you're assuming that Johannes managed to find a group of workers to interrogate. It's hard to imagine him carousing with a gang of rowdy men, but apparently he was able to pull it off. The question is, was he able to get any useful information from them? The heavyset man listens as you recount the governor's version of events, only to let out a grunt of disgust when you're finished.

“Man doesn't know what he's talking about,” Johannes snarls, “These aren't just men who walked away from a bad job. Men like this don't just drop everything and go – they grumble, they complain, and then, finally, they go. These men, the missing ones, they weren't complainers. Found someone who knew them. Friend of a friend, that kind of thing, but close enough.”

“So if they didn't desert, what happened to them?” Clarissa asks, “Where did they go?”

“Nobody seems to know. The men I was speaking with, they thought it might be something in the mines. Said that most of them they knew who went missing were miners,” he continues with a heavy shrug, “Could just be talk, but it might be worth looking into. One other thing they mentioned, actually.”

A pause. “Well?” you prompt, “Go on.”

“Said there's a part of the foundries that's always locked up tight. No entrance allowed,” Johannes answers, “Except you can sometimes see people going in, always late at night. That's what they SAY, anyway – they never see anything themselves, but they know a guy who knows a guy who saw something. Bullshit like that, you know.”

“And did any of them mention the priest at all?” Clarissa presses, “Did they even know he was missing?”

Johannes just answers this with a shrug - you're going to take that as a “no”. With a sigh, you let the matter drop there. In the morning, you should have a chance to speak with Valentina. If anyone knows that the priest was doing before his disappearance, it should be her. For now, though, it's time to rest.

It's time to see what dreams this place has in store for you.

>It's a little early, but I think I'm going to take a pause here. I'm aiming to pick this up next Friday
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5772813
So they're not being lured in by poor conditions, it's slow sabotage or collection of human sacrifices.

Or there's already something prowling the streets, and the governor's hold on security is really just that bad.

File: Clarissa Lowe.png (556 KB, 913x813)

556 KB PNG

Even at rest, you can't escape the fires of industry. Your dreams are of a choking darkness and brutal, oppressive heat, a fire that burns in opposition to nature – burning without heat, burning away all purity and goodness. The dream stays with you for a while after you wake, the heat pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. Shaking it off, you sit up in bed and look around as your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness.

You're not the only one who's awake. Across the room, you can just barely make out Clarissa's silhouette through the gloom. Her eyes, blacker still than the shadows around them, find yours, and a deep shiver runs down your spine. In that moment, you wonder if you've really woken up at all, or if this is just another dream.

-

Over breakfast, you keep sneaking glimpses of Clarissa. She looks as if she slept poorly, but she's hardly unique in that regard – everywhere you look, you see bloodshot eyes and dark shadows. Fatigue or no, however, you still have a job to do. You've decided to make the temple itself your base of operations here - it has sufficient provisions to last you for a good long while, although you're desperately hoping that your investigation won't last that long, and there are plenty of spare beds.

“Master Kauffmann seems to be a bit of a scholar,” Harriet announces as you eat, daring to break the silence over the breakfast table, “We were having a look around yesterday. He's got a lot of books and papers here – he was doing research, I think, about the local spirits. Is that what priests normally do, when they're not busy with, um, other priest stuff?”

“Quite so,” Master Brehm tells her, “Of course, not every priest is going to be a natural scholar. But Kauffmann always was – I trained him, you know, although he didn't last very long as an Exorcist. He said, as I recall, that the priesthood was his true calling. We found some interesting material, actually. Persephone?”

Persephone looks up from her breakfast, then sighs at the interruption. “It's not THAT interesting,” she points out, “There used to be spirits of fire here, hidden deep within the mountains, but they disappeared when men settled in the area. That's it.”

“They just disappeared?” you ask, “What happened to them?”

“We don't know!” Harriet adds, her enthusiasm more than making up for Persephone's disinterest, “Or, at least, Master Kauffmann didn't. I think that's part of what he was trying to find out. There was something else though, there were rumours-”

“Baseless rumours,” the pale girl interrupts, “By his own admission, Kauffmann never found any solid evidence. Not even a single actual eyewitness willing to own up to it. If I was a cynical woman, I might think it was all just locals playing a prank on a foolish outsider. But as I'm clearly NOT a cynical woman...”

“Enough,” Master Brehm interrupts, putting an end to the games.

[1/2]

>>5777288

“There were rumours of a giant roaming the mountains,” Harriet continues, picking up where she left off, “A skinless thing with a face of metal. Gruesome, isn't it?”

“We don't have time to be traipsing about the mountains looking for a rumour,” Clarissa decides, with a curt shake of her head, “This is just a distraction.”

“Master Kauffmann was taking it seriously enough, wasn't he?” Harriet insists, “Oh! Maybe he was getting too close to the truth, and that's why he disappeared! He did say that he knew things that he couldn't put in a letter, so...”

This speculation, wild as it is, is met with silence. Still, her words remind you of something. “The girl. Kauffmann's assistant,” you begin, “Did you get anything useful out of her?”

“Not last night. We tried to speak a little, but I couldn't get much sense out of her. Scared out of her wits, the poor lass,” Master Brehm sighs, “I'd like one of you to try speaking with her. Maybe someone a little younger, a little less... official might help – she seems petrified that I'm going to blame this all on her for some reason! But if anyone knows what Kauffmann was getting up to before his disappearance, it would be her.”

Another silence as you all let this sink in, focusing on clearing away the last of your breakfast. “So what's the plan?” Clarissa asks as she gathers up the dishes, “The answers we're looking for are out there, in the mines and foundries. We just need to find them and drag them into the light.”

“That's wonderful, it really is. Very resolute and brave,” Persephone sneers, “Just search the mines. I'm sure it'll be as simple as that. On you go then, get to work!”

Clarissa's cheeks darken with anger, but she says nothing. “I don't think we should just go delving straight into the mines, at least not without checking in with the locals first,” you suggest, “We could try and find someone in charge of the mines, they should know more about what's going on.”

“Like your governor knew all about what was going on,” Johannes mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

“Now now, play nice,” Master Brehm warns, “Let's not get distracted by petty squabbles, shall we?”

Whether it's by petty squabbles or not, you're already getting distracted. You need to start somewhere, wherever that may be.

>You'll speak with Valentina, the priest's assistant first
>You'll start by investigating the mines and the foundries
>You'll pay a visit to this Bellerose, see what he knows
>You've got other plans... (Write in)
>Other

>>5777289
>You'll speak with Valentina, the priest's assistant first

>>5777289
I think Harriet's a better candidate for speaking to the assistant.
>You'll pay a visit to this Bellerose, see what he knows

>>5777289
>We and Harriet will speak with Valentina
Harriet certainly seems better for talking, but I think we'd be better for listening.

“I think we should speak with Valentina,” you decide, nodding across to Harriet, “Are you in?”

“Me? Oh gosh, are you sure?” Harriet replies, blinking in rapid surprise, “Well, I don't mind tagging along but I really don't know what I should say to her. Just... talk to her?”

“Like a normal human being, yes,” you assure her, “You're probably better at that than I am.”

Harriet laughs a little at this, only to hesitate she realises that you weren't joking. “Well, don't go easy on her. We still don't know if we can fully trust her yet,” Clarissa warns, “I'm going to go and take a look at these mines, but I don't want to go alone. I want someone to watch my back.”

No volunteers at first, until Johannes raises a weary hand. “I'll do it,” he offers, “But there's something I want to look into as well. I'll tell you on the way.”

“Well then, I think I'll get a quick nap,” Persephone decides with a yawn, “Do let me know how it goes. On second thoughts, don't – I'm not actually that interested.”

-

“I don't have much to tell you about the girl,” Master Brehm warns as he leads you to the priest's private quarters, “I knew Kauffmann had an assistant, but he hardly mentioned anything about her in his letters. That's... the sort of man he was, unfortunately. But she seems like she was helping with his research, so you might find some common ground there. Deep down, you scholars all think alike.”

“Not really,” you protest, although Master Brehm pays no heed. Slapping you on the shoulder, he steps back and leaves you to it. Trading an awkward nod with Harriet, you gesture for her to lead the way. She hesitates for a second before squaring her shoulders and marching ahead. With a firm hand, she raps her knuckles on the door before throwing it open.

“Good morning!” she announces, her voice as bold and cheerful as you've ever heard it. Valentina leaps to her feet, almost dropping the book she had been reading. “Don't look so shocked, we're just here to see how you're feeling!” Harriet continues, sweeping into the room and peering at the young woman, “Looks like you slept well.”

“I... suppose so. I was just so exhausted, I'm surprised I woke up at all,” Valentina replies, only to wince at her own words, “Has there been any news?”

“Nothing so far, but we're going to be looking a little today,” Harriet assures her, “I'm Harriet. Harriet Maxim. And this is Master Hearne. Say hello, Lucas!”

“Hello again,” you tell the woman, “You can sit down, by the way. There's no need to stand to attention like that.”

With a faltering laugh, Valentina sits back down and sets her book aside. Automatically glancing across at the cover, you see that it's a cheap romance – unlikely to be something from the priest's private library... although stranger things have happened.

[1]

>>5777321

“Excuse me, um...” Valentina asks, stealing a glance at Harriet, “Did you say Maxim?”

“Why yes, I did!” Harriet beams, smiling brightly as she answers the question. You're not smiling, though – it's a strange question to ask, striking a sour note with you.

“My father worked for the Maxim family,” she recalls, a faintly wistful note entering her eyes, “Of course, so many people do. So I wouldn't expect that to mean anything to you.”

“I'm sure he was a very good worker,” Harriet pauses, “I understand that Master Kauffmann was working as well, is that right? And you were helping him?”

Not exactly the most subtle line of questioning you've ever heard, but it'll do. Valentina doesn't recoil in horror, at least, although her eyes do flick evasively over to your face. “Master Kauffmann always had a project on the go. I mean, he always HAS a project on the go. Writing about this or that... I'm afraid that most of it was too complicated for someone like me, but he was always so enthusiastic about it!” she recounts, her face starting to brighten before abruptly darkening “Just lately, though, he seemed frightened of something...”

“Frightened of what?” you ask gently, unable to hold your silence.

“Well, um, his research I suppose,” Valentina shrugs slightly, “Or maybe it was more than that. He was worried about his letters, for one thing. He thought people were intercepting them, reading them or worse. He started hiding his notes, then stopped writing them altogether. Whatever it was that he was doing, I wanted to tell him to stop... but then we'd stay up all night talking about it... Well, he'd talk and I'd listen. But I couldn't help but get swept up in it all.”

“Ah, I see now,” Harriet giggles slightly, “It wasn't just about the research for you, was it?” Valentina's eyes widen with surprise, before dark lines of red blossom in her cheeks. She says nothing, although her mouth moves as if she was trying. “What did you talk about?” Harriet asks softly, “These long nights of yours... what did you talk about?”

Still flushed red with embarrassment, Valentina glances across at you again. “It was always work,” she replies, almost defensively, “He would talk about his ideas, his theories... man's relationship with the spirit world, that's usually what it came back to. He said, once...”

But her voice trails off here, the blood seeping from her face as a deathly pallor takes over. “Go on,” you prompt, “You can say anything. You're not in any trouble here.”

“He said that the academy was wrong,” Valentina whispers, as if afraid of being overheard, “I asked what he was talking about, but he wouldn't tell me. But he was scared. Scared of what he'd found out, scared what might happen if he told the wrong people, just... scared. But even so, he was determined to know the truth.”

[2]

>>5777339
>Valentina's eyes widen with surprise, before dark lines of red blossom in her cheeks.
oh my. Bringing Harriet was the right choice

>>5777339
Curioser and curioser.

>>5777339

“Did he ever say who was reading his letters?” Harriet asks, “Was that who he was scared of?”

“No, um, he never said anything about that to me. I don't think he wanted to worry me, but I... I understood well enough,” the assistant shakes her head, hugging herself as if suddenly chilled, “But the only people who really could be reading his letters are, well... the mail, um, the mail all goes through the governor's office here, so...”

Silence now, as her words trail off. Harriet frowns, her brow creased with concentration, while you keep what you hope is a neutral expression. If what she's suggesting is true, and the governor's office really does have something to do with this... well, what then? If the governor was compromised, you're duty bound to arrest him, but what if he's not? What if he's just following his orders to the letter? That might explain why he wrote to Master Brehm directly, rather than raise a formal incident, but...

Suddenly, you feel very ill. Excusing yourself with a murmur, you get up and slip out into the main temple. Letting the cool air wash over you, you lean back against the wall and take a deep breath. You're getting carried away, seeing conspiracies in every shadow – which, admittedly, is an easy mistake to make, given everything you've been through lately, but still.

-

Harriet and Valentina are talking quietly when you return to the private quarters, and the guilty look that flashes across Harriet's face tells you that it's not work they were talking about. “Don't mind me,” you tell them, sitting back down, “Just carry on, pretend I'm not here.”

“Oh shush!” Harriet replies, slapping you lightly on the arm, “We were just, um...”

“Don't worry about it,” you assure them both, “You said that Master Kauffmann had notes, was that right?”

Valentina's eyes widen again, the sudden change in topic taking her by surprise. “Er, yes,” she replies after a pause, “Or, um, he had notes. He burned some of them, and hid the rest. Even I don't know where he hid them!”

“Well, no matter,” you tell her, trying to hide your frustration, “What was the last thing you remember, before Kauffmann's disappearance?”

“Well... he was worried about the miners,” Valentina answers, “Master Kauffmann had been wanting to speak with one man in particular, but when he didn't show up to temple... well, Master Kauffmann panicked. He told me to stay and watch the temple, then hurried out. That was the last I time I saw him. You don't think...”

“We're not assuming anything right now,” Harriet assures her, reaching across to touch the woman's hand.

“I, um, I have some chores to attend to,” Valentina murmurs, her eyes dropping low, “The temple gets so dusty if I don't clean up, and... I'm sorry, but can we take a break?”

>Of course. We're finished here anyway
>I have questions before you go... (Write in)
>Other

>>5777369
>>I have questions before you go... (Write in)
Do you know who this man Kauffmann was? A name or physical description I can run by the miners?

>>5777383
This man Kauffman wanted to speak to was*

>>5777383
>>5777386
Supporting.

>>5777369
>Do you know who this man Kauffmann wanted to speak to was? A name or physical description I can run by the miners?

“Before you go, I just had something I wanted to ask you,” you tell Valentina, “Do you know who this man Master Kauffmann wanted to meet was? A name, even a physical description might help.”

“I don't know his name,” she replies, with an ugly frown flickering across her face for a fraction of a second. There's a frustration in her quick answer, perhaps even an anger. “I... assume he's from the mines,” she adds, her tone smoothing out, “He usually came to temple with the early shift, like the rest of the miners. But now that you mention it, I don't really know for certain. He didn't look much like the rest of them.”

“What do you mean?” Harriet asks, leaning a little forwards.

“He looked...” Valentina purses her lips, “Well, he looked like he might have noble blood, but aside from that... I don't know, he isn't very easy to remember. Um, he had a moustache?”

That narrows things down. Slightly. “I'll keep an eye out for him,” you sigh.

“If you do find him, find out who he is, would you tell me?” the assistant asks quickly, reaching out to grab your wrist, “I mean... if he knew Master Kauffmann, I'd like to speak with him. Just to see if... if...”

“I understand,” Harriet assures her, “We'll try and find this man of yours.”

-

Leaving Valentina to go about her duties, you sit back and look around the priest's private quarters. There's something bothering you, something that nags at your mind without ever revealing itself. “What do you think?” you ask Harriet quietly, putting aside your frustration, “What do you make of her?”

“She's nice, isn't she?” Harriet replies, “I hope things between her and Master Kauffmann work out okay. It's not forbidden, is it?”

“Is what forbidden?”

“For a priest to, you know...” she answers, her cheeks flushing a little, “Take a wife.”

“Not usually, no. But I feel like our good Master Kauffmann was far too busy to worry about things like that,” you tell her with a grim sigh, “Let's try and make sure he gets his chance to fix that, shall we?”

“Absolutely!” Harriet replies firmly, putting on her bravest face.

Turning away so she can't see your grimace, your eyes fall on one of the bookshelves. That's where you see it. Harriet starts to say something more, but you don't hear her – your attention is fixed on the neat rows of books, and one in particular. Laid out across one of the shelves is a six volume history, except something isn't right – one of the volumes is out of order, as if hurriedly pushed into place with no regard to proper ordering. Compared with the rest of the manically neat books, the error sticks out like a sore thumb.

Pulling out the misplaced book, you flick through the pages until a loose sheet of paper falls out. Picking up the loose page, you unfold it and squint down at the scribbled handwriting. It looks like... could this be some of Kauffmann's hidden notes?

[1]

>>5777429

“Most pleasing of all is a sacrifice by fire,” you read aloud, “Which all spirits will eagerly accept.”

“What's that?” Harriet asks, looking up from the cheap romance novel Valentina had been reading.

“I recognise this. It's a quote from the academy primers, I think,” you answer vaguely, glancing across at Harriet before going back to the note. It takes a moment to decipher Kauffmann's cramped handwriting, and even then you're not quite sure that you're reading it correctly. “Could it be the Sethian?” you continue to read, “They were known to seek truth in fire. But the spirits here are long gone. What would it take to call them back? Must take this information to B, and see what can be done.”

Harriet stares at you with dull, uncertain eyes. “So, um, what does any of that mean?” she asks you, “What's a Sethian?”

“I haven't got a clue,” you admit with a shrug, “I've never heard the term before. But whatever it is, Kauffmann seemed to think it might be here. And these spirits he writes about...”

“The fire spirits deep beneath the mountains!” Harriet finishes for you, “Ah, I think I get it now! This, um, Sethian wants to bring back the fire spirits, and they're going to do it by... by...”

But she can't bring herself to finish that thought aloud.

-

“A sacrifice by fire,” Master Brehm murmurs, stroking his moustache as he thinks. In the background, Persephone pulls books down from the bookshelves and searches them, quietly complaining to herself all the while. You're not sure if Kauffmann might have hidden away any other notes, but you have to check. So far, nothing.

“The note mentions something called a Sethian,” you mention, glancing at Master Brehm out of the corner of your eye, “Do you know what that is?”

“The Sethians were a banned group, I believe. Very minor, even in their prime. Dabbled in the forbidden arts, and were persecuted accordingly,” he answers vaguely, waving a hand in the air as if dismissing the whole subject, “But this was all a very long time ago. I highly doubt that there might be one of them left. More likely to be a degenerate scholar using their name for borrowed glory, such as it is.”

You recall Greyridge, then, and the necromancers you fought there. Even back then, they had been carrying out their rituals around a great bonfire. Were they seeking truth in fire too? Coincidence, or connection?

“Kauffmann wanted me to know about this,” Master Brehm murmurs, looking down at the note again, “He was taking this seriously, at least. Lucas, my boy, we'll have to set our doubts aside for now and work with what we've got. This man that the girl mentioned, I wonder what his connection is...”

You'll have to check if Clarissa and Johannes spotted anyone matching the description on their investigation. For now, all you can do is answer Master Brehm's question with a shrug.

[2]

>>5777482

Your search of Master Kauffmann's quarters turns up nothing else, no other hidden notes or secrets. It passes the time, at least, with Clarissa and Johannes only returning to the temple as you're cleaning up after your search. They both look tired and frustrated, with the scent of smoke clinging heavily to their clothes.

“This place is miserable,” Johannes begins, cutting straight through the pleasantries, “But we found some things.”

“Although I don't know how relevant they are,” Clarissa adds, “First of all, the mines – there are large sections of the mines that are off-limited, apparently due to a risk of collapse. Unstable ground, apparently. There's a suggestion that some of the missing miners may have gone down a wrong tunnel and vanished. I'm no expert, mind you, but the tunnels we saw seemed stable enough.”

“And there's a foundry that's been locked down. Unsafe machinery or something. Whatever. They have soldiers out front to keep people out, orders of the governor,” Johannes says, “Whole place gave me a bad feeling. The furnace was supposed to be out of order, but I could feel the heat coming out of the building. Soldiers just pretended nothing was wrong.”

“They're probably not getting paid enough to notice if anything is wrong,” Master Brehm laments, “Such is always the way with soldiers.”

“Something else,” Johannes growls, “We looked in the town records, on a hunch. MY hunch. Your governor, turns out that he's a very rich man – owns a manor, with a shitload of land by the capital. Found the deed of sale in the archives, simple as anything. Now, Clarissa here was telling me about the salary for a military governor...”

You can tell where this is going.

“He's corrupt, of course. He has to be, with that kind of money coming in,” Clarissa says glumly, “I assume he's diverting the steel production to be sold on the black market or, worst case scenario, he's sending it over the border. He'll hang, if that's the case, and good riddance too. But I don't see how any of this connects to our missing priest.”

“Did you see a man with a moustache at all?” you ask them, “Maybe at the mines, maybe somewhere else in town. Anywhere?”

“Quite a few beards, if that counts,” Clarissa offers with a shrug, “But no. No moustaches that I can think of. The trend hasn't reached this far yet, fortunately. Why do you ask?”

Quickly, or as quickly as possible, you explain what Valentina told you, and the note you found. The more you tell, the deeper Clarissa's frown grows. When your story is finished, she simply nods. Her face is calm, but you can sense the anger simmering away within her.

“Well then,” Harriet says quickly, “What now?”

>The trail seems to be pointing to the mines. That's where you'll go next
>This sealed foundry seems suspicious. You'll check there next
>Perhaps Bellerose can fill in some of the missing pieces here
>You've got an idea... (Write in)
>Other

>>5777510
>This sealed foundry seems suspicious. You'll check there next
Either they're burning people in molten ore as a sacrificial rite OR it's regular human corruption and we can at least root THAT out and/or use it as leverage over the governor so we can get more freedom and resources for our investigation.

>>5777510
>This sealed foundry seems suspicious. You'll check there next

“This sealed foundry seems suspicious,” you begin.

“Probably because it is,” Johannes interrupts, scowling hard at you as if blaming you for stating the obvious, “Are you suggesting we break the door down and start asking it questions?”

“Yes. Although perhaps not the latter part of that,” you insist, “Look, there's got to be something going on here – either they're using that foundry as part of their sacrifice by fire, or it's just common corruption. Either way, we're rooting out something bad. If it's “just” the latter, we'll get something we can use as leverage on the governor. Have you got any better ideas?”

“I'm very tired after rearranging all those books,” Persephone suggests, “Perhaps we could call it a day here and-”

“Shut it, you,” Clarissa snaps, pointing at the pale girl, “We've got a job to do, and it starts with this damn foundry.”

“I was afraid of that,” Persephone sighs, giving you a flamboyant shrug.

-

You attract more than a few stares as you march through the city streets, with your weapons and Exorcist credentials on show. Making an impression was Master Brehm's idea – to make sure that anyone who sees you is going to follow orders first, then think later. This brash approach isn't really your style, but you're trusting his experience on this one.

“You really think the governor might be corrupt?” you ask Clarissa quietly, slowing your pace to walk beside her, “Okay, stupid question. He probably is. What I mean is, do you really think he's involved with Kauffmann's disappearance?”

“It's a distinct possibility. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense,” she replies, her voice hushed and hard, “He has steel made in the sealed foundry, then ships it out across the border through the mine tunnels. He has them deemed unsafe to keep people away, and anyone who stumbles across the operation – Kauffmann included – gets disappeared.”

You consider this. It certainly fits, but...

“A lot of assumptions there,” you point out, “The tunnels, for example.”

“Of course. We don't know for certain if they emerge into Reivian territory, or even if they ARE used for smuggling. I'm not suggesting that I'm right about every detail, but it's a plausible scenario,” she replies, nodding along with you, “A plausible scenario... or a massive distraction. We're taking a gamble on this one, you know.”

“Yeah, well, we've taken worse gambles haven't we?” you tell her, smiling despite the grim memories. Clarissa manages to return your smile, although you wonder if her heart is really in it. “But no, I've got a good feeling about this. Well, a bad feeling really,” you continue, immediately correcting yourself, “You know what I mean.”

“I do, actually,” she assures you, a tiny hint of warmth entering her smile, “But only because I'm so damn smart.”

“Stop flirting back there!” Master Brehm calls out, “You're falling behind!”

[1]

>>5777558
Shut up, old man! You're gonna get Persephone mad at us!

>>5777558

“There's something else,” Clarissa says after a while, her voice tense once more, “Something I forgot to mention.”

“Well, I hope it wasn't anything important,” you mention, looking around at her. You're almost at the foundries now, and the air has grown thick with smoke and smog. Harriet is already struggling, coughing occasionally and rubbing at her eyes, even as the rest of you are struggling on. If it's this bad out here, in the open streets, you don't want to imagine what it feels like inside one of the factories.

“When we were looking around town earlier, we didn't see any hint of that search operation the governor mentioned,” she tells you, “Now, maybe they were all searching deeper down in the mines, or maybe...”

“Maybe, just maybe, the governor was full of shit,” you finish for her, “I'm leaning towards the latter option on this one.”

Clarissa grunts in agreement, but otherwise says nothing. Soon, you lose any interest in conversation as you draw near your target. Foundry six is sited deep in the mountains, practically hewn out of the rock itself, and almost as soon as you draw near it do you feel the heat that Johannes mentioned. It radiates from the sealed doors, the air itself smelling burnt and vile, yet the pair of soldiers standing outside the double doors seem oblivious to any discomfort.

“Halt!” the first soldier calls out, “You can't come in here, it's not safe!”

“Young man, we're here on academy business,” Master Brehm warns, “The authority of an Exorcist is absolute!”

“Your authority over matters of the spirit is absolute, yes,” the second soldier, a more educated looking man, points out, “But this is a matter of health and safety.”

The bickering continues for a moment more, but the words fade into an indistinct blur. In their place, you hear – or perhaps feel – something like a great, terrible heartbeat. It hits you like blows from a hammer, and you're certain that the source is inside. Persephone seems to feel it too, rubbing her temple as if warding off a migraine.

“Enough!” Clarissa snaps, breaking her silence with a sudden fury, “We know that this foundry is being used for treasonous purposes, for purposes contrary to the success of the nation. If you continue to bar our passage, then you will be assumed to share responsibility. I will have you dragged up in front of a tribunal and shot for this!”

The soldiers stop talking and both stare at her. “Lady, I don't know what you're talking about,” the first soldier says slowly, “There's no purposes going on in there, treasonous or otherwise. But if it'll get you to calm down and stop talking about shooting people, you can go right ahead. Door's locked anyway, and neither of us have a key.”

“Anything for a bit of peace and quiet,” the second soldier adds with a sigh, moving aside, “As if this job wasn't bad enough...”

[2]

>>5777595

The soldiers move aside, leaving you to cautiously approach the double doors. The doors are locked tight, just as they said, but you've got something better than a key. With a grunt, Johannes winds up and slams the doors with a mighty kick. They buckle but don't quite break, while one of the soldiers lets out a squawk of alarm. He falls silent soon enough at the sight of Clarissa's drawn gun, simply sitting aside in glum silence as Johannes splits the doors open with a second kick.

All is blackness inside foundry six, the daylight seeming to shy away from the interior of the towering building. Master Brehm gestures for you to follow as he carefully steps inside with his own revolver drawn. The nightmarish heartbeat continues to hammer away inside you skull, but you follow on despite the feeling of dread welling up within you.

A terrible rumble seems to shake the whole building as you step inside, with the double doors slamming shut behind you. Harriet leaps around and starts to tug madly at the doors, only to flinch away from the heated door handles with a cry of pain. It's getting hotter and hotter inside the foundry, the same suffocating heat from your dreams. But finally, after a few seconds that feel like an eternity, the darkness is broken. Fire flares into life, revealing the grossly misshapen furnace looming overhead.

Your first impression is, absurdly, that of a pregnant woman, her proportions grotesquely exaggerated. The swollen belly yawns wide like a pair of jaws to reveal the fire burning within, while spindly limbs reach out in all directions to grope blindly at the air. Superheated air belches from the misshapen furnace, pelting you with cinders and choking you with ash. Under such an assault, you can barely hold yourself upright let alone think about mustering a counter attack. The rest of your cohort are no different, buffeted by the air blasting from the furnace and wilting under the murderous heat.

Then you hear a hoarse cry of defiance, and Master Brehm drives his walking stick into the ground. Planting his cane like a flagpole, he struggles against it until he stands fully upright once more. Letting the cane fall, the old man sweeps his hands through the ancient motions of one of the Rites of Banishment – an advanced form, a potent form to battle the most powerful of spirits. Even as tongues of fire start to pluck at his sleeves and the tails of his coat, he draws out the mystical sigils and calls upon the Sun King's power. The gold symbols hang in the air, overlapping one another as they glyph forms and then-

And then it's all over, the golden light flashing bright enough to blind you all for a moment. When your vision returns, the spirit is gone and the furnace has returned to normal. You manage to stand upright, just as Master Brehm collapses in a crumpled heap.

[3/4]

>>5777633

Clarissa is the first to move, leaping over to Master Brehm and hastening to snuff the flames still clinging to his clothes. You're at his side next, helping to roll him over and looking down at his contorted face. Pain and exhaustion distort his features, but he's still breathing. Letting out your own sigh of relief as his eyes flutter open, you allow yourself to sit back.

“What... was that?” Clarissa gasps, “A spirit, of course. Was... was that the spirit of fire that Kauffmann was talking about?”

“One of them, perhaps. Bound to the physical vessel here, and...” Master Brehm pauses, coughs, “Lucas, my boy, don't look so concerned. This is nothing, nothing at all. I just need a moment to catch my breath. Do me a favour and give that wretched thing a closer look, would you?”

This is more than just nothing, of course, but you give him a curt nod and move to examine the furnace. It just looks like a normal furnace now, albeit large and still vaguely sinister in the darkness. Lighting your pocket lantern, you peer inside and look for any sign of... remains. The inside of the furnace is remarkably clean, with no mortal fire having burned here in a long while. As you're stepping back from the furnace, though, you spot a doorway in the rear of the room.

Moving closer, you realise that it's not a doorway at all – it's a tunnel carved into the rock, a spiral staircase leading down into the body of the mountain. Automatic fear drives you back, back to the rest of your cohort. “There's a way forwards back there,” you tell them, “It leads... I don't know. Down, maybe into the mines.”

“That's it. That must be it,” Clarissa hisses, readying her weapons, “We need to go now, before they notice something's wrong up here. Are you... Maxim! Where's your weapon?”

A sudden silence as you all turn to Harriet, the sudden attention causing her to squirm. “Um...” she mumbles, “I didn't bring one?”

“You didn't... What, did you think we were coming out here for a picnic? I can't believe this...” she mutters, drawing her spare revolver from her shoulder holster and offering it over, “Here, you can use this. But I want it back later!”

“...And I suppose you can use this too,” Persephone adds reluctantly, pulling out her dagger, “You put the sharp end in the bad people, is that clear?”

“I don't know about this...” Harriet murmurs, looking at the weapons with unease.

>I don't think we should go on ahead. This is too dangerous for us
>Take them, Harriet. You need some way to defend yourself down here
>Just head back to the temple, Harriet. Go back and wait with Valentina
>Other

>>5777645
>Just head back to the temple, Harriet. Go back and wait with Valentina
ZERO expectations

>>5777645
>Take them, Harriet. You need some way to defend yourself down here
I'll feel better having her with us. It's not like the mines are the only dangerous place.

>>5777645
>Take them, Harriet. You need some way to defend yourself down here

>>5777645
>Just head back to the temple, Harriet. Go back and wait with Valentina
She IS new at this, and gentle by nature.

>Quick update: It's getting late over here, so I'm not going to be able to get another post out tonight. As such, I'm going to leave things open for now and check back in the morning. Current plan will be to continue at the same rough time as today
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5777645
>Take them, Harriet. You need some way to defend yourself down here
We went loud, I expect Harriet to get stabbed if she goes back on her own.

>>5777701
Thanks for running it, QM!

>I'm going to close the vote here and start on writing the next update. Hoping to avoid any serious delays, so aiming to go live in about 2 1/2 hours

File: Harriet Maxim.jpg (195 KB, 932x2082)

195 KB JPG

A long silence draws out as Harriet gazes at the weapons offered out to her, as if she was the one staring down the barrel of the loaded gun. You can well understand her reluctance – it's just not in her nature to fight, to kill... but this too is part of being an Exorcist. If she truly wants to walk this path, her nature is going to have to change.

“Take them, Harriet,” you murmur, “You'll need some way to defend yourself down there.”

She looks up from the weapons and meets your eyes. In the space of that short glance, she seems to understand everything that you're thinking – understand, and accept it. Turning back, she first takes the dagger and then the revolver. “I can do this,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else, “I really can do this.”

“Well, this is certainly heart warming, but can we get on with it?” Persephone asks, rolling her eyes, “Because while I do like a little chat now and then, I prefer not to do it while standing atop a whole nest of troublemakers. How about we wipe them out first, and then we can think about patting ourselves on the back?”

Leaning heavily on his walking stick, Master Brehm nods. “While I wouldn't put it quite like that, she's unfortunately correct,” he announces, “We need to strike quickly, before the cult notices something's wrong. If they escape now, we might miss our chance to apprehend them.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Clarissa asks him quietly, lingering nearby as if waiting to swoop in at the first sign of weakness. Master Brehm just waves her question away, putting on a brave face and starting for the roughly hewn stairwell. Even at a glance, though, you can see the signs of weakness in each sluggish step he takes.

Harriet toys with the revolver as she follows along with the rest of the cohort, although you're glad to see that she has enough sense to keep it pointed at the floor. “It's a double action,” you murmur to her, gesturing at the gun, “You know how that works?”

“Just pull the trigger and hope for the best,” she answers with a nervous smile, “Is that it?”

“Close enough. Just point and pull,” you assure her. You don't have very high hopes for her accuracy, but the little snub-nosed revolver was never made with that in mind. A tool of desperation, made for hasty shots in close quarters. The perfect weapon for these stifling tunnels.

Clarissa takes the lead, moving with the natural confidence of a predator, and the silence returns as you stalk down the stairs. The further down you go, the more dizzying your descent seems. Just how far down do these stairs go?

It feels like a long time before you hear something other than the rasp and scrape of your footsteps. Somewhere below you, not too far below, you hear the faint murmurs of human life. There's a smell too, a faint foulness that brings a grimace to your face.

[1/3]

>>5778464

“We're clear,” Clarissa whispers from ahead, leading the last of the way until the stairwell opens up into a craggy cavern. A dim lantern burns in one corner, but even this small light seems like a blazing sun after the gloom of the stairwell. Even before your eyes have fully adjusted to the light, you can see the bars of makeshift jail cells and the desperate faces peering out from within. They gaze out with wide eyes, and you hastily gesture for them to stay silent. Another tunnel winds away, deeper still into the caverns, and you have little doubt that just a raised voice would be enough to spell disaster.

Looking around, you spot a ring of iron keys hanging from a hook on the other side of the cavern. Thanking the cult, or whoever it is, for their unexpected generosity, you take the keys and move to open the main cell. Before you can, though, Master Brehm snatches the keys from your hand and limps over to a smaller cell. There, you spot just a single occupant – a man lying prone, curled up with his back towards you.

“Just hold on, Max. Hold on a little longer...” Master Brehm murmurs, fumbling with the keys as he tries each one in turn. You start to move forwards as Master Brehm struggles with the lock, but Clarissa grabs your arm to stop you. She shakes her head, a grimace on her face, and that's when you recognise the foul scent as the first flourishes of decaying flesh.

With a grating click, the lock finally opens. A terrible creak of rusting metal rings out as Master Brehm hauls the door open, the sound causing you to flinch in alarm. Heedless of the noise he's making, the old man drops to his knees and reaches out to the prone figure, still murmuring the vague promise of help. Then his words are cut off, replaced by a strangled cry as he lurches back from the body.

A craven instinct, perhaps, but you're suddenly very glad that Master Brehm's broad shoulders are hiding the body from sight.

Slowly, with trembling hands, Master Brehm strips off his long coat and drapes it over the body like a funeral shroud. Then, steadying himself, he turns and passes the keys back to you. “Help the others,” he whispers, his voice rasping against a raw throat, “I...”

“I'll handle it,” you assure him, leaving Clarissa to help ease him down to sit on the cold, clammy stone. The prisoners shy back as you approach their cage, waiting with mingled hope and horror as you unlock the door. There's no mad dash for freedom as you open the cage door, almost no movement at all. It's as if they can't believe that any of this is real.

“Come on now!” Harriet calls out to them, forcing a note of impossible cheer into her voice, “You're all safe now!”

Not all of them, you think grimly to yourself. Not nearly all of them.

[2/3]

>>5778466

You examine the prisoners in a little more details, automatically searching for any hint of Valentina's moustached man but with no success. Most of the prisoners are miners or labourers, judging by their rough appearance, but there are a few women mixed in with the group. No one unifying feature, save for their obvious fear.

“I need your help,” you begin, your voice pitched low, “Can you tell me who took you here?”

“I don't know who they were. They jumped me while I was in the tunnels, and I woke up here,” one of the miners answered, with a number of the other men nodding along. “It was just a few of us at first, but they kept bringing more and more of us down here. They never tried to hurt us, except for...” he pauses, nodding over to the opposite cell, “Except for Master Kauffmann, the poor bastard. I don't know what they were doing to him, but what I heard...”

“Hush!” one of the other men hisses, glancing across at one of the women. Just the mention of Kauffmann's name was enough to get her shivering in fear, clutching herself as if deathly ill.

“Focus now,” you warn them, “Do you know how many of them there are?”

The men think amongst themselves for a moment. “Perhaps eight men,” one suggests, with the others nodding along again, “Eight men and... and their leader.”

Nodding your thanks, you go back to the others. “Looks like we've got eight, perhaps nine men here,” you explain, “No clue how well armed they are. We could pull out, perhaps get some of the soldiers down here as reinforcements...”

“And risk losing the initiative,” Clarissa warns, “In the time it'll take to convince the governor to do anything, the cult will have ample time to get away. We need to strike NOW, before they have a chance to flee.”

“Eight men... with the element of surprise, I think we could take them,” Persephone muses, giving Johannes a curious look. He shrugs, perhaps nods slightly. You all look around to Master Brehm, but he doesn't say anything. He seems lost in his own thoughts, only jolting up in surprise when you touch his shoulder.

“Master Brehm. Sir,” Clarissa asks him, a faint impatience lingering at the furthest threshold of her voice, “What are your orders?”

“My orders...” he repeats slowly, struggling to his feet, “They need to be punished for what they've done. Yes, we need to make them pay for this...”

The frown on Clarissa's face only deepens at this sorry display. In the silence that follows, you see eyes turning your way as if searching for orders. Even Clarissa seems to wait for what you have to say

>We need to focus on getting these people to safety and calling in reinforcements
>We need to strike now, and make these bastards pay
>We should split up. Master Brehm, you should go back and raise the alarm
>I've got a plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>5778468
>Master Brehm you’re in no shape for this, nor is Harriet. Find a man named Bellerose in the barracks. Tell him the Governor is aiding these cultists and sound the alarm. We will try to handle this.

>>5778468
support >>5778472
There's also not much more need to go silently, so Persephone can take the stragglers while we can nuke the tunnels into a cave-in if necessary.

“Master Brehm, listen to me,” you begin, turning to the old man. If the others are waiting for you to take charge, then you're damn well going to take charge. “You're in no shape for this. I'm sorry, but you're really not,” you continue, looking the old man in the eye, “Take Harriet, and head back to the surface with the prisoners. When you get back, I want you to head to the army barracks.”

“The barracks?” Harriet asks in a whisper, “Not the governor?”

“We can't trust him,” you insist, “Go to the barracks, ask for a man called Bellerose. Tell him what's going on here, tell him that I sent you. We'll try to handle things here, but you need to sound the alarm. Is that clear?”

“Um, I think so,” she replies, looking down at her weapons, “What do you want me to do with these?”

“Keep them, just in case any of these bastards are skulking around the city itself. Better safe than sorry,” you order, “Now go, hurry!”

With a firm nod, and a decisiveness that you wish you felt, Harriet takes Master Brehm by the hand and starts to lead him back towards the stairs. The prisoners follow behind her, one of the stronger men offering his shoulder to the old man. You linger for just a moment more, just long enough to see them vanish up the spiralling stairwell.

When the last of the prisoners has vanished from sight, you gesture for the rest of the cohort to follow and creep down the next branch of the tunnels.

-

Sneaking through the tunnels, you soon hear more sounds from up ahead. Not a frightened murmur now, but the sound of voices joined together in a low chant. The words are unrecognisable, curt and ugly sounds ripped from a more ancient age, but the evil power behind them is unmistakable. Clinging close to the wall as the tunnel widens out, you see a glow of light burning from around the next corner.

With the utmost caution, you tentatively peer around the corner and gaze into the hollow beyond. Kneeling with their backs facing you, you spot the men that you were warned about – not just the common cultists, but a much larger figure at the head of the pack. Even with a fleeting glimpse in the gloomy cavern, you can tell that the leader is something abnormal. His body is all muscle and sinew, rippling with scar tissue and smeared with red clay to give the appearance of a flayed corpse, while his head is encased in a mask of dull metal. There's something else too, something about him that-

Suddenly, the chanting comes to an abrupt halt. The silence that follows is almost deafening, broken only by the leader's heavy breathing. He breathes like a wounded animal, his massive shoulders heaving with each pained breath.

“You are not the one I wanted to see,” the cultist announces suddenly, in a voice both deep and oddly hollow, “So be it. Come out. Face me.”

[1]

>>5778498

Before you've even realised what you're doing, you find yourself stepping out from the relative shelter of the tunnel. The cultists turn to face you, scowling and snarling at you but making no move to attack. They're a motley lot, some with forester tattoos on their face and some unmarked, but they all share a loathsome air of evil. Their leader slowly stands, looming head and shoulder over the rest of them, but he doesn't turn.

“Ah. The old man sends his dogs. Excellent,” the monstrous cultist rumbles, “This is as it should be. I will leave your bodies here for him to find, and his suffering will be all the greater. Excellent.”

“You're the Sethian,” you reply, finding your voice, “Kauffmann wrote of you. He called us here to destroy you.”

“And yet he is dead, and I am not. I will never die,” he answers simply, almost calmly. With that boast, he finally turns to look you in the eye. At first you almost think you're seeing his face, but then a thrill of revulsion ripples through you as you realise what you're looking at – it's not HIS face that's stretched out across the impassive metal mask.

At his unspoken command, the cultists lunge forwards in attack. Gunshots immediately ring out as you fire into the swarming bodies, but then they're on you. Your first shot strikes one of the barbaric cultists in the chest and drops him in an instant, but your second shot goes wide with the attacker falling upon you before you have time for a third. Turning his knife aside with your sword, you grasp the blade in both hands before driving its tip through the man's flesh. A glimpse of red flashes in the corner of your eye as you're pulling your blade free, and you automatically lash out in attack.

The Sethian catches your sword mid-strike, sparks flying as the blade grinds against his metal gauntlets. With an almost contemptuous ease, he holds back your attack and stares down at you. His eyes, peering out through the ravaged flesh of Kauffmann's face, stare unblinkingly at you.

“You are the one that Orfeas speaks of,” he remarks, “Even now, his anger still burns hot. Your treachery was magnificent, worthy of the Sun King himself.”

Gritting your teeth and shrugging off his mockery, you dig deep within yourself and search for your guardian spirit's killing fire. It rises up to answer your call, the old familiar heat building up within your heart. The first motes of pale fire start to build around you, little wisps of flame drifting through the air, and-

And that's when the Sethian jerks his arm around in a sudden twist, snapping your sword in half with an inhuman strength and throwing you to the ground. Crying out in shock, you lunch for your fallen revolver only for the giant's heavy foot to come crashing down on your grasping fingers. Your world goes white with pain, your mind wiped blank in an instant.

[2]

>>5778513

A heavy hand falls on you as the Sethian seizes you by the scruff of your neck and hauls you upright. Again, he stares at you for a long moment as the skirmish rages on around you. His men fight like wild beasts, howling and screaming as they struggle and die, but the giant himself remains utterly impassive.

“When you die, know that your leaders have failed you,” the Sethian says simply, drawing back his other hand as if preparing to drive it through your chest. Before he can strike the killing blow, however, the whole cave is suddenly blanketed in an unnatural darkness. The world shrinks down until it's just you and the monstrous cultist, with even the sounds of the battle fading out. The Sethian looks around him in mild curiosity, regarding the darkness with a kind of amusement before looking back to you.

Leaping from the darkness, Clarissa brings her sword down in a massive sweep across the Sethian's back. The force of the blow is enough to stagger the monstrous cultist, and he drops you heavily to the ground. Before he can fully recover, a gunshot rings out and snaps his head back, more sparks flying as the bullet finds its mark and obliterates the vile mask of flesh. The cultist reels, and you don't let the opening go to waste. Seizing the broken remnants of your sword, you lunge forwards and drive the jagged blade through the Sethian's chest.

There's almost no blood at all, but the monstrous cultist collapses nonetheless. He falls, and the darkness surrounding you all blinks out of existence. Gasping for breath, you look around at the newly revealed cavern. The rest of the cultists have fallen, some dead and some dying, while your cohort stares on. Persephone is the first one to move, rushing over to you before halting, forcing herself to keep a suitably aloof distance.

“You know, those swords aren't free,” Persephone remarks, giving you a wry smile as she picks up your revolver and offers it across, “I hope you think about that, next time you try-”

But before she can finish that sentence, Clarissa lets out a cry of alarm. You jolt around just in time to see the Sethian rise to his feet. His back is split open, the wound deep enough that you can see the white of bone, and the broken length of blade still juts from his chest, but still he rises. You raise your gun, but can't bring yourself to pull the trigger. What good would it do, when so many other wounds have done nothing to him?

[3/4]

>>5778530

“I see. I understand now,” the Sethian rumbles, cocking his head as if listening to something only he can hear, “Yes, of course. Without delay.”

Even before he's finished speaking, the air around him starts to twist and contort as if writhing in pain. Your senses cry out in pain as the Sethian calls upon what must surely be a guardian spirit of his own. Your own spirit rises up in response, but his is faster. Your inner eye is forced open by the unclean forces at his command as the Sethian summons his spirit, the vicious form of a vast centipede forming in the air behind him before lunging forwards with its horrible shearing jaws. It scythes through the air, slashing a wound of pure blackness in the fabric of reality before vanishing.

Spreading his arms wide, the Sethian lets himself fall backwards through the blackness, vanishing as if swallowed up by it. With a wordless cry of frustration, you lunge forwards and reach out for him, your fingers grazing against the surface of the blackness before you snatch your hand back in alarm. But then, as if possessed by the spirit of madness itself, an idea stabs into your mind.

>Pursue the Sethian through the gateway
>Stay where you are. Following him would be madness
>Other

>>5778532
>Stay where you are. Following him would be madness
Bad idea. We don't know where it'll go and we might be cut off with no easy way to get back

>>5778532
>Unleash your flames straight into the gateway
>Throw any pots of fuel you've got on hand too
Let's at least give them a warm butt wherever he went

>>5778536
Alright tossing a fireball in there as a final fuck you does sound fun.

>>5778532
I can back the fire parting shot

You stare into the void for a second more, your anger growing stronger as your guardian spirit, already roused and furious, boils within your heart. With no idea where the portal might lead, what might be waiting you upon the other side, there's no sane reason to jump through it. But while you've got the opportunity ahead of you.

Unleashing your spirit with a thin cry, you look deep into the void and will it to burn... and burn it does. Even the darkness is banished for a split second, the pale light of your flames revealing the gnarled shapes of tall and ancient trees before the gateway closes up as if it had never been there at all. Then, and only then, do you allow your legs to buckle under you. Collapsing down to your knees, you let out a long gasp of fatigue. For what seems like a very long time nobody says anything, but the silence can't last.

“Seven,” Clarissa mutters to herself, stalking around the cavern like an embittered hunter, “I count seven bodies.”

“Oh, who cares?” Persephone protests, “Let the little bastard run, it won't help him at all. He won't get far before-”

“Did anyone lose something?” a cocky voice calls out from down the tunnels. A moment later, the speaker appears with the last of the cultists dragged behind him. More soldiers follow, one of them roughly taking hold of their prisoner before the lead soldier saunters over to you. He's a handsome man, with jet black hair and a matching moustache, while his insignia mark him out as an officer from the first army. “Captain Bellerose, at your service,” he adds, “Although it looks like we missed all the fun.”

-

With the practised motions of true professionals, the soldiers go to work gathering up the dead bodies and moving them aside for transport. Captain Bellerose watches them work with a vague pride, occasionally glancing aside at you. He doesn't want to say too much, not with the rest of the cohort around – this secrecy again, as annoying as always.

“We've got the governor under house arrest right now. Mind you, that's not much of a punishment when you've got a house like his,” Bellerose remarks, “We're going through his papers, seeing exactly what he was getting up to. In truth, we've had our eye on him for a good long time. You, my friend, gave us the excuse that we've all been waiting for.”

“You've been watching him,” Clarissa snaps, “And you did nothing?”

“Orders are orders,” the officer replies, giving her a languid shrug, “If we don't have permission to act, we don't act. That's how things work in the real world, outside that academy of yours. Bloody miserable, isn't it?”

“Forget it,” you tell Clarissa, giving her a warning look, “What about the prisoner?”

“Oh, we'll take good care of him. We've got people who're very eager to have a little word with the boy,” Bellerose assures you, a faint hint of nastiness glinting in his eyes, “You know how this all works by now, I'm sure.”

[1]

>>5778558
>gnarled shapes of tall and ancient trees
so it's not within the city, and that's one more flag for Burninate the Forest Lucas

>>5778558

Bellerose offers you a draught of some vile soldier's potion, the drink both dulling the pain in your fingers and bringing new energy to your weary body. Now that you don't need to worry about passing out, at least for a few hours, you start the long walk back to the surface. Bellerose walks with you, leading you ahead of the others and lowering his voice.

“You took a risk, coming down here like this,” he warns, “Could've gone much worse for you. Could've ended up like our friend Kauffmann there.”

“You're the man he was looking for,” you mutter, looking at Bellerose's face, and the aristocratic cast of his features, “Right?”

“I suppose I am,” the soldier answers, stroking his moustache, “I don't spend my whole life in uniform, you know. We knew that there was something going on with the miners, but we weren't getting anywhere ourselves. But the local priest, a pillar of the community... Well, he might get answers that a soldier couldn't. He has his own research, whatever THAT means, so it suited us both. Well, up until the point that he ended up dead and dissected.”

“This doesn't make sense...” you mutter, thinking back to what Valentina said, “Kauffmann was getting paranoid, he was worried about his letters being intercepted. I thought you people-”

“Why would we be reading his letters?” Bellerose asks with a shrug, “Who told you that? Yes, we warned him not to write down anything, you know, sensitive. But if he was worried about his letters, it wasn't us he was worried about.”

“It was Kauffmann's assistant, Valentina. She said...” you begin, only to sigh and shake your head, “Forget it.”

“Ah, Valentina. Charming woman, really. I always hoped we could spend a little personal time together when this was over. Not much chance of that now, I'd wager,” the soldier laments, “We all have our vices, my friend, and blondes are mine.”

You stop dead in your tracks, staring at Bellerose in surprise. “What?” you ask him, thinking back to the priest's assistant and her mop of messy, very much brown hair. A terrible suspicion starts to sink into your mind, vague fears forming into shape. Maybe you're wrong, maybe there's some kind of mistake here, but... you're not going to risk it.

Leaving Bellerose to stare in confusion you turn and sprint up the spiral stairs, silently thanking the soldier for his medicine and the strength it offered.

-

A deathly silence hangs over the temple when you finally arrive back, the air burning in your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath. Forcing one last burst of movement from your aching legs, you cross the long span of the temple to arrive at the priest's private quarters. All is quiet and still, with the door just barely ajar. Fearing the worst, fearing what you might see on the other side, you push the door open and gaze inside.

[2/3]

>>5778601

Your eye is immediately drawn to the white sheet in the centre of the room, and the ghoulishly suggestive shape hidden beneath it. The sheet is marred with red, the blotchy stains still bright and fresh. On one side of the room, Master Brehm sits on the bed and rubs at his forehead as if desperately trying to ward away a migraine. On the other side of the room, Harriet sits with her back to the wall, staring blindly into empty space.

“Harriet?” you ask quietly, reaching out but not quite daring to touch her. Her blouse is stained, as are her hands. You don't see the dagger anywhere, but you don't need to. You know exactly what happened here. “Harriet, are you hurt?” you continue, finally working up the courage to put a hand on her shoulder, “Are you-”

The mere hint of contact causes her to jolt around in alarm, her eyes going wide before she recognises you. “I don't... I don't know what happened,” she insists, “She just... attacked him. She had a knife, I think she got it from the kitchen maybe, and she just... oh, I don't know.”

“You did what you had to do,” you assure her, “Are you hurt?”

“No no, I'm... fine,” Harriet replies, shaking her head. You offer her your hand, and she awkwardly lifts herself to her feet. Then, as if this simple effort was too much for her, she claps a hand over her mouth and runs from the room. You start to follow after her, but she's already vanished into the guest rooms by the time you've made it out of the priest's quarters. Staring at the closed door for a moment, you let out a sigh and leave her be. Trudging back towards the entrance, you sit heavily down on one of the benches to try and gather your thoughts.

You're not sure how long you sit there. Long enough for the others to arrive, staring around the temple in confusion. Clarissa crosses straight over, sitting beside you on the bench and watching the others. “This was personal,” she says at last, “This was about Master Brehm. That monster knew him. Didn't you notice?”

“Maybe,” you reply vaguely, “So what?”

“So, HOW did he know Master Brehm? WHY is this personal?” she continues, “We need to talk with him. We need to ask him some questions. And he needs to give us some damn answers.”

>Forget it. Right now, I just want to get some rest
>You're right. We need to know what's going on here
>It can wait. I need to see how Harriet's doing
>Other

>>5778617
>You're right. We need to know what's going on here

>>5778617
>You're right. We need to know what's going on here

>>5778617
>You're right. We need to know what's going on here
>Ask Persephone if she can check up on Harriet after explaining what happened.
Ironically despite her being a menace sometimes, she might be the best of our friends to chat with Harriet compared to how stone faced Johannes and Clarissa can be.

>>5778617
>It can wait. Master Brehm might damn well be delirious at this point, and it's Bellerose's job to deal with this anyway.
>Let's square off who is involved in what first. This looks like mostly Forester work to me, which means we're looking at a fight on two fronts. We might even be in the middle of it, if the Revian's choose now to attack.

>>5778633
Supporting the Persephone-related add-on, as well

>>5778632
>>5778617

>>5778639
I think it's too early to make that assumption about the Foresters just from seeing the trees. Certainly suspicious, but it there is a lot of ways to explain it away and I think we need to know more about the Foresters state of affairs in general.

“You're right,” you sigh, giving her a nod, “We need to know what's really going on here. I just hope I can get some answers out of him. He seems damn near delirious right now. Can't say that I blame him, with everything that's happened here.”

“Maybe so, but we might not have the luxury of waiting for him to recover. This isn't just some petty band of degenerates, you know that. This is serious. This is BIG,” Clarissa insists, “Some of those men...”

“I know. They were foresters. And when their leader got away, I saw trees through that... gateway thing. Old trees, ancient ones. Not your normal kind of tree,” you agree, “If it really comes back to them, we've got a serious danger on our hands. They talk about a threat to the interior, but... I don't know, this is a mess.”

Clarissa nods, a grimace on her face. “He'll talk to you,” she suggests, “You always were the favourite.”

“I'll see what I can do,” you decide with a sigh, “But I've got something I need to take care of first. It won't take long... I hope.”

With that, you get up and wander across the length of the temple until you find Persephone leaning casually against one of the long columns. She glances away as you arrive, pretending that she hadn't just been watching you from afar. “I've got a favour I need to ask you,” you begin, cutting straight to the point, “I need you to check in on Harriet for me. She's had a... problem.”

“Oh, she's had a problem?” Persephone repeats, raising an eyebrow, “And the rest of us, things have been doing just brilliantly for us?”

“I'm serious. She was attacked. Valentina... that woman, the one calling herself Valentina, I think she was with the cult. She attacked Harriet and Master Brehm, but Harriet...” you let your words trail off here, giving her a shrug, “She's pretty shaken up by it. I'd like you to check in on her.”

“You want ME to play nice and give her a shoulder to cry on?” Persephone asks in disbelief, only to study your face for a second and nod, “...Very well then, I'll see what I can do. But only as an extra special favour to you, you understand. I wouldn't do this for just anyone.”

“Of course. I know that,” you tell her, “And I appreciate it. I really do.”

With a sly smile, Persephone waves away your thanks and heads off towards the guest rooms. Leaving her to get on with business, you steady your nerves as best as possible and return to the priest's quarters. The body is still there when you arrive, thankfully, but Master Brehm seems to have roused himself somewhat. He paces the small room restlessly, almost circling around the cadaver, only to pause and give you a curiously guilty look when he hears you enter.

“Lucas,” he begins, his voice hoarse, “Lucas, my boy. I'm glad to see that you're safe. I feared the worst, and then... Well, you can see what happened here.”

[1]

>>5778674

“It's over. At least for now,” you tell Master Brehm, gesturing for him to sit. He does so, leaving you to awkwardly shuffle chairs so that you can sit together, without holding your conversation over a dead body. “We broke up the cult, took out most of the members. One prisoner, but I don't think we'll have a chance to do much with him. He's... out of our hands now,” you continue, “Their leader got away.”

“Their leader...” Master Brehm pauses, clears his throat, “Describe him for me. Please.”

“Very tall, very powerful. Most of his body was scarred, like he was burned,” you explain, “He had a mask, made from metal. It covered his face, everything except his eyes. There was a guardian spirit too, in the shape of a centipede. Not exactly subtle, is it?”

Your attempt at a joke goes unanswered, a silence falling between you as Master Brehm looks away and stares into space.

“He was the Sethian,” you add, the name causing the old man to flinch, “It seemed like he was expecting to see you. He wanted...”

“What?” Master Brehm asks quietly, his voice softening, “What did he want?”

“He wanted us to die,” you answer simply, forcing yourself to meet Master Brehm's eyes, “He wanted us to die, so you would suffer. This was personal for him. He knew you, maybe that's why he went after Kauffmann... and it might tell us what he'll try next. Now I've told you everything that I know about him – how about YOU tell ME what you know?”

Master Brehm is silent for a long time, pondering his next words with agonising care. “Years back, when I was still Kauffmann's instructor, we were tasked with investigating a suspected cell of necromancers. Or, at the very least, men who were dabbling in the forbidden arts. They called themselves Sethians, though I wonder if they truly knew what that mean. We... destroyed them,” he says eventually, each word laboured, “We cornered them in a small village, the deserted hamlet they were using as a base. There was a fight, and the buildings caught fire in the confusion. The Sethians burned, every last one of them.”

“Not this one,” you murmur to yourself, “This one survived. This one won't die.”

“Impossible. We checked through the ruins. There were no survivors,” the old man insists, shaking his head, “It's not possible...”

He can deny it all he likes, but it won't change anything. “This old cohort,” you try next, letting the matter drop for now, “You should try and get in touch with them, warn them to be careful. If the Sethian went after Kauffmann, he might go after the other members of the cohort too.”

“I'll have to write some letters,” he murmurs, “Now that Kauffmann's gone, there won't be many left...”

Another silence. There's a part of you that wants to ask the foolish question, to ask if he's okay, but you can't quite bring yourself to speak it aloud. Instead, you reach across and slap him lightly on the shoulder.

[2]

>>5778708

“I worry,” Master Brehm says, almost to himself, as you're getting up to leave. You pause at the doorway, looking around to him. “They say that Sheol's machine cleanses the soul, to ensure that we don't pass our sins to the next generation. But what about the deeds we do in life?” he muses, “Like throwing a stone into a pond, they ripple out across time and generations. Ah, and it's the young men like you who're left to bear the burden!”

“Master?” you ask, you gaze silently imploring him to speak.

“No matter. Ignore me, I was just thinking aloud,” he insists, “One of the many perils of getting old, I'm afraid.”

And he manages, rather heroically, to summon up one of his familiar smiles. Just like old times.

-

Leaving Master Brehm to think, and perhaps to get some rest, you return to the main temple and spot Johannes looking up at the great icon. He's even more quiet than normal, retreating into himself for good or for ill. You join him, studying the statue in silence. It's a classic work, depicting Lord Adhra as both stern and benevolent. Something to impress the children, really.

“Good shot, wasn't it?” Johannes says at last, without even looking around at you.

“That was you?” you ask, recalling the gunshot ringing out in the cavern, ringing out and knocking the Sethian reeling, “That WAS a good shot.”

“Thank you,” he rumbles, pausing for a long moment before adding, “Didn't help much, though. Didn't change anything.”

“We drove him away. Chased him off,” you point out, “That's better than nothing, isn't it?”

“Better than being killed,” Johannes agrees, with a grave nod, “Getting real sick of showing up just in time to clean up the mess, honestly. When I joined the academy, they made it sound like we'd be making the world a better place. Real thing isn't quite what I'd been expecting.”

You say nothing to this. What CAN you say to this?

“It's fine. We're done here. Get some rest, then head back to the academy in the morning,” he continues with a grunt, “Then repeat the whole damn process. Whatever. At least we're getting paid a good wage.”

“Not THAT good.”

“I was trying to be optimistic, actually,” Johannes mutters, finally turning to give you a dirty look, “I'll know better next time.”

>I think I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be aiming to continue this tomorrow, potentially on Monday as well if scheduling allows it
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5778736
Thanks for running! Managed to get in some phone votes today

>>5778736
Good session, QM!

We should really check in on Johannes properly sometime soon, or get him something to distract him. He's getting grouchy and distant. Classic signs of male depression.

>>5778736
Thanks for running!

File: Persephone Cross.jpg (900 KB, 1650x2068)

900 KB JPG

Night finds you taking shelter in the temple, spread out in separate little groups. You rest in the main temple hall with Clarissa and Johannes, huddled together beneath the statue's stern gaze like children seeking protection. Officially, Master Brehm is busy sorting through Master Kauffmann's quarters and getting the priest's affairs in order, but you know that he's really just seeking solitude. Harriet, too, has chosen to seclude herself away in the guest rooms with only Persephone for company.

Clarissa is the first one to dare break the silence. “What did he say?” she asks with a nod towards the priest's quarters. Then, with a wince, she adds as an afterthought, “And how's he doing?”

“Better than before, but still not good. This whole affair has hit him hard, even worse than...” you pause here and let your words trail off, unwilling to say Nicholas' name aloud. “He mentioned an old investigation, when he was Kauffmann's instructor. They broke up a cult calling themselves Sethians, but it got out of hand,” you add, “They all burned.”

“If it was an official investigation, there should be a record of the case filed away. When we head back to the academy, I'll see if I can dig it out,” Clarissa decides, nodding to herself. Before she can say anything else, though, you hear the clunk of a door opening. Emerging from the bedrooms, Persephone wanders over to join you.

“How's Harriet doing?” you ask, shifting aside so Persephone has room to sit in the vague circle you've formed.

“Well, she's not exactly all sweetness and light but I'd say we're making progress,” Persephone replies, with carefully feigned indifference, “And while I'm certainly glad to see that my dagger is getting some use, she managed to chip the blade – goodness knows how!”

“One of these days, someone's going to take what you say seriously and punch you in the nose,” Johannes warns, only for Persephone to wave away his words with a laugh. Lapsing back into his sullen silence, Johannes looks up at the statue of Lord Adhra for a long moment. He gazes up as if seeking answers, or perhaps pleading for guidance. He seems on the verge of saying something more, but never quite gives voice to his thoughts. Then, softer than before, you hear the rattle of the door once more.

With a blanket draped over her shoulders like a shawl, Harriet shuffles out from the bedrooms and moves to join you just as Persephone did before her. You all move to make room for her, although it seems more like flinching away from a plague victim. She doesn't seem to notice, at least – her eyes are red and raw, yet her face has the perfect stillness of a doll.

“Don't mind me,” she murmurs, “What were you saying just then?”

“We weren't saying anything at all, actually,” Persephone replies with an aloof shrug, “Which, I'm told, is often the best thing I can do.”

[1]

>>5779772

The stifling silence returns once more, as you search for something suitably harmless to discuss and come up empty-handed. But Harriet, to your surprise, makes the decision for you. “I think I'm going to write a letter to father,” she decides aloud, “He never wanted me to come to the academy, and now I think I realise why. But I've made my decision. I can't go back now.”

“That's... good,” you tell her, although you can't quite bring yourself to believe it yourself.

“Perhaps he'll simply throw the letter away. Perhaps not,” she continues, allowing herself the tiniest shrug, “It doesn't matter. I'll do what I can. Beyond that, it's out of my control.”

“I wonder how father is doing,” Clarissa adds, “I should write out to him as well, I've just been so busy lately...”

“You should make the time,” Harriet urges, an oddly insistent light glinting in her eyes as she looks around to Johannes, “You too! If you don't make the time now, you'll only regret it later. Write to them, even if it's just to tell them... to tell them that you're still here.”

Taken aback by her desperate words, Johannes is speechless for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I should do that,” he admits, “I promised my family that I would stay in touch when we said goodbye. They looked so proud of me then...”

Glancing aside, you meet Persephone's eyes and cover up a grimace. All this talk of family is a bitter subject for you both. She doesn't even try to cover up her expression, rather twisting her face into a grotesque parody of disgust before giggling softly to herself. As the others continue to reminisce, she entwines her fingers with yours and moves to guide you away. But you hesitate, then, caught between the opposing forces.

>Slink away with Persephone. This isn't a conversation for people like you
>Stay, even if it means enduring the flurry of nostalgia. Harriet needs you here
>Pleasantries are a luxury for another time. Master Brehm shouldn't be alone now
>Other

>>5779774
>Slink away with Persephone. This isn't a conversation for people like you

>>5779774
>Slink away with Persephone. This isn't a conversation for people like you
Persephone did us a solid. let's return the favour. Besides, Harriet's not alone -- she has Clarissa and Johannes there.

>>5779774
>Stay

This isn't a conversation for people like you. That much is clear from the fact that the others don't notice you slinking away with Persephone. You pause only once, and that's to glance back at the sound of Harriet's laughter. You can't possibly imagine what she must have heard, to get her laughing again at a time like this, but you're glad for her. She's making progress, just as Persephone said.

Persephone leads you into the bedrooms, easing the door shut behind her with care to avoid any noise. You grimace in pain as she lets go of your injured hand, a dull ache spreading up from your fingers. “Ah, your poor hand!” Persephone gasps, gently taking it and peering at the blackish bruises spreading across your fingers. “I hope nothing's broken,” she adds, giving you a perverse smile, “Or then you won't be able to hold a sword, and you'll be no use to us at all!”

“Remember what Johannes said?” you point out, “Because if I thought you were being serious just then...”

“Oh, don't threaten me with a good time,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out at you before turning to flounce away, all but throwing herself down on one of the beds. “I really had to get away from all that sentimental garbage. I knew you'd feel the same way,” the pale girl muses, reaching down to pull her riding boots off, “Isn't it inconsiderate of them, having a conversation that I'm not interested in?”

“Unforgivable really,” you agree, offering her a weary smile before a thought strikes you, “I wonder what's worse... You lost your family, but I never really knew them.”

“Are we making this a competition now?” she replies, gentle mockery in her voice, “Because I assure you, I'll win.”

You just answer this with a shrug, waiting patiently for her to take the question seriously. It takes a while as she thinks it over, but you don't mind. You've got time.

“The way I see it, I haven't really “lost” them. They're just no longer in this world. One day, I'll find a way to join them,” Persephone says at last, her voice growing oddly solemn, “I'll find my way back to that place, that city. That's where I belong, after all.”

“And what about the rest of us?” you ask her, leaving the question to hang in the air. Her brow creases with a delicate frown, but aside from that she merely pretends not to hear. “Thank you for taking care of Harriet,” you sigh, abandoning your question, “I knew you'd be able to take care of her.”

“Oh, naturally. It's just one of my many talents,” she agrees, although her boast feels hollow, an obligation, “She's tougher than you think, you know. Tougher than any of us gives her credit for.”

You hope so. Somehow, you expect that she's going to need all of that toughness in the days and weeks to come.

[1]

>>5779828

Morning comes, and you find a visitor waiting for you in the temple's main hall. Pacing back and forth with a restless energy, Captain Bellerose jerks around at the sound of the door and marches across to meet you. His eyes have a savage light in them, the feverish sheen of some stimulating medicine, and you're left to wonder when he last slept.

“Master Hearne. Good to see you up and about. How's the hand?” the soldier begins, although he doesn't allow you enough time to answer the question, “I wanted to give you an update. The governor broke last night, told us everything he knew. Which, unfortunately, wasn't much.”

“Better than nothing at all,” you offer, “So he really was tied up in all this?”

“Your cultists were bribing him to look the other way, and paying him damn well for that matter, but that seems to be the limits of his involvement. Still more than enough to see him hang, of course,” Bellerose explains, his grin taking on a nasty note, “One thing I thought you might be able to help with, though. He was getting paid with these...”

Rummaging in his pocket, Bellerose hands you a heavy coin of coarsely worked gold. You turn it over in your hands, but there are no markings at all on it. “The foresters sometimes use coins like these,” you mention slowly, “They would sometimes leave the forest to trade, and they often had coins like these.”

“I thought as much, but I wanted the confirmation,” he nods rapidly, “We don't have much else. That man we caught told us a little – they were planning a single grand sacrifice, all those people they had captive, but it's not exactly clear to me why. Our man just said it was to be an offering and frankly, I don't WANT to know any more than that. I actually prefer sleeping soundly at night, thank you very much.”

So he does sleep sometimes. You were starting to have your doubts. “There's one other thing,” you mention, “The woman, Valentina's impersonator, she seemed to be looking for you. Wanted to try and figure out who you were...”

“Ah. Probably realised that I was sniffing around, wanted to try and find me before I found them. Hazard of the job, that,” Bellerose grimaces, “But, ah, I understand that your people have taken care of that little problem already. My thanks, by the way.”

“...You're welcome,” you mutter, “Although it's not really me you should be thanking.”

“Well, pass the regards along anyway,” the soldier insists, shrugging your answer off, “My people can clean things up here, and we'll send a report to the academy... in the interests of future cooperation, of course. Leave everything to me, okay?”

>Okay, sure. I'm just glad to be getting out of here
>Just who are you people anyway?
>Hold on. You're not shutting us out like this. We're a part of this too
>I had some questions first... (Write in)
>Other

>>5779863
>Just who are you people anyway?
I don't know if this analogy is right, but it feels like it's a junior FBI member starting to find out that a intelligence agency/secret police exists.

>>5779863
>Just who are you people anyway?
>Hold on. You're not shutting us out like this. We're a part of this too

You stare at Bellerose for a good long while, trying to puzzle him out. You're getting that feeling again, the feeling of seeing vast shapes moving within a sea of shadows. But perhaps, in his addled state, you might be able to worm a few answers out of the officer. “You talk about “your people”,” you begin, “But who are you people, anyway?”

“Well, there isn't really a name that I can give you,” Bellerose answers, offering you a crooked smile instead, “Now friend, that's not me being difficult for you. We're just a pretty new organisation, and head office hasn't decided on the name yet. Officially speaking, I'm with the central army. You know what that is, right?”

“You guard the capital, mostly,” you tell him, thinking back to Clarissa's occasional lectures, “You go on parades, wear fancy uniforms and waste money better spent elsewhere.”

Bellerose throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, I know exactly who told you that!” he chuckles, “I'd like to think our job is a little more important than that, though. We deal with threats to the interior, whatever they may be. Sometimes that involves making a show of force, like those parades of yours, and sometimes it involves being quiet about it. You know how it is.”

“I'm starting to,” you mutter, “And I don't think I like it.”

“Bah!” the officer scolds, slapping you on the arm, “My people, we're the ones who handle the quiet stuff – labour agitators, Reivian infiltrators, and some of your banned groups too, these days. That's why we're keen to, ah, establish a good working relationship with the academy. I'm a soldier, not an Exorcist – if there's a man causing trouble, I can take him out back and slit his throat. If it's a spirit causing trouble? That's when I'm out of ideas.”

An idea occurs, albeit a risky one. Worth the gamble, though. “You don't just work with the academy, do you?” you ask quietly, “The church of Sheol, too?”

Bellerose's face falls, his expression taking on a furtive note. “That's not us,” he mutters, “We're new, remember? Those guys, they're OLD – about as old as you get. When they move in, we've got orders to stand back and shut up. We don't ask questions about the church of Sheol, get it?”

You don't, but you nod regardless. Bellerose seems to relax a little, slapping you on the arm once more and forcing a smile. “You're a smart kid, you know how the world works,” he remarks, “Get the feeling that we'll be working together again, one of these days.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you know, if this is all so secret...” you pause, giving him a curious look, “How come you're telling me all this?”

“Hey, I'm not telling you anything that you don't already know – or suspect, at least,” the soldier tells you with a grin, “I'm just giving you the confirmation.”

[1]

>>5779926

“If we're going to be working together, as you say, then you'd better not be pushing us out,” you warn the soldier, “We're a part of this investigation too, you know.”

“Wouldn't dream of it!” Bellerose assures you, “I said we were going to send you a copy of the paperwork, didn't I?”

“That's not what I'm talking about. If we're going to be involved, we need to know what you know – we need to know what's really going on here,” you stress, meeting his eyes with a frown, “This isn't just a one way street, you understand? If you're going to expect our help, we're going to want something in return.”

Bellerose simply shrugs and laughs, undaunted by your hard tone. “It's not my decision to make, friend,” he admits, “But if it was, you'd have nothing to worry about. Like I said, I'm more than happy for your lot to handle the spiritual side of things. Better for everyone that way.”

“I hope so,” you conclude, glancing around at the sound of new voices. The rest of the cohort is waking, emerging from the bedrooms. Taking advantage of your distraction, Bellerose slaps you on the arm once more and turns to leave. You let him go, sensing the futility of trying to squeeze any more information out of him.

You're done here.

-

Burdened down by a good deal of new luggage, books and papers recovered from Kauffmann's quarters, you mount the carriage and prepare for the long journey back to the capital. While you won't be sad to leave the smoke and smog of the city behind, you're dreading the thought of enduring a painful silence all the way home. At least you've still got your book to read, although weighty passages about virtue and sin hardly make for pleasant reading.

Master Brehm works with brisk, efficient motions as he helps to prepare the carriage, but he says little. “I'll take care of the reports,” he announces, his words aimed at nobody in particular, “Leave it all to me.”

The report. You hadn't even thought of that, with everything else that happened. Clarissa's eyes seem to sharpen at the mention of it, as if she doesn't quite trust the old man with the paperwork, but she says nothing.

Then you're off, the carriage creaking and groaning as it carries you away from the city. Putting your head back, you close your eyes and let the lurching motions lull you to sleep. Your dreams, which quickly descend upon you, are dark, dreams of groping blindly through winding caves while unseen beasts circle around you. One moment your fingers are scraping across damp stone, then the next they brush against gnarled bark, and then cold metal next of all, the sensations merging seamlessly into one another.

You don't wake until much later, when the carriage is drawing into the first rest stop.

“Wake up! Persephone announces cheerfully as she shakes you, “Time to stop and get some sleep!”

[2]

>>5779976

For obvious reasons, you don't get much sleep that night. Instead, you spend most of the time outside as you savour the novelty of clean air. It's a mild night, cool without being too cold, but you can sense the changing seasons. Winter isn't far, bringing new stars and omens with it. For now, though, you can look up and see the reassuring summer stars through gaps in the clouds.

The Sethians had been planning a grand sacrifice, a great outpouring of death to throw open the gates of Sheol's machine and call up their lost master. That much is certain, although you can't say just how you know that.

“Treachery worthy of the Sun King himself,” you murmur, recalling the Sethian's words, “What does it mean?”

“It means you shouldn't spend so much time talking to yourself,” a voice replies from behind you. Emerging from the inn, Clarissa sits down beside you on the front steps. “Especially not if you're going to say things like that,” she adds, giving you a look of warning, “You never know who might be listening.”

“What, going to report me for it?” you ask with a wry smile, “Denounce me for asking dangerous questions?”

With a soft snort of laughter, Clarissa shakes her head. “Just be more careful next time,” she insists, “In fact, try and make sure there isn't a next time. It doesn't look professional.”

“Still...” you muse, “What do you think he meant?”

She shakes her head again, although there's no laughter this time. “Probably the same rot that Orfeas was talking about, how everything we'd been taught is a lie. How the Accord was meant to constrain the strong. Poisonous nonsense,” she mutters, “Just forget about it. He just wants us to feel doubt and despair. That's the only way these bastards can win, if we lose sight of what's important.”

But she doesn't say what that is, and you're not sure if you know any more.

>It's a little early, but I think I'm going to take a pause here to try and do some forward planning. Should be able to get some time on Monday to continue though
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5780020
Thanks for running!

>>5780020
>Treachery worthy of the Sun King himself
I think it's likely that The Sun King betrayed the other great spirits of the world like the Mother and Centipede and such in order to amass power for himself. Just my feeling so far.

Also, it seems to me that if you sin more against the current order, you toil longer in Sheol's machine before your ego is burnt away and you're reborn. This preserves your sense of self longer AND gives necromancers more chances to bring you back and save you before you're reprocessed. it's a perverse incentive to be an utter bastard and as necromantic as possible!

From the moment you arrive back at the academy, you can tell that something dire has happened while you were away. There's a tension in the air, a sense of wordless anticipation that hangs over the entire academy. You accept this, as you've come to accept so many other things. For now, exhausted from your travels, you don't have the energy to do much else. You'll rest, and wait for the rumours to find their way to your ear.

A deep and dreamless sleep brings in the next day, and the news has already arrived in the dorm. The whole cohort is already gathered together around the breakfast table when you wake, whispering amongst themselves as if afraid to be overheard. You'd like to believe that they're just being considerate, trying not to wake you with any raucous voices, but you're really not that optimistic.

“Okay, fill me in,” you begin with a weary sigh, “What happened?”

“News from the front,” Clarissa answers, her face set in a grim mask, “The Reivians have apparently stepped up their offensive operations. There are rumours that the Emperor wants the city taken before winter arrives.”

You recall the distant thunder of artillery fire you heard in Metora and nod bleakly.

“But that's not all,” Persephone adds, in a tone of salacious excitement, “We've had a mutiny! One of the instructors here, Master... Oh, what was his name?”

“Master Eminescu,” Clarissa reminder her.

“That's it. Never met the man myself, if I'm being honest, so he doesn't really mean much to me. The point is, he took his whole cohort and marched west to join the war effort. It's left the higher ups in a real mess – they don't know what to do about it!” the pale girl giggles with glee, “Oh, and it gets even better. Before he left, Eminescu pinned up a letter so everything could read exactly what he was doing and why!”

You're not surprised that Persephone is enjoying this so much – that's exactly the kind of dramatic flourish that she'd appreciate. You remember the name Eminescu from Master Brehm's midnight gathering – little wonder that the former soldier has chosen to go west.

“I got a chance to read the note before it was taken down,” Clarissa continues, “Eminescu stated that Ixtab will be the fulcrum upon which the fate of our nation will be decided. If Ixtab should fall, everything that we've built here will be in peril.”

“Apparently,” Persephone stresses, rolling her eyes, “Anyway, we're all just waiting to see what our glorious leaders are going to say about all this. So far, they haven't done anything about Eminescu except rip down that pretentious letter of his. They're probably worried about denouncing him too soon, just in case he ends up being right – or, worse, popular.”

“I don't think there's much risk of that,” Johannes growls, “I met him once. Arrogant, odious man.”

[1]

>>5780900

Before Johannes can get too far into demolishing Master Eminescu's reputation, a knock at the door silences him. Master Brehm shows himself in, although there's no hint of the grand entrance that you'd normally expect from him. “You're all here. Good,” he begins, looking you all over, “I'm going to be busy for a while. So please, try not to disturb me. You're all perfectly capable of managing yourselves for a little while.”

“Oh, and... I'd like to give you my thanks,” the old man adds somewhat awkwardly, “For your assistance in Metora. I don't know what I would have done without you all.”

None of you really knows what to say to this, the display of sincerity coming as a surprise. You murmur something that you hope is suitably gracious, and Master Brehm takes the opportunity to retreat. With your previous conversation cut sharply off, your little group starts to dissolve as the others go their separate ways. Clarissa is the only one who lingers, urging you to stay with a slight nod.

“I had a look into the Sethian case yesterday, to see if I could dig up the old reports,” she mutters to you, pulling her chair a little closer, “No luck. The records have been sealed, at least to someone of my rank.”

“So that's it then, another dead end?” you ask, feeling a strange mix of frustration and relief. There's a part of you that recoils in horror at the thought of digging up the past, Master Brehm's past, but the fear remains unnamed, elusive.

“Not quite,” Clarissa shakes her head, although her face betrays the same unease, “I called in a favour with Master Rosenthal. I wouldn't normally trust him with... well, anything really, but especially something like this. Unfortunately, I don't see any other way of getting access to those files. I was thinking of going to see him this morning...”

You wonder if these files really mean that much to her, or if this simply a distraction from what's going on at the front lines. She sits, strangely indecisive, and waits for you to say something.

>We'll go together. I want to see what's in these files as much as you do
>I don't think digging up the past like this is such a good idea
>Go if you like, but I'm not interested. I'd rather not know
>Other

>>5780903
>We'll go together. I want to see what's in these files as much as you do

>>5780903
>We'll go together. I want to see what's in these files as much as you do

>>5780903
>I get the feeling that the Sethians are going to be about a lot of stuff we've already seen. Half-man half-beasts, grand sacrifices to disrupt Sheol's machine, Forester nobility...ah, did Persephone ever mention those?
>But if you're seriously doubting Master Rosenthal, you should consider your sister's safety. I don't imagine it would be very difficult for her to get caught up in this when it's all within the Academy.
>On the other hand, if there IS some secret faction having meetings, she might have already found it. I'm going to check it out tonight.

“We'll go together,” you tell Clarissa, your answer coming as a surprise even to yourself. Her face softens slightly as she relaxes, as if your decision has banished her own guilt. “I'd like to see what's in these files as much as you do,” you add, with a knowing ambiguity, “And I don't think Master Brehm himself is going to be in a hurry to share them.”

“No,” she agrees, hesitating for a moment before adding, “It's not that I suspect him of any... impropriety. I just know this is going to be a painful time for him. I don't blame him for being distracted.”

You can tell that that's not quite true, but you let the lie pass unchallenged. Gesturing for Clarissa to lead the way, you fall in behind her. “I have an idea of what we might find,” you suggest, lowering your voice, “If these Sethians are anything like some of the other things I've seen... hybrids of man and beast, grand sacrifices to disrupt Sheol's machine, perhaps even the forester nobility...”

“Remember when our lives were simple?” Clarissa asks, managing a tired smile, “Where are you getting all this?”

“I thought Persephone might have told you. I'll... fill you in later, it's a long story. Long and messy,” you sigh, “If you really doubt Master Rosenthal that much, are you sure he's safe to be teaching your sister? If something happens with him, she's sure to be caught right in the crossfire.”

Clarissa glances back at you, her dark eyes seeming to sharpen at the mention of her sister. “You're changing the subject,” she points out, “But... I don't know, that's not quite what I meant. I don't distrust him as an instructor, and I don't think he's any danger to Cloranthy. I'm just not quite sure what his motives are – he's always been awfully willing to help me, us, out, and he never asks for anything in return. Call me cynical, but I don't have that much faith in the power of human kindness.”

“Maybe we just don't know him well enough to know what he's really about,” you muse, “I'll ask Cloranthy herself next time I see her. She'll know him better than either of us.”

You assume. You're not sure how much instructing he actually does, with Cloranthy hidden away in the archives all day.

-

Master Rosenthal's office is neat and sparse, with almost nothing to indicate that the room is in use. The only papers you see are the ones stacked up on the desk, just waiting for your attention, while his collection of books is limited to a small shelf behind him. But for those few small personal touches, the room wouldn't look out of place in the monastery.

“I hope you don't mind, but I did a little research of my own,” Rosenthal begins, nodding down at the papers, “It isn't often that case notes get restricted like this. I got curious. I do apologise for any intrusion.”

[1]

>>5780922

“The Sethians were an old group, originally founded perhaps a century ago. They were never particularly large or influential, and passed unnoticed for much of their time,” Rosenthal says, before you even have a chance to read the notes, “They worshipped a spirit, or god, they called Seth – the god of the lost and forbidden.”

“A god of the forbidden arts?” Clarissa repeats, “A necromancer's god?”

“Nothing so specific as that,” the instructor replies, “But, yes, necromancy would certainly fall within the spirit's remit... if such a spirit actually existed. In all my research, I found no hard evidence that it was a real thing. Although...”

A pause. “Although?” you prompt.

“Although there is a theory that the spirit world is a reflection of our own,” Rosenthal continues, “If enough men believed, and offered prayers in the name of Seth, such a spirit may actually come to be. In theory – and I doubt that the Sethians ever had enough numbers to have such an influence on either world. But I'm distracting you – please, read. I have my own work to do, but I'll be here to answer any questions you have.”

You meet eyes with Clarissa for a second, and she gestures for you to go first. Feeling oddly vulnerable to be reading like this in Master Rosenthal's office, you skim through the report. The investigation had started following reports of fires burning up in the hills, fires which had disturbed the local villagers enough to send word to the academy. Master Brehm and his cohort were able to track down the group from one of their bonfires, following them down into the isolated remains of a half-ruined hamlet.

There, Master Brehm had found the group worshipping at what is simply described as a “barbarous wooden idol”, and the rest played out as he said – the men were cornered, a fight broke out and a fire was started. The village burned, and the Sethians burned with it. Bodies were recovered from the scene, but many were too badly burned for any identification. With no further leads, or indications that the Sethians had been part of a larger group, the case was closed.

Passing the report to Clarissa, you think a little more about what you just read. It describes not just any idol, but specifically a wooden idol. Implying some kind of forester connection here too? Cursing Master Brehm for his lack of detail, you glance up as Master Rosenthal clears his throat.

“There is one thing that I found during my own research,” the instructor mentions softly, “When the original Sethians were banned, their group was simply caught up in a wider purge of dissident groups. Before that, I found no indication that they were specifically involved in the forbidden arts. That, as it seems, came later. Much later.”

[2]

>>5780939
So, spirit of forbidden and lost. Who could, presumably, recover lost knowledge from a burned forbidden book.

>>5780939

“You're suggesting that we did this,” Clarissa states bluntly, glaring at Rosenthal, “That we drove them to this.”

“I'm suggesting nothing of the sort,” the instructor replies, “I'm simply telling you what my research revealed. I have little doubt that ANY group which has devoted itself to forbidden things will, eventually, cross a line. However, it cannot be ignored that an overly heavy hand causes as many problems as it solves. From the report itself, these were not violent men – they only fought when they were cornered, and originally caused no more trouble than scaring some nearby townsfolk.”

“If there were Sethians around these days, what would they want?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation away from troubled waters, “What goals would they have?”

Master Rosenthal considers this. “A difficult question to answer – you assume that every member of a group will share the same goals, and the same methods used to achievce those goals,” he points out, “But in reality, organisations will tend towards factionalism – smaller groups, perhaps operating in secret, with their own goals. Sometimes these goals will align with the larger organisation, and sometimes not.”

“One Sethian may simply wish to pursue knowledge in peace, while another may wish to forcefully tear down any barriers that stand between them and some idealised truth,” Rosenthal continues, “The Accord itself could be considered just such a barrier – thus, the Sethians find common cause with other wicked men.”

“...And the foresters?” you wonder aloud, almost dreading the answer, “Could the Sethians find common cause there too?”

A note of sadness creeps into Rosenthal's smile. “Perhaps, yes,” he concedes, “I'm hardly an expert in the subject, but I understand that the foresters would be far less... hostile towards their ideals. Yet, in their own way, the foresters will jealously protect their secrets against those who would seek them. I could only imagine an uneasy alliance between such parties.”

Clarissa tosses the report back down on the table. “I wonder if we could visit the old site,” she mutters, “We might be able to find something, something we can-”

“Give it up, Clarissa,” you say, interrupting her with a sigh, “It was years ago. There won't be anything left. Not even memories at this point.”

“I would have to agree,” Rosenthal adds with a nod, “I'm sorry. We weren't able to find what you were looking for, is that it?”

“Yes... no... I don't know,” she replies with a disgusted shrug, “I don't even know what I was looking for in the first place.”

“I understand,” Rosenthal murmurs, looking over to you, “And you, Lucas? Is there anything else I can help you with.”

>No. There's nothing else
>I had some questions for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>5780965
>No. There's nothing else
Not that I can think of, at least.

>>5780965
>Where does the Academy stand with the Foresters? We're all arguing over the spirits being used by the Revians, but the Foresters do far more than simply wield them. If it came to a fight, would we be the first in line?

>>5780965
>No. There's nothing else

“There's one question I had,” you ask carefully, “The forest kingdom. Do we have a... a policy for them? An official position? The Reivians are said to be calling down spirits, but the foresters have been working with spirits for... well, for as long as they've existed. If it comes to conflict, I'd like to know where we stand.”

“Officially speaking, the foresters are... well, an interesting case,” Master Rosenthal answers, and you see a flicker of amusement in his eyes, “Technically speaking, and I really must stress that part, acts like calling down spirits – and even acts of necromancy – are not inherently against the Accord. No wait, let me finish!”

You sit back, gesturing for Clarissa to stay quiet. She does, although her glare says more than any words could.

“The Accord prohibits damage to the Veil, the barrier between our world and the spirit world. When a spirit is called down, or when the souls of the deceased are called up, this will typically be done by force – by tearing through the Veil. You understand this, of course,” the instructor continues, “But in the forest kingdom, where the Veil is already thin, so thin as to be non-existent in places, it's no crime to call a spirit.”

“So, to go back to your original question. From an official standpoint, the foresters are not breaking any laws, so long as they remain within their own borders,” Rosenthal concludes, “Unofficially though, well, you can probably guess that there's tension there. A great deal of tension, unfortunately, particularly with some of the more... aggressive members of our order. Should there be a war, I expect that the foresters would remain neutral. But do remember what I said about factionalism – there are always forces at work behind the scenes.”

You've learned that lesson all too well.

-

Clarissa keeps up a glum silence as you walk back to the dorms together, her blank expression warding off any attempt at guessing her inner thoughts. It even occurs to you that she might be feeling sorry for them, the persecuted Sethians, although you discount this idea as a fantasy. In truth, you suspect that her thoughts are no different to yours – a vague, nameless sense of disquiet and dismay.

“Were you going to write that letter to your father?” you ask, searching for something to, if not lighten the mood, at least get her talking again.

“I'm working on it,” Clarissa answers wearily, “Although I wonder if he'll get a chance to read it. I think he's going to be a very busy man soon enough. I...” She pauses here, pausing for a long time before continuing. “I was out west recently, gathering information. I didn't make it all the way to Ixtab, but I visited a field hospital to speak with some of the soldiers evacuated from the front,” she continues at last, “It's getting bad out there. Worse. Some of the things they told me...”

[1]

>>5780994

“They caught one of the Reivians, you know. A junior officer. They even managed to get him to talk, somehow. The officer described a strange belief that has taken root in the army, a cult of sorts – they believe in a paradise that exists after death, welcoming only those who have given their lives in service of the Reive Dynasty,” Clarissa recalls, her face twisted with disgust, “They fight without fear of death, throwing themselves into battle to die in their droves, but there are always more.”

A shudder runs through you as you imagine this slaughter. “But why?” you mutter, “The Reivians are spilling rivers of blood over Ixtab, and Eminescu believes that it's crucial to our future... why?”

“The soldiers told me that they found something. They were excavating some of the catacombs under Ixtab, and they found a newly opened section of tunnel. Probably from all the artillery fire, I don't know. But they couldn't tell me very much about what they found there. Symbols carved into the walls, some language they couldn't read...” Clarissa shakes her head, “They reported it, but were told to seal the tunnels off and wait for further orders. Since then, since the word got out, things have been getting serious here in the capital. Whatever they found in those tunnels, it's got a lot of people riled up.”

Including the church of Sheol, you recall, or some shadowy faction operating within it. Could Eminescu be acting on their orders, going to secure this unknown discovery in Ixtab? Or could he be one of Bellerose's comrades, there to strengthen the military's hand? Or perhaps, most unlikely of all, he could just be doing what he thinks is right, with no sinister motive.

Now you're really being unrealistic.

-

“I'm going to take a lie down. I've got a pounding headache,” Clarissa says as you arrive back at the dorm, “Did you say you were going to speak with Cloranthy? If you see her, tell her...”

A pause.

“I don't know. You're probably better at talking to her than I am at this point,” she finishes with a sad shrug, “You'll think of something.”

With that, she vanishes into her bedroom and leaves you in the unfamiliar silence of the empty dorm. Sitting down for a moment, you slowly clench and unclench your bruised hand. It hurts, as you might expect, but it's not unbearable. A day or two of rest, and you'll be back to normal. The thought of being idle for a few days feels strange indeed, though. You're not quite sure what you'll do with yourself. There WAS that favour Cloranthy mentioned, although you wonder how restful it might really be. Perhaps not dangerous, but still...

>You'll spend the evening with Cloranthy and this favour of hers
>This is just a distraction you don't need. You'll find something else to do
>Other

>>5781029
>You'll spend the evening with Cloranthy and this favour of hers

>>5781029
>You'll spend the evening with Cloranthy and this favour of hers

>>5781029
>You'll spend the evening with Cloranthy and this favour of hers
It should be fine to use your non-dominant hand to fire a gun in a library. Surely.

All Cloranthy wanted, you recall, was for someone to sit overnight with her, just to know for sure if there was anything funny going on in the archives. That shouldn't be too stressful, you're sure. In fact, the thought of spending the night hanging out with her has an odd appeal to it – the kind of distraction that you've been craving.

So with the decision made, you settle down and prepare for nightfall. If you're going to be staying up all night, you want to make sure you're well rested ahead of time. You won't be much good for anyone if doze off in the middle of a job, will you?

-

After the industrial nightmare of Metora, returning to the archives feels like coming home. Savouring the atmosphere, even the smell of aged paper, you wander through the shelves until you spot Cloranthy reading at her usual table. She has a tremendous collection of books stacked up around her, almost as if she was building a fort from them. If not for her wild tangle of hair peeking out above them, you might've missed her entirely.

“Leave some books for everyone else, won't you?” you begin as you approach, peering over the wall of paper.

“Nah,” Cloranthy replies, without even looking up, “They can take them from my cold dead hands.”

“Don't joke about that. Someone might want to take you up on the offer,” you warn her, sitting down and moving one stack of books aside so you can look each other in the eye, “Still need someone for that favour of yours?”

“Ah, I knew you couldn't stay away!” she crows, “You couldn't resist the thought of spending the night with me!”

You wait politely until she's finished laughing at her own joke, then nod. “I actually have some spare time on my hands, and I immediately thought of you,” you tell her, “I hope you'll be gentle with me. I'm an injured man. Probably maimed for life, in fact. Just look at this!”

Cloranthy takes your bruised hand and peers down at it. “Doesn't look too bad,” she muses, a sickening wave of pain rolling up your arm as she squeezes your fingers hard. “Yeah, not too bad at all,” she adds, “Walk it off, coward!”

“The real damage is psychological. You wouldn't understand,” you complain, snatching your hand away from her. Cloranthy just leans back in her chair, giving you the smuggest smile she can conjure up. “Well, fine. Be that way,” you mutter, “So you want me to just stay here with you and keep an eye out for anything strange, was that it?”

“Sure, yeah, that'll do. Oh right, and I got something that should help to keep us up all night,” Cloranthy announces, producing a paper envelope from some deep pocket, “Use those big strong legs of yours and get us some hot water for the tea, would you? Some cups too, unless you fancy drinking straight from the pot.”

You haven't even been here for half an hour, and she's already coaxing you into drinking some strange concoction. Well, it's not as if you've got anything better to do tonight.

[1]

>>5781081

“Don't look so worried,” Cloranthy assures you as she pours the greenish powder into the pitcher of water, “This is green arrow root. It's been used as a natural stimulant for like, generations. It's perfectly safe. If you don't believe ME, then check for yourself. I did my research, see?”

Searching amongst her piles of books, you find a tome on herbal medicine and start flicking through the pages. “Green arrow root can be made into a tea that is well regarded for invigorating the mind and nourishing the senses,” you read aloud, “It has also been used, on occasion, as an aphro-”

“Okay, reading time's over!” she yelps, plucking the book from your hands, “Too much reading, and you'll just get drowsy. That's like the opposite of what we want!”

You say nothing, simply giving her a dubious look as she pours out the pale green tea. Against your better judgement, you take a sip of the bitter tea and wait to feel invigorated. It'll probably take some time. “So, we were speaking with Master Rosenthal today,” you say, as you wait for the tea to work, “He's a bit of a strange one.”

“Shit, I don't know. What's normal? A crusty old man who stomps around and barks orders at you?” Cloranthy replies with a shrug, “Then yeah, I guess Master Rosenthal is strange. He seems harmless enough though. Never gives me any trouble about the fact that like, I don't actually do any training or whatever.”

“You're just doing, uh, independent study instead,” you offer, gesturing to the books piled up around you both, “That's just a different kind of training.”

“Sure, a pretty shitty kind of training. If I ever have to do any Exorcist stuff in real life, I'm going to be SO done,” she insists, sounding remarkably cheerful about the prospect, “But that's fine. Knowing my luck, you'll probably come marching in to save the day as soon as I get in any trouble. I mean that in a good way, by the way.”

“No pressure, then,” you sigh.

>I think I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be looking to continue this next Saturday, barring any unexpected disasters
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5781123
Thanks for running

>>5781123
Thanks for running

>>5781123
Cloranthy is a cute. In a quest without Persephone, she'd have been best girl.

Good work as always, QM!

You're not sure if this stupid tea is working. You certainly don't feel stimulated, neither do you feel invigorated, energised or even revitalised. If anything, the bitter herbal tea seems to have sapped your energy completely, and Cloranthy seems no different. Glancing across the table at her, you see her head nodding slightly as she fights off the urge to sleep. So far, you haven't seen any sign of this “weird stuff” she was expecting, and you won't see much of anything at this rate.

“So...” you begin, hoping to rouse her with some conversation, “Anything new lately?”

“New?” Cloranthy asks, sluggishly turning to look at you. Her eyes seem to take a long time to focus, wavering about before finding your face.

“In the archives,” you explain, “Has anything new arrived here, anything that might be connected with these strange sounds?”

Cloranthy thinks on this for a long time, so long that you start wondering if you should repeat your question. Then, with an almighty frown furrowing her brow, she nods. “They brought in a bunch of new books,” she recalls, “Got them from some collection, when the owner died. Funny story about it, actually – they say the old boy lived alone, dropped dead right there in his private library. When someone finally forced their way into the house to look for him...”

“That's horrible...” you murmur, trying not to imagine the grisly scene.

“Don't feel too bad about it,” Cloranthy replies, waving a hand through the air, “If he didn't want to die, he shouldn't have been so damn old.”

You're not quite sure about her logic there, but you don't feel brave enough to get in argument over it. “Well, either way,” you continue, “What was in this collection?”

“Books, mostly,” she answers, giving you a smug smile. You just sigh, waiting patiently until she gives you a serious answer. It takes a moment, but eventually Cloranthy relents. “I don't know yet,” she admits, “They haven't been sorted or catalogued. They just got dumped somewhere and left. C'mon man, you know how it is around here.”

Unfortunately so. While the archivists try their best, they're fighting a losing battle against the ever-growing workload. They desperately need help, more staff and resources, but their requests, their pleas, have always gone unanswered. So, as a result, you have issues like this – the last remnants of a dead scholar, his legacy, left to rot away until it can be properly examined. The more you think about it the more depressing it all seems, for both the archives and the fallen scholar himself.

You sit there, brooding to yourself, until the faint sound of movement catches your attention. Feeling sluggish, as if you were moving through deep water, you look up as Cloranthy rises to her feet. With a lithe agility quite unlike her usual shambling gait, she circles the table to stand before you.

Then her hands rise to the buttons on her blouse.

[1]

>>5786075

With your mind gone blank, you merely sit and stare as Cloranthy methodically unbuttons her blouse. Her face is calm, serene, as if she didn't even know that you were sitting right in front of her. You feel the vague need to say something, to do something, but your body isn't listening. So you sit, paralysed, as she shrugs off her blouse and reaches down to her long skirt. Hooking her thumbs under the waistband, she smoothly pushes it down and off herself. Stepping out of the crumpled cloth, she finally stands bare before you.

A pale and wretched thing, sickly and thin, the sight of Cloranthy's bare flesh both fascinates and repels you. Bands of metal clamp tightly around her body, forcing twisted limbs into some semblance of order whilst leaving her with dark stripes of bruises. Stained with black and purple, her flesh almost seems to be decaying from within. Undeterred, Cloranthy raises her arms as if flaunting her disease and turns her head to stare at you. Your eyes meet, and she opens her mouth to speak.

“Hey!” she calls out, “Hey buddy!”

You jolt up, blinking rapidly, and look around in frantic confusion. Cloranthy is sitting exactly where she should be, fully dressed as normal with a tense grin on her face. Slowly, your confusion fades as you realise what just happened. You don't remember dozing off, but...

“Thought I lost you there for a moment,” Cloranthy adds, reaching across to poke you in the arm, “Shh, don't say anything. Just listen. Listen!”

Shaking off the last of your dream, you listen carefully. After a moment, you catch an odd sound – a little bit like the sound of the wind, but not quite. It's hard to focus on the sound itself, yet it almost seems to be calling out to you.

“Voices,” Cloranthy continues, her own voice a whisper, “You hear them too, right?”

Now that she mentions it, you can hear them too – a low groan, several voices all raised in chorus. But no human could make a sound like that, you're sure of that much.

“Oh shit,” she murmurs, “There really IS something going on here!”

“Shouldn't I be the one saying that?” you ask, turning to give her a suspicious look, “Why are YOU surprised?”

Cloranthy says nothing for a moment, squirming in her seat. “So, um, hypothetically speaking...” she begins at last, “If I thought you were working way too hard, and just needed to spend a night hanging out, I may have POTENTIALLY made up an excuse to get you here. But in this, um, fictional scenario, there wasn't actually supposed to be a... a weird thing!”

You stare at her for a long moment, wondering just how to feel about this. You've fallen right into her trap, only to find that she was caught up in it as well.

“So, um...” Cloranthy asks nervously, “What now?”

>It's your problem now. I'm out of here
>Let's see if we can follow those voices, see where they lead
>Maybe we can track down those new books, see if there's a clue there
>Other

>>5786077
>Compare what we hear. Make sure it's not the tea's effects
>Let's see if we can follow those voices, see where they lead

>>5786077
>Let's see if we can follow those voices, see where they lead

“Let's see if we can follow those voices,” you decide, setting the matter of her innocent deception aside for now, “See where they lead.”

“Lead?” Cloranthy repeats, her voice still in a low whisper, “Lead where?”

“You don't think that they're calling out to us? Trying to lead us somewhere?” you ask her, gesturing vaguely down the archives. Now that you've started to hear them, the voices are unmistakable. Yet, you still can't make out any specific words – the stream of voices are too jumbled up, it's like trying to pick out a single chirp while surrounded by a flock of birds. “Let me know what you hear,” you advise, “We'll compare notes, make sure it's not... anything else.”

“Like what?” she asks, taking up her walking stick and lurching out from behind the desk. Certainly no sign of that elegant grace from your dreams, not now.

“Like that tea of course,” you mutter, nodding vaguely at the tome still lying on the desk.

Almost defensively, Cloranthy swipes up the book in her empty hand and clutches it close to her breast. “Don't you blame my tea!” she grumbles, “After all the trouble I went to get that... Well, okay, I just complained until Fia bought it for me, but STILL – I actually had to socialise with her for this, have you any idea-”

You shush her, silencing her with a glare. Just how you're supposed to hear ANYTHING with her rambling on is a mystery. For a moment it almost seems like the voices are gone, but then you catch them again – and this time, they very definitely seem to be coming from somewhere nearby. Gesturing for Cloranthy to follow, you start to creep down the long aisle as you listen out for your unseen guide. After a moment one voice, a FAMILIAR voice, seems to rise above the others.

“These people disgust me,” Johannes' voice, or at least a distant echo of it, calls out. “That governor. He would sell out the people under his care for nothing more than a handful of coins,” the voice continues, “His vows, his oaths, they mean nothing to him. Everywhere I look, I see people like him. More and more, I don't know what I'm fighting for...”

The voice trails off here, and you glance around to Cloranthy. “That voice,” you whisper to her, “Did you hear it?”

“Shit yeah, I hear voices,” she answers in a distracted tone, her eyes flicking about as if chasing something in the very corner of her vision.

“No, THAT voice. Grumpy, complaining about... Well, all kinds of things really. One specific voice, I meant,” you insist, lightly grabbing her arm to try and get her attention, “Did you hear that?”

“Oh,” Cloranthy pauses, her focus returning to you, “Um, were they saying anything important?”

“Just... don't get distracted,” you warn, shaking your head and trying to listen once more. The voices have faded out again, blurring together into an incoherent stream. But still, there's enough to follow.

[1]

>>5786106
Was she getting an eyeful of naked Lucas?

>>5786106

You walk on, through long corridors of shelves that seem to loom higher and higher overhead with every step you take. Sometimes they don't even look like shelves at all, seeming more like tall trees with spreading branches. Once you reach out expecting to feel rough bark under your palm, only to feel the softness of aged leather instead.

“How pitiful man is!” a voice, Persephone, cries out in sudden shrillness. “His flesh is doomed to rot away to nothing, while his soul is fated to be shredded by Sheol's ghastly machine. Yet if he should resist this, if he should remain beyond his years, he will find only ruin and stagnation!” the voice continues, each word dripping with scorn and anger, “How I wish I could be like the spirits themselves, eternal and unchanging!”

You glance back once more, to see that Cloranthy has stopped and fallen behind. Staring off into space, that damn medicine book still clutched in her hand and her face pinched with concentration. She's listening hard, but she's not hearing the same things you are. Returning to her side, you gently take the book from her before taking her by the hand and leading her on.

“Sometimes I get so scared...” another voice, this time Harriet's, whispers to you, almost directly over your shoulder. Although you know that nobody's there, you can't help but flinch around to check. It's just Cloranthy, and she doesn't even notice your sudden movement. “Do I really belong here? Should I really be here?” the echoing voice carries on, “I don't know. I don't know anything at all-”

This voice is cut off as Cloranthy lets out a shrill cry, snatching her hand away from you and flailing at her head. “Get it away, get it away from me!” she yelps, clawing at herself with sudden violence, “A bird, it's a bird!”

You grab her arms, trying to stop her from hurting herself, and that's when you see the bird. You SEE it, darting and circling out of the corner of your eye, and you hear its piercing cries. Panic seizes you, and you do the first thing that comes to mind. Grabbing Cloranthy, literally sweeping her up into your arms, you turn and flee back down through the archive hallways. You don't stop until you've returned to your desk, dropping low and crawling under it before pulling Cloranthy in as well.

“We'll be safe in here,” you promise, even as you start to feel vaguely confused. There wasn't really a bird, was there? You strain your ears to listen, but you don't hear those vicious cries. You just hear a single voice, low and sad.

“Clarissa...” Cloranthy murmurs, looking up as if she finally hears the voice too.

“Sometimes I look at myself and realise how pitiless I've become,” the ghostly echo laments, “How cold I am, how distant. I've hardened myself against the world, but was it all really worth it?”

[2]

>>5786144
This the spirit of the academy? Cloranthy's guardian spirit?

>>5786144

“Hey sis, you don't always have to try so hard,” Cloranthy murmurs, her voice a tiny whisper, “You don't have to push yourself so hard, you know? Can't we just go back to the way it used to be, just the two of us? Forget about everything else, everyone else, and just... be my sister again. Even if it's just for a little bit...”

Though it feels like an intrusion, almost an obscenity, you reach out and pull Cloranthy a little closer. You hold her against your chest, and she clings to you with a desperate strength. When she looks up into your eyes, you know that it's not your face she's seeing.

But that doesn't matter. You hold each other regardless, and wait for the chaos to pass.

-

You're not sure how long you sit like that, your arms wrapped around each other, but eventually Cloranthy drifts off to sleep – or, perhaps, passes out. Gently easing yourself free from her arms, you lay her down and crawl out from beneath the desk. She mumbles and frowns a little, her hands groping blindly for a moment before she settles back down into a deeper sleep. It looks like sleep that she's been desperately needing.

The voices have stopped now, replaced by a slow dripping sound. Knowing what that sound must be, and dreading it, you feel yourself creeping towards its source. The smell of blood rushes to meet your nose as you approach the end of the aisle. Another delusion of the senses, you tell yourself, before gathering up the courage to round the corner.

Blood drips slowly, pooling on the ground beneath the hanging corpse. The body itself is hard to see, hard to focus on. It hangs from some impossibly high rope, the cord vanishing up into the black void of the archive's roof, while the corpse's form shifts and changes. Sometimes when you force yourself to look, it's a deer. Other times, it's something far worse.

The priest stands beside the hanging corpse, their bloodied sickle hanging casually from one hand. They wear an elaborate skull mask, but you already know their face.

“You're not real,” you announce, hoping to seize the initiative, “None of this is real.”

“Does that really matter?” the priest replies in Lady Ellenghast's voice.

“Of course it matters,” you snap, covering your doubts with bluster, “If none of this is real, nothing you have to say matters. If nothing you have to say matters, I have no reason to listen to you.”

“Then turn away,” she suggests, spreading her hands wide, “Close your eyes and cover your ears. If none of this is real, then it won't matter.”

You scowl at the hateful phantasm for a long moment, but say nothing. You say nothing, but you don't turn away either.

“Listen...” the priest whispers, “You heard them, did you not? Their secret voices, the words they dare not speak aloud. Would you hear more of them?”

>Yes. Let me hear... (Who?)
>No. I want nothing from you
>Other

>>5786214
>Yes. Let me hear... (Who?)
Hey if you can let me hear what the hell is going on in the Forest via Lady Ellenghast then by all means.

Otherwise if it's just prying into our friend's secrets
>No. I want nothing from you

>>5786214
>>Yes. Let me hear... (Who?)
>Myself
Our spirit damn near screamed at us to know ourself. Time to face ourself, if this thing is right it'll be spot on. if it's wrong we can laugh at it's non-existant face.

>>5786214
>No

None of this is real, you tell yourself once more. The more you repeat those words, the less you find yourself believing in them. Real or no, the promise of a glimpse into someone's secret inner world is a seductive one, yet also repulsive in its own way. It brings Cloranthy's words back to you – words that were never meant for your ears.

No. No, this isn't right. Even in a dream, or whatever this is. You're better than this.

“No. I want nothing from you,” you reply, looking into the hollow eyes of the priest's skull mask, “Let my friends keep their secrets. I'm not going to pry those out of them, and I won't ask any favours from you.”

With utter indifference, the priest lets her sickle drop to the ground and approaches you. She places her hands on your shoulders, the sensation oddly comforting even as it makes your skin crawl, and lowers her head until the cold bone of the mask rests against your own forehead. You remain like this for a moment, almost touching but for that inhuman mask, until the priest withdraws. Turning you around, she ushers you away with a gentle push.

You turn back, but it's all gone now – the priest, the hanging corpse, all of it.

-

Confusion grips you as you slowly trudge back to where you left Cloranthy. Along the way, you spot the medicine book you dropped and stoop to pick it up. As you're reaching out to grab it, though, the scene around you warps and changes. Long grass brushes against your fingers, and the distant sound of birds reaches your ears once more. Clenching your eyes shut for a moment, you wait for the sounds to fade. When you open your eyes once more, the grass has gone. Everything is as it should be.

Picking up the book, you hasten back to the reading desk. Cloranthy is still sleeping peacefully, curled up like a cat, with a hint of skin showing from where her skirt has ridden up. The sight of her bare flesh, and the metal braces clamped tight around it, reminds you of your unsightly dream once more. Reaching down, you tug the hem of her skirt back down once more before taking to your seat.

With nothing else to do, you start to idly flip through Cloranthy's book until you find the entry for green arrow root. Beneath a sketch of the green arrow plant itself, with its thin, pointed plants, you reread the descriptions. It certainly doesn't mention anything about causing hallucinations, not that you can see. Frowning a little, you continue to flip through the book until a name jumps out at you – green DAGGER root.

Green dagger root, you read, very much DOES cause visions. That's the whole point of it – a plant used in traditional forester ceremonies, you read, said to open the consciousness to a kind of collective thought. The plants don't look all that similar, but once they've been dried and ground into a powder...

“Oh Cloranthy...” you groan, closing the book with a heavy thump.

[1]

>>5786279

You doze a little, but fortunately you don't dream. Your rest is occasionally disturbed by the odd sound or flicker of movement, but you force yourself to ignore the sensations until you hear the more familiar sounds of morning. Doors open, papers are shuffled, and heavy footsteps trudge up and down the archive halls. The night has passed, and the time for mysteries has passed with it. Soon the sun will rise.

“Hey...” a sleepy voice mumbles out, “Why am I under a table?”

“To stop the birds from getting you,” you reply, bending down to peer under the table. Cloranthy sits up a little, stopping just short of bashing her head against the underside of the table, and rubs at her eyes. She gives you a bemused look, then yawns and lies back down again.

“So, uh, what exactly happened last night?” she asks after a moment, “I had the weirdest dreams...”

“That would probably be because you drugged us,” you remark, flicking through the book until you find the right section and passing it down to her. Cloranthy takes the book and squints at the page, her brow furrowing with a pretty scowl as she reads.

“I specifically told Fia for green ARROW root!” Cloranthy complains, snapping the book shut and pouting, “Give that girl one single, simple job and she buggers it all up! I tell you, if she ever has to do anything important then we're all going to be neck deep in shit...”

That sounds an awful lot like she's just trying to shift the blame onto someone else, but maybe you're just a cynic. You sigh again as Cloranthy crawls out from beneath the desk and stretches. She even stretches like a cat, you notice, stretching out on all fours and clawing at the floor. Politely ignoring the sound of her joints snapping and cracking, you reach down a hand to help her rise. She takes it gratefully, and you can't help but notice that her face has grown sickly with pain.

Your concern does not go unnoticed, and Cloranthy is quick to shake her head. “So, um, you probably guessed by now that there never was a problem,” she admits, “I kinda sorta maybe made that up.”

“You said as much last night,” you point out.

“I did? I thought I just dreamed that up. Huh...” Cloranthy pauses, “What else did I say? No wait, don't answer that – I think I'm better off not knowing. Anyway, um... are we good? You know, no harm done and all that. You're a cool guy, not the kind of guy who holds a grudge or anything like that. Right? Right?”

>It's fine. I know that you meant well, after all
>I really don't appreciate being drugged, you know
>Just forget it. It's best that we both forget this
>Actually... (Write in)
>Other

>>5786336
>It's fine. I know that you meant well, after all
All good. Appreciated the intent.

>>5786336
>You better check everything you eat for the rest of your life

>>5786336
>It's fine. I know that you meant well, after all

>>5786336
>Did you dream about me naked? Confess!

“It's fine,” you assure her, “I know that you meant well, after all. I really do need to take more time off.”

“That's what I thought!” Cloranthy agrees, eagerly taking hold of your approval – or at least, the approval of it, “So really, I'm the one who did YOU a favour and-”

“And I'll need to take some more time off, after last night,” you add, your interruption causing her to let out a squeak of dismay. “I'll give you this one warning, though,” you continue, giving Cloranthy what you hope to be a very stern look, “You'd better check everything you eat, for the rest of your life. Every little thing.”

“I just won't eat anything,” she shoots back, “That'll show YOU!”

“That's not... actually sure, go ahead. See how far that gets you,” you sigh, “But don't come crying to me while I'm eating my delicious, drug-free dinner.”

Cloranthy lets out a soft laugh, then hops up onto the desk with a low grunt of effort. Sitting just across from you, kicking her legs back and forth, she looks like she doesn't have a care in the world. But in her eyes, her beguiling amber eyes, you know that's not true. “Thank you, though,” she murmurs, “For spending the night, I mean. Like sure, it didn't go exactly as planned-”

“That's an understatement.”

“But it was still nice to spend the time with you,” she continues, politely pretending not to hear you, “Missed you while you were gone, you know. It got real boring around here without you. So boring that I had no choice but to start making things up!”

“...Clarissa didn't stop by at all?” you ask, frowning a little at the thought. A bad question to ask, judging by the dark cloud that passes across Cloranthy's face.

“Oh sure, she stopped by. Spent about an hour talking army stuff at me, then remembered to ask how I was,” she answers, waving the subject away with a dismissive gesture, “So you know, that was fun.”

That is, you assume, sarcasm. Not your most brilliant of deductions.

“I guess I shouldn't be too surprised,” Cloranthy continues with a weary sigh, “It's not like she's got many other people to talk about that stuff with. Bores most people to sleep, that stuff. Maybe I should introduce her to Ellis, he's into that kinda thing as well. They could go out on a date and like, geek out over the latest and greatest army rifle or whatever. Wouldn't that be fun?”

“Hmm,” you mutter, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Hey, what's with that scowl?” Cloranthy teases, reaching over and poking you, “You're not getting jealous, are you?”

“Hardly,” you reply, in a completely natural and calm tone, “But if I recall correctly, this Ellis fellow already had a girl chasing after him. It almost sounds like you're trying to stir up trouble.”

“I would never!” she insists, her eyes widening with a vast imitation of innocence.

[1]

>>5786384

“So despite your, ahem, slanderous accusations, I have no intention of causing trouble,” Cloranthy continues, still feigning innocence, “I'm simply thinking of helping my dear, dear sister to make a new friend. That's all. That's all!”

“Hmm. I believe you,” you lie, “Millions wouldn't, but I do.”

“Good! I'm glad to hear it! I didn't even believe myself, to be honest,” she answers with a grin, “Oh come on, you've got to admit that it would be really funny!”

You don't even know these people. There's only so much amusement you can get from the idea of blowing their lives up. “What did you dream about?” you ask instead, your question seeming to take Cloranthy off guard, “You said they were pretty wild... Was I in any of them?”

“Changing the subject, huh?” Cloranthy recovers quickly, her smile turning sly, “But you know, maybe you WERE in them.”

“It wasn't one of those weird naked dreams, was it?” you ask, the suggestion causing Cloranthy to break out in a splutter of laughter. She laughs until she's red in the face, laughing so much that you wonder if she's trying to hide something.

“No way, buddy,” she answers, when she's finally calmed down, “Nothing like that. Actually, I dreamed that you were talking with a woman, a woman wearing a stag skull for a mask – and, before you ask, she was wearing other clothes too. Don't try and make this weird!”

You pause, the words dying on your lips. That was her, the woman from your own visions. But if that's true...

“Yeah, you were just talking with her for a while, but I couldn't hear anything you were saying. Then it looked like she was going to hug you or something, but she never did. That's it, that's all that happened,” Cloranthy continues, “Not that wild, really, now that I think about it. Sorry – I'll try to have more exciting dreams next time. That doesn't mean people are going to start taking off their clothes, though!”

“Oh well,” you sigh, feigning indifference to cover a deeper unease... as you so often do.

>I'm going to take a pause here. Current plan will be to continue this tomorrow, starting at the same approximate time
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5786421
Thanks for running!

>>5786421
Thanks for running!

>>5786421
Spooky! Wish we'd gotten to interrogate ourself, but alas. Atilm abgreat session!

>>5786719
I do too, i figured that was a GOLDEN opportunity but everyone else seemed to disagree.

>>5786719
*Still a great

The Sun King must be smiling down upon you, for you're granted a few days of peace. Relative peace, that is, a few days without any major disasters. Nothing much happens at all, in fact, although the peace feels more like a ceasefire, a temporary truce, than anything permanent. There's an unspoken tension in the air, the ripples of Master Eminescu's rash actions still being felt around the academy. Master Brehm has been notably silent too, secluded in his office and attending only the most critical of his duties.

Bellerose lived up to his word, sending a copy of his report to the academy, although there are no new leads. Most of the cultists were rootless labourers – men without history, known only by fake names. Men such are those are all but impossible to trace, leaving you with another dead end. Bellerose's report ends on a bleak note – noting that there are countless examples of such men spread throughout the land, their movements and actions going all but unnoticed.

Hardly a pleasant thought to dwell on, but you can't banish it from your thoughts. The rest of the cohort chats away happily around you, talking over a late lunch, but you don't feel much like talking.

“Hey you,” Persephone whispers, leaning over to you, “I've been hearing rumours. They say we're going to be sent east!”

“East?” you repeat, trying to think about what might call you to the east.

“They say we'll be delivering some papers to a collector, some kind of recluse, in return for access to some old books of his,” she explains, “Does any of this sound familiar to you?”

It takes you a moment, but you nod in recognition. “Folk Tales of Inner Marusia,” you recall, “A rare book, but this man is said to have a copy. We were looking for it before, as part of an older case. My first case, actually. It seemed so important at the time... I wonder, though, how much difference it might really make. What good can a single book do?”

“Well, how should I know? You're the book expert around here, not me,” Persephone points out, “But the top brass must be taking it awfully seriously, if they're willing to cut a deal with this old hermit. I wonder-”

But she never gets a chance to finish that sentence, a heavy knock at the door cutting her off. All conversation falters at the interruption, a sense of strange dread descending to fill the void. A moment later, Master Brehm lets himself in and approaches. His expression is grave, his eyes red and sleepless.

“This is not the announcement I was hoping to make,” Master Brehm begins, his voice heavy and reluctant, “But... we've received a request. A request from the Regent's office.”

A request, you ask yourself, or a demand?

[1/2]

>>5787522

“The Regent is asking for volunteers,” Master Brehm continues, stressing that last word, “A situation has developed in the west. Yes, in Ixtab. A previously undiscovered site has been uncovered in the city, and the locals believe it may have incredible significance. However, due to... current events, the Regent is concerned that we may not have time to study this site in sufficient detail. That's where we come in.”

“The mission involves travelling to Ixtab and assisting with the excavations, cataloguing everything that you find before assisting with the evacuation of certain relics,” he explains, “He's not asking that you fight, but... well, you'll be working in an active warzone. It'll be dangerous, I won't lie about that, perhaps more dangerous than anything you've ever done.”

A cold silence greets these words. Master Brehm looks at each of you in turn, his gaze solemn and serious.

“I won't tell you what to do,” he adds, “This choice is yours and yours alone. But please, don't make any rash decisions. Think it over.”

With that, he gives you all a curt nod and turns to leave, practically fleeing from the dormitory. Almost as soon as the door closes behind you, Clarissa stands up and starts to tidy up the remains of lunch. “I'm going,” she announces, almost casually, as she works.

“Of course you are,” Persephone sneers, “You're exactly the kind of fool that-”

“I'm going too,” Johannes adds, his voice low but steady.

“YOU?” Persephone snaps, her gaze jerking around to the heavyset man, “Oh please, don't joke around like that. What good would YOU be on a mission like this? They need scholars, not brawlers!”

“Then I can help with the heavy lifting,” he continues stubbornly, “Might be a lot of rock that needs shifting, and these “scholars” can't lift anything heavier than a stack of books – just look at Lucas.”

Charming.

“Well, don't blame me if you get shot in the gut!” the pale girl rants, throwing her hands up in disgust before turning and storming away into her bedroom. The door slams shut behind her, hard enough to rattle the cutlery on the table.

“I... have to stay here,” Harriet decides, her voice barely above a whisper, “I'm sorry, but...”

“You've got nothing to apologise for,” Clarissa scolds, “You heard Master Brehm – this is your choice. If you don't think you're prepared for this, you're better off staying here. You've got nothing to prove to me, to any of us.”

Johannes nods, and a wave of relief washes over Harriet's face. With that said, she hurries to help Clarissa with the clearing up. Johannes just sits back as they work around him, lost in his own little world. You're left thinking too, searching your soul and trying to reach a decision.

>You'll join the Ixtab operation, with Clarissa and Johannes
>You'll remain at the academy, with Harriet and Persephone
>Other

>>5787523
>join
Can’t abandon brohannes

>>5787523
>You'll join the Ixtab operation, with Clarissa and Johannes
Kinda want to see the situation there with our own eyes. Also got to keep these two out of trouble.

>>5787523
>You'll remain at the academy, with Harriet and Persephone
The possible mission of going to the hermit it's enough tempting for me to stay. Lucas might have a new friend if they start talking about books and stuff, who knows.

I'm worried about Clarissa and Johannes but they're both more than capable of fighting. Oh and also

>Take Clarissa to talk in private
We need to at least tell her about how Cloranthy feels, and hell maybe beat some sense into her thick head so she stops acting so closeted and weird to tell her sister how much she loves her and she's going to miss her, because if she won't tell us what's going on with her then we need to tell her to put shit to the side to be a good sister

Ixtab is the fulcrum upon which the future of your nation will be decided – at least that's what Eminescu claimed, and you can well believe him. In some strange way, it seems like everything that you've seen and done so far has been leading up to this point. Ixtab is the point at which all paths converge, and this new discovery will be the answer to everything.

Maybe. Or maybe not. But your friends are marching into danger either way, and you can't let them go alone. You'll join the operation, whatever may come.

Nobody notices when you rise to your feet, quietly showing yourself out. Walking to Master Brehm's office, you try to imagine the same conversation playing out in each cohort of the academy. How many volunteers do they really expect to find? And how many will they really get?

That's a question that you can't answer. It's not your place to say – you can make the decision for one man, and one man only.

-

Master Brehm doesn't notice you at first, even when you knock lightly at the ajar door. His eyes are down, fixed on the papers scattered across his desk. You recognise a copy of Bellerose's report buried amidst the pile, but most of the other pages seem to be letters. Old letters, by the yellowed shade of the paper. It's only when you clear your throat that he looks up, moving to hide the letters before abandoning the effort.

“Lucas, my boy, you've got to stop skulking about!” the old man scolds, forcing a smile, “I didn't hear you come in. You should've knocked!”

“I did,” you point out, “But never mind that. I wanted to come and see you. We have to talk.”

An unsightly grimace flashes across Master Brehm's face, a sense of dread and dismay. Masking the expression with a smile, he gestures to the chair opposite him with a flourish. “I'm all yours!” he declares, “I wasn't busy. Just checking over some old papers of mine, getting things organised. You know how it is.”

“Looks old,” you remark, rather pointlessly, “Your old cohort?”

“...Exactly that,” he admits, “There's only two left now, with Kauffmann... well, time does that to you. They say that loss is the true nature of time. A young man spends his days collecting things – friends, memories, letters like this – and an old man spends his days losing them. A cheerful thought, isn't it? But I'm sure you didn't come to listen to an old man and his depressing-”

“I'm going to Ixtab,” you interrupt quietly, relieved to hear how steady your voice is. You had doubts.

Master Brehm's face falls, although this is merely confirming what he must have known ever since you arrived. He says nothing for a while, merely shuffling the papers on his desk for a while before letting out a low sigh. You hadn't been sure what to expect – maybe anger, or perhaps even pride – but this is somehow worse. He just looks... defeated.

[1]

>>5787565

“Who else?” Master Brehm asks eventually, his voice weary, “Lowe?”

“And Johannes too,” you answer with a nod.

“...I wasn't expecting him. But then, I never did have a read on him. I don't think anyone does,” the old man sighs, “At least she won't go alone. That counts for something, I suppose.”

“You think we're making a terrible mistake, don't you?” you ask, the question finding its way to your lips despite your best efforts.

Master Brehm doesn't answer straight away, at first giving you only a shrug. “I fear the worst,” he admits, breaking his long silence, “Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps nothing will happen – you'll collect what you need to collect, then pack up and leave before whatever fate befalls the city. But that's not what my gut is telling me. This is important work that you're doing, I won't deny that, but all I see is more loss.”

“We'll be fine,” you assure him, with a confidence that you don't truly feel, “We've been in worse scrapes before, Clarissa and I, and this time we'll have Johannes here to stop us doing anything stupid.”

Finally, you see the merest hint of a bitter smile on Master Brehm's face – bitter, but genuine. “Watch out for each other,” he urges, “Perhaps you're right. The three of you together... if you can stop bickering for a while, the Reivians won't stand a chance.”

Not that you'll be coming face to face with any of them.

Assuming everything goes to plan.

-

With your decision made, and your obigations fulfilled, you start to make your way back towards the dorm. You won't be shipping out until tomorrow, leaving you with plenty of time for doubts and regrets. Pushing those from your mind, at least as best as you can, you glance up and spot Clarissa up ahead.

“Clarissa!” you call out, “Were you...”

“I was going to speak with Master Brehm,” she answers coolly, “I have to let him know my decision – although I suspect that he already knows.”

“Just go easy on him, okay? I think he's...” you pause shake your head, “I don't think he's very happy about this. After everything that happened with Master Kauffmann...”

Clarissa's eyes drop for a moment before returning to yours. When your eyes meet once more, her gaze is as hard and cold as glass - the gaze of someone who has hardened themselves to the world. “I'm sorry to hear that,” she says smoothly, “I truly am. But you can understand, surely, that I HAVE to do this.”

“I know. It was never in any doubt,” you agree, “But will you do one thing for me?”

“Aside from going easy on Master Brehm?”

“One OTHER thing, then,” you correct yourself, “Go and see Cloranthy, will you? Just go and be her sister for a while. Tell her how you really feel.”

Clarissa holds your gaze for a moment, and then you see something inside her waver. “Of course,” she mutters, “...I was going to do that anyway.”

But you're not sure about that, and neither is she.

[2]

>>5787595

The dorm is strangely silent when you arrive back. It's empty, save for Harriet sitting quietly at the dinner table. She flinches when she sees you, then hurriedly leaps to her feet. “Oh gosh, I'm sorry,” she begins, although you have no idea what she's supposed to be apologising for, “I just feel like I'm taking up space at the moment. I should go for a walk, stop getting in the way here.”

“Getting in the way of... what?” you ask, gesturing at the empty dorm, “Where is everyone?”

“Well, um, Persephone is still in her room. I think she's... you know, sulking,” Harriet answers, lowering her voice to whisper that last word, “And Johannes said, um, he said he was going to the chapel. I don't think I know where that is...”

“I know,” you tell her quietly, “...I'm going too, Harriet.”

She nods just once, a brittle twitch of her head. “I thought you might say that,” she murmurs, “You're... very brave. I hope you don't think any less of me, for staying behind like this.”

“Of course not,” you assure her, “A mission like this...”

But your voice trails off here. “I'd just be a liability?” Harriet finishes for you, giving you a sad smile.

“...I wouldn't put it exactly like that, but maybe,” you admit, accepting her words with a vague nod. If things really do go wrong, as wrong as Master Brehm fears, she really would be more of a hindrance than anything else. A horrible thought, but one born of pragmatism.

In the silence that follows, Harriet bends down to tug restlessly at her boots. “I'm going out for a walk,” she says vaguely, speaking just to avoid the silence, “I need a little bit of fresh air.”

“Make the most of the good weather,” you agree, inwardly wincing at the stupid, banal words. You're not even sure if it IS good weather out there. Harriet nods again and makes to make her exit, leaving you to decide your next move.

>You'll check in with Persephone, tell her your decision
>You'll join Harriet on her walk. The fresh air will do you good
>You'll try and find Johannes in the chapel, see how he's doing
>You'll spend some time alone. You might not get another chance for a while
>Other

>>5787609
>Join Harriet on her walk
Don’t think Persephone wants to hear we’re going too right now

>>5787609
>You'll check in with Persephone, tell her your decision
She's going to rip us a new one.

>>5787609
>You'll check in with Persephone, tell her your decision
Imagine if she hears this from someone other than us.

>>5787609
>You'll check in with Persephone, tell her your decision
>Join Harriet on her walk
We need to make sure babe knows were going to be alright, and then try to maybe motivate Harriet

You glance across at the closed door to Persephone's room, then wince at the thought of what might await you within. Considering how pissed she was with Johannes, you don't want to imagine what she might think about YOUR decision. When you think about it that way, the thought of some fresh air never felt so appealing. You'll give her some time to calm down, then see about breaking the news. You just hope nobody else gets the chance to tell her before you do...

“Hey Harriet,” you call out quietly, “Hold on a second!”

“Huh?” she yelps, looking around in surprise, “What's up?”

“Looking for some company?” you ask, “Or was this the “I want to be alone” kind of walk?”

“Um...” Harriet pauses, “But I thought...”

“What?”

“No, nothing. It's nothing,” she shakes her head quickly, “You're more than welcome. In fact, I'd love some company. Shall we?”

With a nod, you follow her out of the dorm. Walking together through the academy hallways, you emerge out into the courtyard. To your vague relief, the weather IS good today – a clear sky, albeit with a cold and distant sun. Once outside you go high, climbing the stairs up to the great wall encircling the academy itself. The view here is excellent on clear days like this, gazing out across the sprawling capital city below.

“The Regent himself is giving you orders now,” Harriet muses, gazing out at the palace, “Why, you're practically famous!”

“Hardly. And he's not giving us orders,” you murmur, feeling vaguely embarrassed by the suggestion, “The Regent probably doesn't know about any of this. The orders... the request just came from his office. He's likely has far more important things to worry about right now.”

“Like what?” Harriet asks, giving you a look of wide-eyed wonder, “What could be more important than something like this?”

“I mean, more important than any one man,” you correct yourself, “It's... anyway. We're just going to be doing our duty, nothing more than that.”

Harriet nods to herself. “I don't know much about that stuff. Duty, responsibility, the whole lot. I don't think I'm cut out for it, actually,” she admits, “Not like you are, you and everyone else. Even Persephone, in her own way. She knows what she wants to do, and she just does it. She doesn't let anyone get in her way. But me...”

“You probably don't want to use us as an example,” you warn, “Not unless you want to end up as messed up as we are.”

She laughs a little at this. “But at least you're not boring,” she points out, “And here you are, about to go on a big adventure.”

“Yeah, and when I'm done breaking the news to Persephone I'll be off to Ixtab,” you joke, getting another laugh, “Still trying to figure out that first part, by the way.”

“She's going to be SO mad at you!” Harriet giggles, “You might not even make it to Ixtab – she might put you in the infirmary before you go!”

[1]

>>5787726

“So is that why you came out here with me?” Harriet continues, with a mischievous smile on her face, “So you could get advice on breaking the news to Persephone?”

“Of course not!” you insist, “Although since we're out here, if you just so happened to feel like giving me any advice...”

“Sorry, but I think you're just going to have to bite the bullet and tell her. Um, I mean... bad choice of words, huh?” she winces a little, “I don't know, just be honest with her. Tell her how you really feel!”

“...We ARE still talking about Ixtab, aren't we?” you ask, giving her a suspicious look.

Harriet giggles again, then leans forwards and places a tiny kiss on your cheek. “There you go,” she says softly, “That's for luck. Now go get her!”

-

You're not sure about this.

Arriving back at the dorm, you steady your nerves and knock lightly at Persephone's door. A faint curse from behind the door replies to you, which you decide to interpret as an invitation. Opening the door a crack and peering inside, you come face to face with Persephone peering back. She flinches back, just as you do the same, then grabs the door and yanks it wide open.

“Well?” she snaps, glancing at the empty dorm outside before grabbing your arm and briskly dragging you into her room, “What took you so long?”

“I'm guessing you know why I'm here,” you reply, seeing the answer on her face already. Persephone scowls and turns away, crossing her arms as she sulks. You wait it out, playing patient and waiting for her to relent. Her room is cluttered, mostly filled with chests and racks of clothes, but the walls are plastered with numerous sketches and drawings. You recognise your own face staring back at you, along with the other members of the cohort, but also the same image of a city, repeated over and over again...

“You're going too,” Persephone says at last, her words sounding like an accusation, “Why? Why risk your life, just to salvage some... some old bones and papers from a dead city that nobody cares about?”

“Quite a lot of people care about it, actually. That's why they're fighting over it,” you point out, “And these old bones... its not just about them. I'm going to look out for the others.”

“And who's going to look out for you?” she asks, turning and prodding you in the chest, “Honestly, can't you just be selfish for once?”

You just shrug, unable to find an answer to this. You've got your own selfish curiosity, but that's not the real reason you're going... is it?

“Fine. I don't care. I don't even care!” Persephone decides with a shrug of your own, more aggressive and flamboyant than your gesture, “But if you get shot, I hope the last thing you remember is me saying “I told you so”.”

“Why does everyone keep assuming this is going to be a disaster?” you snap, a raw nerve of anger flashing red, “You're all acting like... like we're already dead!”

[2]

>>5787755

“Lucas please, can you think of ONE time we did something and it DIDN'T turn out to be a complete disaster?” Persephone snarls, pacing restlessly around her room, “At this point, I'm not sure if we can be trusted to go down to the shops, let alone walk into an active bloody warzone!”

Throwing her hands up in the air as she says these last words, Persephone turns and sits heavily down on the edge of her bed. You stand awkwardly in the middle of her room for a moment before taking your life in your hands and sitting down beside her. She tenses up and looks away, a pout on her face, but otherwise says nothing.

“I'm going to come back,” you tell her, keeping your voice low and firm, “Because I have a good reason to come back. I've got too much unfinished business here.”

Persephone looks back around to you, and just for a moment she lets you see the naked fear, the vulnerability, in her eyes. “There's not a single thing that I can say that's going to make you change your mind, is there?” she asks softly.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head, “I'm afraid not.”

She lets out a long, low sigh, the last of her anger washing away. In its place, you see something like acceptance – a sad, solemn kind of acceptance. “When do you leave?” she asks quietly, “I dare say the Regent won't want to wait around.”

“Tomorrow. We leave tomorrow,” you answer, a slight grimace twisting your features, “Bright and early.”

“Then we've still got tonight...” Persephone murmurs, placing her cold hand over yours and leaning a little closer, “Will you stay here with me a little longer, at least?”

>Of course. I thought you'd never ask
>Not like this. It's not... right
>Other

>>5787785
>Of course. I thought you'd never ask

>>5787785
>Of course. I thought you'd never ask
oh boy

>>5787523
Aww, Persephone cares!
>>5787565
And Brehm too!

>>5787785
>Not like this. Feels like a bad omen.
It's after the ero scene when the shit really hits the fan.

>>5787798
Shits gonna hit the fan either way, this had been a long time coming anyway

>>5787785
>Of course. I thought you'd never ask

>>5787785
>Of course. I thought you'd never ask

>>5787798
Worth it. Plus, the guy who keeps saying stuff about his girl back home and how he never got a chance to tell her how he feels or whatever often tragically dies in war movies, too.

Thought it could only be a matter of seconds, a matter of heartbeats, the moment seems to draw out for an eternity. Persephone's eyes are fixed on yours, and although she doesn't say a word they seem to say so much – her eyes are full of a silent yearning, and a desperate hunger. Her hand grows heavy on yours, yet her skin never warms.

“Of course I'll stay,” you murmur, feeling the words in your chest more than hearing them, “I thought you'd never ask.”

Persephone smiles, not smirks, and leans closer still until her lips brush against yours. This feels different, feels like something more than a kiss, and it lingers. When your lips part once more, her eyes are bright with anticipation. “Oh, I'm sorry,” she purrs, running her other hand through your hair and down your cheek, “Did I make you wait? How awfully mean of me...”

“Well-” you begin, but you never get a chance to finish your sentence. Persephone lunges for you, twisting her body around until she sits straddling your lap. Her hands roam down your body, as your hands explore hers, and suddenly words seem very unimportant indeed.

Not all of her is cold.

-

Later. After.

You lie together, basking in the near-silence of her room. Persephone sleeps softly, her naked body draped across yours, but you're wide awake. You should be exhausted too, but your thoughts remain wild and active as you try to figure out what this all... means. There had been a desperation to Persephone's motions, a sense of urgency to every movement she made, and now, as she sleeps, a sense of finality.

An ill omen? Maybe. But if so, it's one that you'd happily accept.

She stirs slightly, her loose hair brushing lightly against your chest, but doesn't wake. With delicate care, you touch her back and trace the lines of her spine, her shoulders. Even in the dim lantern light, you can see the thin web of pale blue veins glinting beneath her skin, so pale that it's almost translucent. This too feels like a vision, like you might wake up any moment to find yourself back in the archives with Cloranthy.

But no. This is real. This has to be real.

“We're the same, you and I. I always knew it,” Persephone murmurs, her voice muffled by your chest. She looks up, eyes bright silver in the darkness, and smirks at you. “We're not like everyone else,” she continues, idly tracing her fingers across your chest, “Are we? You, the son of the forest...”

“And you, the daughter of the moon,” you finish for her. Persephone's eyes narrow with perverse pleasure, hating the title yet savouring it all at once. Just saying these words feels like placing your signature on some obscure contract, like entering into some pact.

“I'll be waiting for you,” Persephone murmurs, “We've got unfinished business, you and I.”

[1]

>>5787854
>Not all of her is cold.

Glad you added that cause I was totally going to ask after the session. Didnt to suddenly get a uh... popsicle as it were.

>>5787854

Bright and early ends up being a little optimistic, but not because of you. Along with Clarissa and Johannes, you make sure to arrive at the academy courtyard when ordered, but there's no-one there to meet you. For a moment, you're left to wonder if this is it – if you three are the only ones foolish enough to take the bait.

“We're not the only ones,” Clarissa tells you, reading your expression, “I was here earlier. There was another group, another cohort, but they left before us. We'll be playing catch-up.”

“Just HOW early were you here?” Johannes asks, giving her a dubious look.

“I couldn't sleep,” she answers with a shrug.

“Too damn excited. Like a kid before her birthday,” the heavyset man grunts, shaking his head in dismay, “This other cohort. Anyone you recognise?”

This time, Clarissa is the one who shakes her head. “They were older. Fully qualified Exorcists, I suspect. We didn't speak much while they were here, and they left early,” she explains, “We're supposed to be getting an instructor, and some more people. From what the others said, there was supposed to be two full cohorts going.”

“That's it?” you murmur, “Will that really be enough?”

“It'll have to be!” a new voice calls out from behind you. You turn to see the other members of your makeshift cohort. The first is a young blonde woman dressed all in white, even down to the ribbons in her long hair. The second is a handsome young man, with sandy hair and rugged features. Behind them, the one who spoke up, is the familiar face of Master Rosenthal.

“We're running a little late, I'm afraid,” Rosenthal apologises, giving the young woman a scolding look, “Because SOMEONE went missing just before we were supposed to leave.”

“I said I'm sorry, didn't I?” the young woman complains, then gives you all a bright smile, “Fia Northwood, at your service! And this is-”

“Ellis. Just Ellis will do,” the young man interrupts, offering you his hand to shake, “You're Lucas, of course. Cloranthy talks about you a lot... when she talks at all. That would make you Johannes, and you're Clarissa of course.”

More handshakes as you all greet one another, with Clarissa shifting and fidgeting all the while. “Perhaps we could save the introductions for later?” she suggests, glaring at Master Rosenthal, “As you said, we're already running late.”

“Well, that's me told,” Master Rosenthal sighs, “Okay everyone. Our first stop is the capital – we're due to meet up with a unit from the third army there, and then we'll ride out west together. It'll be a long ride, so we'll have plenty of time to get to know one another. If you've got any questions, save them for the road!”

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. Should be on schedule to continue this from next Saturday
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5787918
Thanks for running!

finally attended a full session

>>5787918
Thanks as always.
I enjoy our spooky waifu

>>5787918
Thanks for running!
So this is that hallucinogene-purchasing Fia...