>>5802256

“...You went down into the dig site, didn't you?” you ask Ellis, daring to break the new silence, “How does it look?”

“It's going to be difficult work. There's a lot of ground to cover, far more than I had been expecting. The other cohort have been getting some work done, but it's slow going. They've had to work in shifts,” Ellis explains, his eyes occasionally flicking across to Clarissa, “I don't know what it is, but it messes with your head down there. Maybe it's from being so deep underground? You'll see what I mean, I'm sure.”

You can't wait.

-

Your escort is a young soldier, perhaps no older than you are. He doesn't talk much as he leads you down the winding streets and towards a larger building. Your first guess, it turns out, had been the correct one – the countless structures build throughout Ixtab are all mausoleums, sealed tombs filled with the ancient dead. Their bones might be dust after all these years, but you still feel their presence as you roam the streets.

The larger building is one of the only structures you see which is open, the doorway remaining unsealed. Preparing a gas lantern, the soldier dutifully leads you further down into the narrow tunnels beyond. You had been expecting caves, rugged caverns reaching deep into the living stone, but these are different – as ornate and deliberate as the stone mausoleums outside, the tunnels have been carved out with extreme care. The walls are decorated with pillars and columns, with the occasional niche set deep into the stone. It's not hard to imagine what they were used for.

Neither is it hard to see why Straub warned against wandering off – the tunnels are constantly branching off into new routes and junctions, each one splitting off into yet more diversions. Shuddering a little at the thought of getting lost in such a place, you stick close to the soldier as he leads you towards the site. When you finally arrive, the ugliness of it is striking – the beautiful stone walls have been broken upon to reveal the rough, rugged stone you had been expecting all along. But now, after the ornate corridors before, it seems like an open wound.

“How stable are these tunnels?” you ask carefully, casting a dubious eye at the wooden struts flanking the tunnel entrance.

“So long as those props are in place, as stable as the city itself,” the young soldier replies, “Little bit of work that the General's engineers cooked up. As soon as you're done here, we're going to collapse the whole mess of tunnels. Here, and back up at the main entrance. Let the bloody Reivians dig through that!”

His voice echoes through the whole network of tunnels as he laughs, a sharp edge of spite glinting beneath his humour.

[2/3]

>>5802257

Master Rosenthal is already surveying the dig site when you arrive, and it seems like he's been here for quite some time. His eyes are red and weary, but bright with excitement. Even from a few moments inside the cavern, you see what Ellis had been talking about – there's a heaviness to the air here, an oppressive weight that inspires immediate thoughts of leaving. In that instant, you'd give anything for a taste of fresh air...

“Having a long lie?” Master Rosenthal jokes, giving you a feverish smile, “You'll all be well-rested then, that's good. There's paper and charcoal for you, just help yourselves.”

You don't move yet, your eyes still wandering across the newly uncovered tomb. It winds yet further still, and you shudder again as you imagine something even deeper than this. Looking away, you study the symbols carved deeply into the stone. They're not a language you recognise – clearly something very old, but infinitely more refined and elegant than the crude Akklo script that you're more familiar with.

“We've taken to calling the language Ixtari,” Master Rosenthal explains, noticing your gaze, “It's incredibly rare, as you might have guessed. There's never been a definite translation either, mostly due to a lack of samples. That's why this site could be so important. We need you to copy down each and every symbol, taking note of where it was placed. It'll be careful, tedious work I'm afraid.”

“I can handle it,” Clarissa assures him, with obvious displeasure as Ellis nods along with her, “What else do you need done?”

“A little further in, there are some statues,” the instructor continues, “Again, we'd like someone to make sketches of them. As much detail as possible, please.”

Fia raises her hand. “Ahem, I think I'll start there,” she offers, “I'm quite the artist, actually – one of my MANY talents.”

“I'm sure,” Master Rosenthal replies, although there's the slightest hint of ironic humour in his voice, “Oh, and it may not be exciting, but there's still some debris at the far end of the tunnel. We had some soldiers clearing it out earlier, but they were... redeployed. I'm sorry to ask this of you-”

“See? Clearing rubble, just like I said,” Johannes says with a faint satisfaction, “Remind me to tell Persephone that I told her so.”

“I'll make sure to remind you,” you promise him, thinking about where you should start.

>You'll work on copying the symbols with Clarissa and Ellis
>Maybe Fia could use some help with drawing up the statues
>It's not fancy, but you'll help Johannes with clearing the rubble
>You need to get back the surface. You shouldn't be here
>Other

>>5802259
>You'll work on copying the symbols with Clarissa and Ellis
We can help light things up for them and keep them focused on their work.

>>5802259
>You'll work on copying the symbols with Clarissa and Ellis

>>5802259
>You'll work on copying the symbols with Clarissa and Ellis

“I'll help with copying the symbols,” you announce, giving Clarissa and Ellis a cautious look. There's a lot of ground to cover, it's true, but you might spend more of your time stopping them from strangling each other. Whatever your reasons may be, Master Rosenthal nods and hands you some supplies. “Where do we start?” you add, gesturing around at the walls, “I heard that the other team has started work already.”

“They have. Follow me,” Master Rosenthal says with a nod. You fall in behind him as he leads you all deeper into the tunnel. Taking a closer look at the walls, you notice that the carved symbols in this section of the tomb have all been marked with a tiny dot of white chalk – to indicate that they've already been recorded, you presume.

As Master Rosenthal leads you to the unmarked symbols, you pass one of the statues he mentioned. It's a curious thing, made from the same white stone as the rest of Ixtab itself, and it depicts a man – a tall thing, with proportions that are not quite normal. The arms are too long, you think, and it's too thin in general. The hairless head is particularly unusual, swept back like a narrow dome. Fia stares at the statue in confusion for a long moment before she starts on her part of the work, and you carry on walking.

“Here,” the instructor announces finally, when you arrive at the unmarked symbols, “I'll be along to check on you in a little bit. Take as long as you need – we can't make any mistakes here, after all.”

With that, he leads Johannes deeper into the cavern and leaves you to work.

-

It's careful, meticulous work that you've chosen for yourself, almost a form of meditation. Taking Master Rosenthal's advice, you push away any thoughts of the fighting above and focus purely on the symbols carved into the stone. It's incredible to imagine that they were carved by hand, hacked into the stone, for how elegant and detailed they are. Graceful curves, swooping lines, and subtle angles...

“Hard work, isn't it?” Ellis remarks, speaking to nobody in particular. You murmur a vague agreement, but Clarissa just answers with a dirty look. It's not hard to guess why, of course.

Ellis. Elias Malinkov – of the Malinkov family, you presume, headed by General Malinkov of the First Army. You don't know the exact relation – a son, a nephew, some vague connection of blood – but that matters little. You have to wonder at the coincidence that brought them both here, two heirs to two military leaders.

You're not sure how long you work for, brooding on the strangeness surrounding you and fighting against the suffocating air. Ellis wanders off after a while to take a break, defeated by the oppressive atmosphere, but that only seems to encourage Clarissa to work harder. Too hard, perhaps – the stick of chalk snaps in her hand as she goes to mark another symbol as completed, and she lets out an echoing curse.

[1]

>>5802286

“Easy there,” you warn, hoping to lighten her mood a little, “That's a precious resource, you know.”

“More valuable than gold, I know,” Clarissa replies, stooping down to pick up the broken bits of chalk, “More useful, at least. What would we do with a lump of gold down here?”

“Beat someone over the head with it?” you suggest, “I mean, gold IS pretty heavy...”

This manages to get a tiny smile out of her, even if she does look immediately guilty afterwards. “I know, I know. I should take a break too,” she sighs, even though you didn't say anything of the sort, “There's no point in pushing myself if I just make mistakes.” Sitting down and leaning back against the wall, she tilts her head back to look at the work you've just completed. “It's funny, isn't it? This place is truly ancient, covered in rare, esoteric carvings, and I'm just using it for comfort,” she muses, “What do you think this place is, anyway?”

“No idea,” you admit, shaking your head, “But it's something special. It HAS to be. Can you feel it?”

Clarissa closes her eyes, listening carefully to the world beyond the Veil. You do too, opening your senses as far as you dare. This whole cavern seems to resonate, trembling with the remnants of some long vanished power. You don't sense any spirits here – in fact, the absence is so vast, so complete, that it becomes a presence all of itself.


“I don't feel anything,” Clarissa confesses, “I don't know. Maybe I'm not really listening.”

You say nothing to this. A moment later Clarissa snatches up her paper and leaps to her feet, attacking her work with renewed vigour. “Those men up there are fighting, dying, so we can complete this work,” she snarls, “Every day that we spend here is another day that they spend at the front. We'll have time to rest later. For now, we work.”

Working, you presume, is easier than facing up to what's really going on. Easier than thinking about what's going to happen. You haul yourself to your feet and start working on your section of the cavern wall, but you don't work in silence. “What you said back there, at breakfast,” you muse, “About the Regent...”

“This whole plan, with the Third Army holding the river, it had to come from General Malinkov. He's the favourite, always whispering into the Regent's ear... and he HATES father,” she spits, “Malinkov is one of the old guard, a “gentleman officer”. One of the aristocracy, not an “upstart” like father. Petty, pointless feuding... but he must see this as his chance to finally get rid of a rival. I'm sure of it. Father must know it too.”

“And...” you pause, “He's just letting it happen?”

“Because he was ordered to hold the city,” Clarissa answers simply, “Father will follow the orders that he's been given, even if it means... His honour, his name, depends on it.”

[2]

>>5802316

You work for a while longer, joined once more by Ellis. He gives you both a friendly wave before getting to work. It seems incredible that he can be so oblivious, to greet Clarissa with a smile and a nod, and yet that's exactly what he does. You know, of course, that it's not fair to judge a man by his father, but you can't help doing just that. At least Clarissa has set aside her grudge for now – the perfect professional, as always.

“Hard at work, I see,” Master Rosenthal announces as he comes to join you, “I was just about to suggest calling it a day here. You must be getting hungry, no?”

“A little,” you admit, feeling your stomach rumble. You hadn't noticed it until he mentioned it, damn him.

“The other cohort can take over, I think,” the instructor continues, “How have you been getting on? I don't suppose you've had any breakthroughs, have you? Any revelations or brilliant ideas?”

Clarissa shakes her head. “We haven't translated it, if that's what you're asking,” she mutters.

“Oh shoot,” Ellis groans, “Were we supposed to be translating this? I thought...”

“No Ellis, we weren't supposed to be translating this,” Master Rosenthal assures him, a great patience in his voice, “I was just joking. Of course, you'd be a very famous man if you DID manage to translate Ixtari script, but I'm not expecting that kind of work to happen in a few hours. It may never even be possible!”

You see Clarissa's face tightening up as she hears this, reaching the same conclusion that you do – this might all be for nothing?

Perhaps Master Rosenthal realises what he just said, because he hastily moves on.

-

Joining up with Fia and Johannes, you meet your escort outside the site and let him lead you back to the surface. Fia proudly shows off her sketches as you go, which you have to admit are actually quite good – they certainly mimic the inhuman proportions, the placid faces, even if no drawing can truly capture their strangeness.

“I was talking to some of the soldiers,” Ellis mentions as you walk, “They were talking about an Exorcist here. Master... Eminescu, I think it was. He's been here for a while, they said.”

“Master Eminescu left the academy a while before us,” you recall, “What's he been getting up to?”

“He's been spending his time on the ridge, on Foulke's Point. Studying the enemy, apparently,” Ellis explains, sounding more and more excited with every word he says, “I bet he knows all about them! Do you think we should try and meet with him?”

“...On Foulke's Point?” you ask, glancing aside as Master Rosenthal, “Is that... allowed?”

“I certainly wouldn't recommend it, for your own safety if nothing else,” the instructor warns, “But I can't exactly stop you.”

So...

>You'll do it. You should take advantage of Eminescu's insight
>You won't go. This is a pointless risk, and a waste of time
>Other

>>5802334
>You'll do it. You should take advantage of Eminescu's insight
We are in desperate need for more information. Everything here including the enemy is an enigma.

“Okay, I'll do it,” you decide, giving Ellis a nod, “We should take advantage of whatever insight Master Eminescu has. There's still too much that we don't know about the enemy.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Johannes warns, “I'll go with you, but just to make sure that you don't do anything stupid.”

Clarissa nods her agreement. “We shouldn't let this chance go to waste,” she agrees, “I need some fresh air anyway.”

Master Rosenthal sighs, shakes his head. “I understand. But please, remember your mission. We're not here to fight in the war. Don't do anything to put yourselves at risk,” he pauses, smiles a little, “Master Brehm would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you, you know.”

“Aw, how sweet!” Fia remarks, “But, um, I think I'll stay here. I really really want to stay as far away from the shooting as possible.”

“Should've stayed back at the capital...” Clarissa mutters to herself.

-

Feeling terribly exposed, you leave the city of Ixtab and set off towards Foulke's Point. The ground is rough and uneven, churned mud clinging to your boots as you march onwards. Aside from the whistle of the wind, a terrible silence has descended. You'd almost welcome the crack of rifle fire, if it meant breaking that fearful stillness.

Despite Master Rosenthal's warnings, you feel like you're going to war. Clarissa and Ellis both brought rifles with them, the long weapon looking comically oversized compared with Clarissa's slight frame. Nobody speaks as you march, just following the faint remnants of the path leading you towards the ridge. Then you're tackling the steep slope, bare stone clawing at your hands as you scrabble upwards.

“Halt!” a tense voice calls out as you approach the top of the ridge, “Make yourselves known!”

“Steady on now, friend!” Ellis counters, as the filthy soldier springs into view and aims his weapon, “We're on your side – we're from the academy!”

A long silence.

“Let them up,” a different voice, hoarse and raw, orders. There's an authority in his voice, and the soldier immediately lowers his rifle. Instead, he reaches down and offers a hand to help you up the last difficult steps.

Foulke's Point is bleak, even more so than the rest of Ixtab. A long strip of bare rock, studded with heavy stone forts, it looks down upon a vast sea of mud stretching out below. That's the Reivian Empire, you realise. You've heard so much about it, but you've never actually seen it with your own eyes. It looks... normal, utterly normal. Just as miserable as everything else in the region, but no different.

The Reivian camp is down below, a sprawling network of trenches and bunkers that belches black smoke and flickers of fire. You catch brief glimpses of soldiers, like ants, as they scurry from one bunker to the next. Not just any soldiers, but the enemy.

[1]

>>5802350

“You two, I recognise you,” the gruff voice calls out once more. You turn, looking back to where the old soldier waits. He sits with his legs crossed as if in meditation, but the long rifle that rests on his knees speaks of a more violent purpose. The man – Master Eminescu, you assume – is older than you recall, or perhaps just more haggard than when you saw him last. His hair is greying, even down the drooping moustache he wears, and his eyes are surrounded by deep creases. He's seen a lot, this one.

“Master Eminescu?” Ellis begins, giving the older man a nod, “I'm glad to see that you're well.”

Eminescu smirks, as if savouring some private joke. “You're not here to enquire after my health, of course,” he deduces, “You're here about them, down there. Aren't you?”

Ellis pauses, then nods again. “Very well then,” Eminescu sighs, heaving himself to his feet, “Come here. You might get lucky.”

One of the soldiers hurries forwards and hands Eminescu a pair of binoculars before scurrying away. Gesturing for you to stay low, Eminescu creeps up to the edge of the ridge and lies prone, peering down with the binoculars in silence. Then, quickly, he passes the binoculars to Ellis and points down at the Reivian camp. Ellis gasps, recoiling slightly, and Eminescu is quick to snatch the binoculars from his hand and pass them to you.

With their aid, you look back down over the Reivian camp. You see their banners fluttering in the wind, each one bearing the blasphemous image of a wolf devouring the sun, and you see snippets of the soldiers themselves in their drab brown uniforms. But you don't see what spooked Ellis so badly, not until Eminescu takes your arm and gently guides you on target. That's when you see the priest.

Like some kind of primitive survival, a barbarian from a bygone era, the priest sends a shiver of revulsion through you at a glance. He wears deep red robes, the colour of spilt wine, with a heavy pelt of wolf's fur worn over the top against the cold. His face is hidden behind a polished silver mask, cast in the shape of a skull, with an absurdly tall and pointed hood only adding to his height. You only see him for a moment, before he ducks back into a bunker, but the sight stays with you for a long moment afterwards.

“The bastard is one of their high priests,” Eminescu murmurs, as you pass the binoculars along to Clarissa, “I've been keeping an eye on him. Waiting for my chance.”

The long rifle he still carries, along with the grotesquely oversized scope mounted atop it, says exactly what that “chance” involves.

“Bastard won't stand still long enough to get a shot,” Eminescu continues, his face twisted with hatred, “Almost had my chance once, when he was leading one of their bloody rituals. Bad shot, heavy winds at the time, but I should've tried. Wasted my opportunity. I won't waste the next one.”

[2]

>>5802366

“Rituals?” you whisper, as if there was any chance of the Reivians overhearing you.

“They build bonfires sometimes. Gather round them and chant. When the wind is just right, you can sometimes hear them,” Eminescu murmurs, carefully settling his rifle against his shoulder and loading a single cartridge, “I never wish to hear such things again. They worship their bastard Emperor like a god, calling upon his name for protection before launching their attacks. Bloody things, their attacks. They die in droves, but they never break. Never falter.”

“Last time they attacked, they lost five men for every one man we lost. Doesn't matter – they'll attack again, like nothing ever happened,” he continues grimly, “Men don't fight like that.”

Gazing down at the ridge, you try to imagine a sea of bodies swarming up it. The terrain is even worse on their side of the border, with much of the ridge being virtually impassible. There are only a few trails they could use, and most of those have been blocked up with spools of bladed wire. The debris of battle still litters the ridge, empty shell casings and dark stains of blood.

“The Reivians may be summoning spirits to aid in their attacks,” Clarissa says, “Have you seen this at all?”

“They've tried. Lately, they been preparing. Getting things in place for another attempt. Spirits of fire, usually. Crude, brutal, but effective... if they can control them,” the older Exorcist explains, “Something you should know – tell the academy yourselves, if I don't make it back. Some of their rituals are meant to bind the spirits, to keep them from being banished. Won't just be able to send them back where they came from. Easier just to kill the priest, break the binding that way.”

“That's a breach of the Accord,” Johannes rumbles, “A serious one.”

He's right. Binding a spirit like this, enslaving it to a man's will, flies in the face of the natural order. Spirits belong in the spirit world – taking them from that world is bad, but preventing them from returning to it is even worse. If the Reivians are doing this so casually, it shows just how far they've fallen.

Master Eminescu watches the Reivian camp for a long time, his eye fixed to the scope as he searches for any hint of his target. But, the high priest doesn't show himself again. With a frustrated sigh, Eminescu draws back from the ridge and lowers his rifle. “I'll take his head yet,” he mutters, “One of these days...”

His interest already waning, Eminescu glances back towards his bunker. Before you lose him completely, you wonder if there's anything else he might be able to tell you.

>Farewell Master Eminescu. Good hunting
>Why are they doing this? What could the Reivians want with Ixtab?
>Have you thought about taking the fight to them?
>Why did you come here? Is it personal?
>I had questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>5802399
>Why are they doing this? What could the Reivians want with Ixtab?

“Why are they doing this?” you ask, your question causing Master Eminescu to pause and turn back. “Why throw so many lives away like this?” you continue, “What could they possibly want with Ixtab?”

“Reivians have claimed Ixtab to be their own territory since... since forever,” he answers in his rasping voice, “But it's more than that. They claim land in the north, yet they don't attack there. It's Ixtab itself. Is HAS to be. Whole city is a sacred place. Could be that that's why their divine Emperor wants it so badly. Can't be much of a living god if you don't control your sacred places, can you?”

“He would really throw away so many lives, just for the sake of his ego?” Ellis murmurs, “No... no, I can't believe it. It can't be.”

“You think so?” Eminescu's face lights up with a nasty grin, “He's got his whole nation believing that giving their lives away in his name is the highest honour possibly. Man like that, he's capable of anything. Can't negotiate with a man like that, although Sun knows that our Regent tried. Can't negotiate with those men down there either. That leaves one thing only.”

“What's that, then?” you ask, although you know what the answer must surely be.

“Kill them all,” Master Eminescu replies, only confirming your suspicions, “Let Sheol do with them what he will.”

-

There's a grim mood that hangs over you as you carefully descend from Foulke's Point and make your way back to Ixtab. There's something monstrous about the Reivian army, or perhaps the will behind it, that drowns out everything else you've seen. Even the forbidden act of necromancy seems like the lesser sin compared with the kind of callous bloodshed that the Reivians have embraced.

More and more, you find yourself agreeing with Ellis – this can't just be a whim, one of the Emperor's mad desires for power. There HAS to be something more here. Maybe you're just reaching, searching for any way to rationalise it, but...

“We should get back to work,” Clarissa says, her low voice interrupting your thoughts, “We've still got a lot to do.”

“Can't we rest up for a little first?” Ellis groans, “Just a little nap, perhaps, then we can get back to work with fresh eyes and clear heads.”

“Do what you want,” she states bluntly, marching on ahead and leaving Ellis' shoulders to sag. Sparing him a fleeting glance, you hasten to catch up with Clarissa. “Eminescu was right,” she mutters to you, “This isn't just a border dispute. I've known that for a long time. But this won't end until we wipe them out, or they wipe us out. No negotiations, no compromises.”

“Easier said than done,” you point out, “You saw their numbers, just like I did. They must have ten men for every one of ours, and perhaps more. Even with the best defences in the land on our side, we just don't have the numbers.”

“There has to be a way,” Clarissa hisses, “There HAS to be!”

[1]

>>5802425

You descend once more, venturing back into the tunnels. A different escort this time, a more talkative young man who makes a valiant attempt at conversation before realising that neither you nor Clarissa are interested. After that, he lapses into a sullen silence and focuses on leading the way. You're not even sure why you're here. The mission, of course, but you're not sure. You're not really in the mood for more laborious copying.

The other cohort are hard at work when you arrive, but they don't pay much attention to you when you arrive. A few unfriendly glances, but that's all. No sign of camaraderie, no sense of a shared burden. If anything, they seem oddly possessive of their work. You make a few half-hearted attempts at recording some of the symbols, but soon lose interest.

You delve deeper instead, following the cavern as far as it goes. The deeper you go, the stranger things seem to get. The first statue you see is a noble thing, the figure standing upright with their head raised boldly towards the ceiling. As you descend, though, their forms become twisted and pained. Here, a statue claws at the air around them. Here again, another is posed as if clutching themselves in pain. The symbols on the wall grow denser, each character smaller and tighter than the ones you've grown used to.

Then, almost abruptly, you come to the end of the tunnel. At first, it seems anticlimactic – the passage simply ends, perhaps widening out slightly but otherwise coming to a dead end. The rock underfoot is darkened, as if burned, while the characters carved into the walls have a wild note to them. You see a single character, larger than the rest, repeated over and over.

Master Rosenthal stands silently in the tomb, as if in meditation. He looks around as you arrive, unsurprised to see you.

“I'm afraid that I didn't have a chance to properly thank Master Crane for his hard work,” the instructor begins, “He helped a lot with clearing out the last of the rubble.”

“This place...” you murmur, looking around you, “What do you think happened here?”

Master Rosenthal doesn't answer this straight away. “I said, before, that there had never been a definite translation of Ixtari,” he muses, “But there have been attempts. A partial, conjectural translation was brought to the academy some years ago, although it was considered... unreliable. Mostly due to the circumstances of its creation.”

Circumstances?

“I've studied it. I won't pretend to be fluent, and it's certainly not a complete work, but I recognise some of these characters,” Master Rosenthal continues, pointing to the repeated character, “This one here, say.”

“And?” you prompt, “What does it mean?”

Master Rosenthal glances around to you, then answers with a single word.

“Apotheosis.”

>I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be continuing this tomorrow, aiming to start at the usual kind of time

>>5802457
Thanks for running. I wonder of if the 'Sun King' went through 'Apotheosis' here.

>>5802480
Ten bucks that the Reivian Emperor wants to do the same here. Maybe he even has the twin spirit to ours.

Very quickly, very easily, you fall into a strange kind of routine. Your days start in the tunnels, working on transcribing the Ixtari carvings for the rest of the morning. The afternoon is spent resting or wandering the catacomb city, anything to chase away the oppressive atmosphere of the underground tunnels. Then, in the evening, it's time for a few more hours of hard work.

It's steady progress, and you're getting more efficient at your work. By the end of the third day, you'd guess that you're more than halfway finished. You haven't mentioned Master Rosenthal's conjectural translation to any of the others, feeling oddly reluctant to share the secret – it has the feel of something forbidden, something dangerous to know.

Why tell it to you, then?

You don't see much of General Lowe at all, although Straub occasionally pays a visit to discuss your progress. It's a formality, you can tell that he neither understands nor cares about your work here, but you appreciate it nonetheless.

When you're not working, your makeshift cohort rarely sticks together. Ellis tends to mingle with the soldiers, sharing jokes and otherwise doing everything he can to raise morale. Clarissa and Johannes, on the other hand, spend much of their time alone. Fia usually hangs around the grand cathedral, doing what she calls “the tourist thing”.

On a whim, you decide to try the tourist thing for yourself too. You've seen just about everything else there is to see in Ixtab, if nothing else. The first thing that strikes you, when you arrive at the Grand Cathedral, is how empty it is – the main hall takes the form of a vast dome, dominated by a great icon of the Sun King rising high in the middle of the room. In better times, the cathedral would be filled with pilgrims but now all you see are a handful of soldiers... and the priest, Omiros.

You automatically flinch back, hoping to leave before he notices you, but it's too late for that. His eyes find you, as if he had been waiting for you all along, and pin you in place. With no way to retreat without losing face, you steady your nerves and march on into the cathedral. Omiros watches you, even as he talks with the band of soldiers. Tearing your gaze away as you try your best to ignore him, you study the cathedral walls instead. They make for an interesting sight at least, painted with magnificent murals depicting scenes from the city's history.

Drawn to the most familiar scene there, that of the Accord itself, you study the mural. It's a scene that you've seen replicated countless times, but never in such detail or scale. The scene is dominated by the Sun King himself, portrayed as is traditional by a stylised sunburst with a stern, paternal frown. The other figures are mere men, gazing up at the sun with rapt expressions of love and devotion.

All except one.

[1]

>>5803051

One man is painted with his head down, his expression that of concern. He's dressed differently to the other men too, draped in furs with his dark hair left loose. A more primitive figure, almost barbaric, you wonder if he might be-

“Silas Ellenghast,” Fia whispers, appearing from behind you, “The representative of the Forest Kingdom, present to witness the signing of the Accord. I always wondered why he looks so unhappy. I mean, he got to keep his kingdom, didn't he?”

“That's not-” you begin, before giving up with a sigh. It's not something she could understand. You walk on instead, examining the murals at random. One shows the very first days, before Ixtab was even a city. A single temple looms in the distance, while men are shown descending a stairwell into the bowels of the earth with their shrouded dead. Shuddering with some obscure horror, you hurry along to a new mural until a sight stops you dead in your tracks.

This mural shows the young settlement of Ixtab besieged by an invading army, the marauding soldiers shown wilting in fear of the vast hooded figure rising up above the defenders. It's like looking at General Lowe's idol come to life, a hooded giant raising its sword high. With sudden fascination, you look down to read the carved inscription below the mural.

“The Angel of Ixtab descends, called by the High Priest Beloved By Death-” you read aloud, pausing as you come to a damaged section of the inscription. None of the other murals have been damaged, even the slightest bit, but here the inscriptions have been mutilated. Deliberately so, you assume, but what were they trying to hide?

And who are “they”?

“You too, huh?” Fia giggles, noticing your sudden attention, “Clarissa was here earlier, and she was asking me all sorts of questions about this one. I don't know that much, but-”

“What DO you know?” you interrupt, “I'm sorry for asking you to repeat yourself, but I need to know.”

“Well, um, it's not that much. Back in the time before the Accord, men started to build in Ixtab. But there were other men who didn't like that – the stories say that these men came out of the forest, seeking to drive men out of Ixtab,” she explains, pouting a little at your tone, “The men of Ixtab couldn't fight back. I mean, look at the mural – there was a whole army against them! So the High Priest Beloved By-”

“You can just call him the High priest.”

“Aw, that's no fun...” Fia complains, “Well, I suppose so. Anyway, the High Priest was said to know many secret things. He called down the Angel to protect Ixtab, and the invading army was banished. This was all before the Accord, remember, so it was all legal. My parents told me that story when I was little, so it's kinda... you know. I told Clarissa that if she wanted to know more, she should talk with the priest.”

[2]

>>5803052

You risk a glance behind you, vaguely relived to see Omiros still busy with the soldiers. “That one?” you ask, “Why him?”

“Well, he's a priest, isn't he? Priests know everything,” Fia replies with a shrug, “But I think that Angel was one of Sheol's spirits, sent to watch over and protect Ixtab. So Master Omiros seemed like the best person to tell her all about it. Not, you know, the children's story version.”

“You don't know the real version?” you ask, staring at Fia in incredulity, “Don't you WANT to know?”

“I'm quite happy with my version, actually,” Fia answers, giving you a sheepish smile, “It's nice. I mean, considering it's a story about war and death. If I looked any deeper, I kinda feel like the real version wouldn't be anywhere near as nice as my version. So I'm just not going to look any deeper. Gosh, that makes me sound pretty lame, doesn't it?”

There's no polite way to answer that question, is there? You just shrug, letting Fia beat a hasty retreat. Left with more questions than answers once again, you lean back against one of the pillars and consider your next move. It's not hard to see why Clarissa would be so interested in Fia's story – the parallels between now and then are all too clear. But without knowing exactly what Omiros told her, you can't be sure of her intentions. You have an idea, a terrible idea, but...

As if flinching back from the terrible thought, you find yourself thinking back to Master Rosenthal's vague allusions instead. Apotheosis...

>You need to focus on your mission here. No more distractions
>You should find Clarissa and see what her plans are
>You could speak with Omiros, get the full story directly from him
>You ought to find Master Rosenthal, and discuss the translations some more
>Other

>>5803053
>You could speak with Omiros, get the full story directly from him
Ugh. This fucking guy.

>>5803053
>You could speak with Omiros, get the full story directly from him
What could possibly go wrong?

You look back again, back to where Omiros is tending to his flock. He glances aside at just the right – or wrong, perhaps – time, his eyes finding yours from across the cathedral hall. From that moment, you realise that there's no chance of escape. Quashing your unease, your fear, you force yourself to cross the room and join him. He finishes blessing the soldiers, then ushers them on their way before turning to greet you.

“Master Hearne,” he begins, his voice low and formal, “Have you come for a blessing too?”

“I could probably use one, but no,” you reply, “I came seeking knowledge. I'm told that you know about Ixtab, about the Angel.”

Omiros looks back to where Fia flutters about in the background. He studies her for a long time, but his expression tells nothing of whatever judgement he reaches. “I know of this,” he says at last, “Tell me, Master Hearne. Was it difficult, for you to ask for my help? I imagine that it was not a decision that you made lightly, yet here you are.”

Despite his words, you don't quite feel as if Omiros is mocking you. It seems, instead, a genuine curiosity. “This may be important,” you answer, “I wouldn't ask otherwise.”

The priest considers your words, then nods slightly. Turning without another word, he starts to walk from the cathedral and leaves you to follow him. “Miss Northwood told you her version of the story, I'm sure,” he muses, “Essentially correct, if simplified. The tale is a subject of some debate among the priesthood. We believe, naturally, that the Angel was a powerful Psychopomp, one of Sheol's most powerful servants. It protected this city, but why?”

“Why?” you repeat, feeling foolish. He's supposed to be answering your questions, not the other way around.

“Yes, why. Why would Lord Sheol see fit to intervene here, when He is otherwise content to leave men to their own devices? Why not a spirit aligned with the Sun King himself? He was the one said to grant protection to this city, not Lord Sheol,” Omiros explains, “These are questions that may never be answered, yet there are theories.”

You wait, waiting for Omiros to expand on some of these “theories”. But he says nothing for a long while, instead sighing in what seems like genuine regret.

“There is only a little that I can tell you, Master Hearne. Little that I am willing to tell you,” he says at last, “You are an outsider, as you yourself chose.”

“But...” you begin, frustration boiling up within you, “But can't you see what's going on? This whole city might fall! Are you really going to sit back and do nothing while-”

“Have faith, Master Hearne,” Omiros interrupts, holding up a hand to silence you, “Have faith, as those men once had faith. Trust that the gods will protect you, as they protect us all, but they will not act lightly. Follow your duties, and have faith.”

[1]

Theory: apotheosis lets you become godlike and immortal, transforming from human to spirit (or meeging with a spirit). The Sun King did this. Sheol resents and fears this power, which frees people from his machine and allows them to become transcendant. He protected Ixtab to prevent more people gaining access to this power.

>>5803076

Slow anger bubbles away in your gut as Master Omiros leads you out from the cathedral to gaze across the city. It seems peaceful now, but you know that the stillness won't last forever. Omiros wears a haughty mask, but his eyes have the same rapt light that you saw in the murals. He's waiting for a miracle, you realise, and he's certain that he'll see one.

“The High Priest Beloved By Death,” you say at last, “Who was he? Part of the inscriptions had been obliterated. Was that his name?”

“If it had been obliterated...” Omiros muses, “Do you not think that it might have been for a good reason?”

“Maybe so,” you counter, “But I'm guessing that you can't tell me what that good reason might be, right?”

“Sadly correct,” the priest replies with a nod. You turn away with a hiss of anger, hiding your scowl from him. Omiros doesn't notice your anger, or pretends not to notice. “Let me be clear,” he says instead, his gaze panning across the city, “This is a sacred place. This is where everything started, where a great design was drawn up and set in motion. So long as we follow the laws of the Accord, we have nothing to fear. Our actions are just, theirs are not. Know this - this city will not fall.”

“Is that a promise?” you ask, bitterness thick in your voice.

“The same promise that I gave your friend,” Omiros answers, “And she didn't believe me either.”

-

When a new group of soldiers arrives at the cathedral, Master Omiros abandons you in order to see to them. You linger outside the cathedral for a while longer, thinking about what he said. He truly believes that the city will survive, that the Angel will descend once more to save it. You only wish that you could share his faith – but then, he knows so much more than you do, those poisonous secrets of his.

Unable to bear the thought of descending into the tunnels, you slink back to the barracks to get some rest. Johannes is the only one there, silently picking at a snack of dried meat. He glances around as you arrive, then goes back to his meal. “You look miserable,” he grunts after a moment.

“Yeah, well, I wasn't supposed to be smiling, remember?” you shoot back, sitting down opposite him, “Do you ever get the feeling that things might be completely shit?”

“All of the time,” Johannes replies, “Guess I don't need to ask what you mean.”

“I don't know how you do it,” you add, “Just carry on like... like everything is fine.”

“Don't have much choice, do I?” he explains, “Won't solve anything by bitching and crying, but working hard might help. So I put my head down and work hard. It's like shifting that rubble – it's a tough job, but you tackle it one piece at a time. Your problem, Lucas, is that you spend too much time thinking, not enough enough time moving rocks.”

[2]

>>5803094

“So what?” you ask, suddenly irritated by his attitude, “I should be down in those damn tunnels, shifting rubble about?”

“Too late, I already shifted it all,” Johannes points out, “Just do something practical. Use your hands, not your mind. Once we're finished copying those stupid symbols, we can leave.”

“Sure, maybe. WE can leave,” you mutter, “But she won't. She'll stay here, no matter what happens. No matter how bad things look.”

Johannes considers this in silence, his hands fidgeting as he tears a strip of dried meat into tiny pieces. “Her choice,” he says at last, “I won't think ill of her for it, whatever she chooses to do. But it's not my decision to make. Not your decision either, Lucas.”

“...I know that,” you sigh, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

-

Later, you're not sure how much later, you wake with a start. Lying in the dark room, you listen carefully as you try to figure out what woke you up. Not gunshots this time, so what? It's only a moment later that you hear a softer sound, the close sound of breathing. Sitting upright slightly, you see a vague silhouette sitting on the edge of your bed. For a second, you think it might be Persephone, despite how impossible that would be, but then the figure opens their eyes.

Black eyes, darker still than the blackness around her.

“Clarissa?” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep, “What-”

“Listen to me,” Clarissa whispers, her voice low and urgent, “I need you to do something for me, Lucas. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.”

“I don't...” you pause, fumbling for something to say, “What do you need?”

“I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” you tell her, hating the way it almost sounds like a question.

“When the time comes, I need you to trust me. I need to know that you'll have my back,” Clarissa insists, leaning a little closer, “You'll know it when it happens. We both will. Right now, I don't... I don't know exactly what's going to happen. But I need you to trust me, to have faith in me.”

You've never heard her like this, so desperate that she's almost pleading with you. “This is about the Angel, isn't it?” you manage to ask, “Clarissa, you can't-”

“Please, Lucas,” she begs, “Just trust me. Let me do what I have to do. Promise me!”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her. It's too dark to see her face, only her eyes, but that's more than enough to see the feverish light in them. In this moment, you truly believe that she's capable of anything.

>I promise. When the time comes, I'll have your back
>I can't promise that. I can't let you go too far
>I... (Write in)
>Other

>>5803114
>I... (Write in)
She needs to go se her father and tell him everything, convince him and we'll let it go.

Also a duplicated set (one for us, the other Johannes ) of letters from the both of them for Cloranthy would be nice.

>>5803114
>I can’t promise that

You stare at Clarissa for a long time, or what seems like a long time. Her eyes stab out at you, as bright and keen as any blade. There's a danger in those eyes, perhaps even a hint of madness. Meeting her gaze, you find that there's only one answer you can give her.

“I... I can't promise that, Clarissa,” you manage, “I can't just stand by and let you go too far.”

Clarissa doesn't reply to this straight away, only turning away from you. With her eyes averted, she seems to blend back into the darkness as if she was never really there. It's only the faintest hint of movement, her laboured breathing, that gives her away.

“Go to your father,” you urge, “Tell him everything. Whatever you're planning, tell him. Then maybe we can let this go, we can-”

With a soft rustle of sheets, Clarissa stands. “I understand,” she says quietly, her voice low but steady, “I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry.”

“No, Clarissa... wait!” you hiss, struggling to leap out of bed to follow her as she moves to leave. You try to rise, but your body remains sluggish with sleep and your sheets almost seem to wrap around your limbs. As you fight against them, she slips out and closes your door behind her. When you finally make it to the door, you reach out for the door handle... and pause.

Slowly, you draw your hand back. She's made her choice, and you've made yours.

-

When morning comes, you look back at your night time encounter with Clarissa and wonder if it had been real. The more you think about it, the more like a dream it all feels. A coping measure perhaps, or an attempt at protecting your shredded nerves, but maybe...

Clarissa acts perfectly normal over breakfast, acting as if nothing at all had happened. She meets your eyes calmly enough, exchanging the usual pleasantries without a moment of hesitation. It's maddening, just how casual she seems, and you finally feel an unshakable need to force the issue.

“Were you up at all during the night?” you ask Clarissa, trying to sound as disinterested as possible, “I thought I heard you moving around.”

“No. I slept right through the night,” she answers, shaking her head, “It must've been someone else.”

“I went to get a midnight snack,” Ellis offers, looking faintly embarrassed by the confession, “But I would've thought you'd be able to tell us apart.”

“You would've,” Fia adds, “He's always doing this back home, getting up in the middle of the night and stomping around. It's like he was born in a barn!”

Clarissa laughs a little at this, the first sign of abnormal she's shown so far. Letting the issue rest for now, you set aside your vague feelings of unease and focus on your breakfast. It's going to be a long, hard day ahead of you.

[1]

>>5803186

“If we work hard, this might be our last day at work,” Master Rosenthal muses as he copies down one of the more intricate characters, “This stage of the work, at least. We'll need a little more time to prepare everything for transport, but that'll be a minor task by comparison.”

“That's good...” you murmur, rubbing sweat from your brow. You're struggling to focus, the stone carvings swimming before your eyes as if they were made from water. If this is some kind of illness, it seems to have come from nowhere. But you don't think it's any kind of physical ailment, more a malady of the spirit. It only grows throughout the morning, faint whispers and chimes seeming to echo out from some unnamable distance.

The spirit world is stirring.

Something terrible is about to happen.

A tiny clatter sounds out as Fia drops her charcoal, swooning into Ellis' strong arms as if about to faint. Ellis himself looks just as uneasy, catching Fia more from instinct than observation. You're all feeling it now, feeling power gathering somewhere high above. Nobody speaks, there's no discussion or debate, but you all reach the same instant conclusion. Dropping everything, you hurry back towards the tunnel entrance and the outside world. You move so suddenly that your beleaguered escort has to rush after you, though you've long since stopped needing his services.

A thin mist has gathered outside, cold and damp against your heated skin. There's a constant rattle and crack of rifle fire coming from Foulke's Point, but the sound seems distorted and muffled by the mist itself.

“What's going on?” Fia whimpers, “Oh no no no. Please don't tell me...”

You don't answer her, just running for the upper wall without thinking. The mist is so thick now that you can barely see the mountain ridge, just the vague silhouette lit by sporadic flashes of light. The wind changes, and you just barely make out the sound of chanting before-

Before the ridge explodes, a pillar of fire blossoming into brilliant life atop the defensive line. No natural fire has ever burned so bright, or with such perfect precision. Then, a heartbeat later, it's gone, leaving only a hazy after-image burned onto your vision. A few scattered rifle shots ring out, but they sound somehow demoralised, defeated.

Nobody says anything. Ellis stares up at the ridge, his jaw hanging slack with confused horror. Fia clings to him, openly sobbing. Both Clarissa and Johannes are still, but in somehow different ways – Clarissa is like steel, a weapon just waiting for a chance to be used, while Johannes has the dreadful silence of a stone idol.

“Okay everyone,” Master Rosenthal says at last, finally gathering up the courage to speak, “There... there's nothing more we can do here. Let's get back to work.”

Nobody has the strength, the will, to argue.

[2]

>>5803216

Numb to the core, you return to your work with a mechanical precision but you can't ignore the dull ache at the furthest edges of your senses. The Veil has been dealt a grievous wound this day, while you stood by and did nothing. You've never felt quite as powerless as this, but what more could you have done?

You don't notice Straub approach at first, only jolting back to reality when Johannes slaps you lightly on the arm. The officer looks tired, sick to his stomach, yet he still retains a wounded dignity even in the gloomy caverns.

“We still hold the ridge... somehow,” Straub announces, although it brings him no satisfaction, “Master Eminescu was among those killed in action. I thought you should know, and I wanted the chance to tell you myself. I'm sorry – he was a brave man.”

This announcement is met by silence. Silence, but not surprise. You saw that explosion, that fire. You'd be more surprised if he HADN'T perished. There are a few nods, but mostly just a lot of blank stares.

“I'm sorry,” Straub repeats, bowing his head slightly, “I won't disturb your important work. Better that you complete the project as soon as possible, while we still hold the ridge.”

With that, Straub turns and retreats back up the tunnel. Despite his words, you don't exactly spring back into action. None of you do, in fact. You all just linger for a moment, everyone waiting for someone else to make the first move. Just as you're working up the strength to raise your charcoal once more, Ellis clears his throat.

“Master Eminescu must have known the risks,” he ventures, “When he came here, he must have known-”

“Shut up,” Johannes interrupts, “Just shut your mouth.”

“All I'm saying-” Ellis insists, only for Johannes to turn suddenly and grab him by his collar, pushing him back against the hard stone wall. Fia cries out in alarm, rushing forwards in a futile attempt at assistance. You can't imagine what she expects to do against a man like Johannes, but she throws herself forwards nonetheless.

“Don't. Say. Anything,” Johannes snarls, slamming Ellis back against the wall once more. He doesn't even notice as Fia punches and slaps at him, ignoring her as if she was an annoying fly. Ellis struggles free, throwing Johannes hands off of him before grabbing at his belt. Steel glints in his hand as he draws it back, the blade of the short, stubby dagger catching the light of the lantern's flame.

A strangled cry dies in your throat at the sight of the blade. You glance aside, but Clarissa just watches the scene unfold with disinterested eyes. No help there, obviously, so...

>That's enough Johannes! We're all on the same side here
>Put the knife down Ellis. That's crossing a line
>Both of you, just stop being so damn stupid!
>[Let them fight it out, if that's what they want]
>Other

>>5803242
>Put the knife down Ellis. That’s crossing a line.

Always back brohannes

>>5803242
>Put the knife down Ellis. That's crossing a line
>Other
I don't blame anyone for being pissed off and stressed right now, but don't take it out on each other. Johannes, let's head outside and take a breather for a minute.

“Put the knife down, Ellis,” you warn, stepping forwards and holding up a hand, “That's crossing a line. Just put it down.”

Ellis hesitates, then glances down at the blade in his hand as if surprised to see it. He doesn't lower it though, not just yet. Not until you take Johannes by the arm and pull him back a pace. Well, not quite – you've got about as much a chance of moving him as moving the whole city. But he lets himself be moved, letting you put some distance between the pair of them.

“I don't blame you for taking it out of him. I don't blame either of you,” you continue, “We're all stressed and pissed off, I get that. But we can't turn on each other now. Is that understood?”

No answers, although Ellis grudgingly puts his knife away. Then, looking vaguely embarrassed with himself, he nods. Johannes doesn't share his contrition, but gives the faintest hint of a nod too.

“Let's take a break,” you mutter, slapping Johannes on the arm, “Get some fresh air.”

“I think I need it,” Johannes agrees, allowing himself a scowl.

-

“Little bastard had a knife. Didn't see it on him at all...” the heavyset man mutters to himself as you walk back to the surface, “Sneaky. About as big as my thumb.”

“At least he's not compensating for anything,” you suggest, although your jokes falls about as flat as you had been expecting, “What happened back there, exactly?”

Johannes shrugs. “Think I'm getting sick of soldiers,” he says eventually, “All this talk of noble sacrifice and dutiful service. Sounds nice in theory... until you start having to live it. We lost a good man today, and all he had to say was “he knew the risks”, that little shit...”

“We're almost through. We're almost finished here,” you remind him, “Just hang in there a little longer. If we finish the work here, we can leave.”

But Johannes doesn't reply to this, turning his gaze away from you.

“Johannes?” you prompt, “You ARE planning on leaving, aren't you?”

Another long silence. “I don't know,” he says at last, when the cold air finally slaps you in the face. The city is still draped in mist, the phantom chimes still echoing out from the spirit world. No sounds of fighting, thankfully, but you know that's just a brief interlude. “I don't know yet,” he continues, “Doesn't feel right, leaving her here.”

“It's her choice, you said.”

“Yeah? And this'll be my choice,” Johannes pauses, “Like I said, I don't know yet. I'll see how I feel when the time comes. Were YOU planning on leaving?”

“I...” you hesitate, “Come on, I don't want to die in this shitty city.”

“This shitty city is a sacred site, actually,” he points out, “And who said anything about dying? I said I was sick of noble sacrifices. Don't plan on making any myself.”

“Come on...” you repeat, shaking your head in dismay.

Not him too.

[1]

>>5803259

Heedless of hunger, fatigue, or any other human frailties, you work straight through the last of the day. You all do, working around each other in a grim silence. Even when the second cohort arrives, you carry on with your grim labour. Only four of them now, you notice, with their bleak expressions telling you exactly what happened to their missing man.

No matter. Even with one man down, you manage to push through to copy the last of the glyphs before the day is done. You feel almost paralysed by exhaustion, sickened by the sight of the flowing characters, but the job is over. That means...

You're not thinking about that yet.

Instead, you volunteer to help Master Rosenthal with storing the research notes and preparing them for transport. As tired as you may be, you crave the distraction more than you need rest. So, you find yourself staring at the eerie characters once more as you sort through them, packing them away in sturdy wooden chests.

“That conjectural translation I mentioned before,” Master Rosenthal muses, his gaze fixed on the papers spread out before him, “I never mentioned how it came about, did I?”

“I don't believe so,” you answer, glancing up at him. There's something strange about his voice, a sly note of insinuation... or perhaps just your own paranoia.

“There was a man, an explorer, who claimed to find it on an expedition into the Forest Kingdom,” the instructor recalls, “He claimed to find a stone monolith carved with several different languages. One of them was the Akklo script, which he could read, and another was Ixtari. This man, he theorised that the monolith bore the same message but in several different languages. Using that as his base, he was able to start work on a partial translation of the Ixtari script.”

The Forest Kingdom...

“It ended in disaster, of course, and the circumstances are not at all clear. The explorer was chased out of the Forest Kingdom, and his notes were all lost. He was found on the border, but he had lost his mind,” Master Rosenthal continues, “Something terrible, utterly terrible, had happened to him. Before he passed away, his rantings and ravings were used to create a second, even less complete translation – the translation we have today. Little wonder, then, that it's not considered a reliable source.”

You stare at Master Rosenthal for a long time, trying to puzzle him out. “Why are you telling me this?” you ask eventually, fighting to keep your voice level.

“I just thought it might be of interest to you, considering your background,” Master Rosenthal replies mildly, “If I've overstepped the mark, I do apologise.”

You continue to stare at the instructor, but this time you say nothing. You just don't have the energy for another argument.

It'll wait until tomorrow.

>Going to pause things here. Again, I'll be aiming to continue this tomorrow
>Thank you for reading along!

>>5803281
>Going to pause things here. Again, I'll be aiming to continue this tomorrow

>>5803281
>Thank you for reading along!

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5803281
>1 - Going to pause things here. Again, I'll be aiming to continue this tomorrow
>2 - Thank you for reading along!

>>5803281
I hope Johannes and Clarissa don't die here. I'm more terrified of what Clarissa might do if she lives.

>>5802399
Would've asked him if all the dead Revians are going to Sheol. Maybe they found somewhere else to die....and come back.

>>5802457
>The symbols on the wall grow denser, each character smaller and tighter than the ones you've grown used to.
that sounds less like carving and more like stonebending

>>5802457
hahah, called it.

>>5803281
I'm guessing the father is about to call down the angel, and Clarissa was going to take his place.

Who else do we have in the cohort that parallels the gods?
>Lucas Sun
>Clarissa Death
>Johann barrier?

>>5803720
Harriet is Centipede-coded, with her close association with undeath, necromantic bloodline, and horror towards Sheol. Persephone, ironically, seems closest to the Great Mother cult, regarding the Veil as an impediment to her objective to become more like a spirit and to dwell in the eternal city.

>>5803757
I kind of agree, the Persephone is pretty funky stuff.

We could repeat the whole apotheosis and Persephone sits in the back looking as salty as the forest rep in the mural since all her friends give up their personality.

>>5803766
>implying Persephone wouldn't want to achieve Apotheosis to transcend mortality and dwell on the other side of the veil

>>5803768
She's just as likely to use the apotheosis to open a portal through the veil to jump in herself and head home

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

556 KB PNG

Somewhere, a clock ticks away the seconds. Lying in the pure blackness of your borrowed bedroom, you try and recall if there was a clock anywhere in the makeshift barracks. You can't remember seeing one anywhere, yet the ticking continues. Absurd as it may be, you can't help but imagine that it's the great clock in Sheol's grand temple, its call echoing out all the way from the capital.

It wouldn't be the strangest thing you've ever known. This whole place is a strangeness, from the grand cathedral above to the deepest tunnel below the city. The tunnels have been sealed now, buried under countless tonnes of stone, and you can't help but feel a certain relief. Better that men had never found those tunnels.

As you strain your ears to listen to the ticking clock, you hear a different sound – the soft whisper of footsteps outside your door. Reaching under your hard, lumpy pillow, you grab your revolver just as your door is opened.

“Shh. Don't talk,” Clarissa hisses, her dark eyes peering out at you, “Come with me.”

You stare in confusion, but nonetheless struggle out of bed to follow her. She creeps back out into the corridor, padding softly across the cold stone in her bare feet. With her own gun drawn, she waits and listens – listens to a faint rattle from the furthest room. That's where the papers were being stored, you recall with a start. Bellerose's warning, so easily forgotten, comes back to you like a slap in the face. If those notes were to be destroyed...

From ahead, through the ajar door, you hear the dry scrape of a match being struck. As if this was the sound she had been waiting for all along, Clarissa springs into action. Leaping forwards, she throws the door open and lunges at the figure standing inside. You see a flash of blonde hair as Fia turns, her eyes wide with fear and her hand, still holding the match, frozen above the pile of papers.

Roughly grabbing her by the arm, Clarissa throws the waifish girl against the far wall and thrusts the gun into her startled face. You brace yourself for the worst, almost hearing the gunshot already, but Clarissa pauses before her finger can tighten on the trigger.

Almost as an afterthought, you quickly step on the fallen match to snuff it out. Fia lets out a low moan of dismay as the tiny flame dies, slumping to the ground as all the strength flees from her body.

“We worked awfully hard for those notes,” you point out, kneeling down beside Fia, “Seems a shame to burn them all now, doesn't it?”

“You've got this totally wrong!” Fia insists, “I was just...”

“Just what?” Clarissa prompts, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

“Just trying to find my sketches!” the panicked girl answers desperately, “They were so lousy, I couldn't bear the thought of someone important seeing them!”

She doesn't even pretend to believe her own excuse.

[1]

>>5804181

With a dry scrape, you drag across one of the chairs and lift Fia into it. She seems to weigh nothing at all, trembling like a startled animal in your hands. “Easy now, you're not in any trouble,” you lie to her, “There's no harm done, see? I just want to know why. Why would you want to destroy everything we've done here?”

“I don't...” she begins, although her weak attempts at a denial end before they even truly begin. Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head. “I'm the worst,” she eventually groans, “I'm the worst spy in the world!”

“That's the first honest thing you've said,” Clarissa remarks, “That's good. It's not much, but it's a start.”

Fia looks between you and Clarissa, shivering a little as she gazes up into the black eyes glaring down at her. Apparently finding more hope of a friendly outcome, Fia looks away and turns back to you instead. “It's dangerous,” she murmurs at last, “This tomb... it would've been better if we hadn't ever found it. Couldn't you feel it too? People like us weren't supposed to see that, much less study it! But that's exactly what the Regent is going to do, and... and...”

“And?” you prompt.

“And it'll change everything,” she whispers, “We can't let that happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but things are moving too fast and something needed to be done. That's why I was ordered to... well, you know.”

“Why? Why would it change everything? Why were we sent here?” Clarissa snaps, grabbing Fia's arm in a vice-like grip and causing her to squirm in pain, “Do you even fucking know?”

Before Clarissa's grip can tighten even further, you grab her wrist and carefully prise her hand away. “Apotheosis,” you muse, “That's what this is all about, isn't it? The Sun King, the nature of the Accord itself... that's what this is all about, what your masters want to keep hidden.”

“You have to believe me, this is for the best,” Fia pleads, “I don't know what's written here, I really don't. I don't WANT to know! I just want things to go back to normal, back to how they used to be...”

With a faint grimace, Clarissa takes your arm and leads you a pace away. “What is she talking about?” she mutters, “Please tell me that you have SOME idea.”

“One of the characters caved down there, Master Rosenthal believes it may mean “Apotheosis”. Do you know what that means? It's the act of achieving divinity – but it's always been a theory, a pure impossibility. These notes might prove otherwise,” you reply quietly, “And that's why everyone wants them, from the Regent to the church of Sheol.”

“Load of bullshit,” Clarissa snarls, glancing back at Fia, “What do you want to do with her?”

>Just let her go. She's already failed, no harm done
>She was trying to sabotage our mission. We have to report her
>I think she might be right. These papers are dangerous
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>5804182
>Just let her go. She's already failed, no harm done
I can't bring myself to report her.

>>5804182
>Just let her go. She's already failed, no harm done
"You're lucky that it was us that caught you Fia. I doubt the other people involved in this would be as forgiving. Keep your head down"

>>5804182
>>Just let her go. She's already failed, no harm done


So what i am getting here is that this is going cyclical ala Sheol the grand clock's design but the Sun king was not as planned.

>>5804182
>Convince her to stop trying
>"Fia, I think it's too late to worry about the papers. Translated or not, the bigwigs already know what they're looking at, Revian or not. I'd be more concerned about someone leaving a hidden path open from outside Ixtab."
could the Forest kingdom have some kind of river or tunneling method?

>>5804182
>We have to report her
There’s no going back

“Just let her go,” you decide with a sigh, raising your voice a little so that Fia can overhear, “She's already failed, with no harm done. There's no need to ruin her life over this.”

“No need for it, sure, but it might be satisfying,” Clarissa growls, although there's no real feeling in her words. An empty threat, nothing more. Fia isn't the real enemy here, and she knows that.

Brushing past Clarissa, you return to Fia and wince a little at the bright, startled look on her face. “You're lucky that it was us who caught you, Fia,” you tell her, offering her a hand up, “I doubt the other people involved in this would be nearly so forgiving. You'll need to keep your head down from now on.”

“Oh Sun, you're right,” Fia murmurs with a shudder, “Maybe it's better if I don't leave here at all...”

“Who ARE these people, anyway?” Clarissa asks, coming to join you. Fia tenses up a little at her arrival, but Clarissa stops short of any actual violence. For now. “Your people, I mean. Who are they?” she continues, glaring at Fia, “You have to know that much, at least.”

Fia shuffles in place, caught between reluctance and a pathetic eagerness to please you. “They call themselves the True Adherents,” she answers slowly, “They believe... they believe that we've sort of lost our way, that the land is ruled by politics instead of faith. This wasn't how things were supposed to be, you know? They even say... they even say that the Regent doesn't hear the Sun King any more.”

“How do you know so much about them?” you wonder, “Are you one of them?”

“Me? No, not... yet,” Fia shakes her head, “But my parents are. They told me so much when I was young, but I never realised they were preparing me for this.”

Leaving Fia under Clarissa's watchful eye, you pace the room for a little as you think. The True Adherents, acting from within the church of Sheol, are trying to return mankind to some original plan – the “great design” Omiros spoke of. But the true nature of that design is something they wish to keep secret, even from the Sun King's Regent. A secret that would change everything...

“Just forget the papers for now,” you urge Fia, “It's too late to worry about those now. Even if they don't have the exact translations yet, the Regent's people must already know enough. They wouldn't have sent us here otherwise.”

“Oh,” she considers this, “Oh, that's terrible news.”

“Of course it is,” Clarissa agrees, “Why were you expecting anything else?”

“Optimism?” the blonde girl answers hopefully, looking up at Clarissa who turns away with a derisive snort. Dismissing the failed spy with a wave of her hand, Clarissa turns and marches away without another word. “So that's it then?” Fia asks, “No interrogation, no breaking fingers?”

“No need for any of that,” you assure her, “You didn't exactly put up much resistance.”

With a sheepish smile, Fia shrugs.

[1]

>>5804200

Pulling across a chair of your own, you sit opposite Fia for a long while. She fidgets awkwardly, watching you with cautious, expectant eyes, but you're not really paying her much attention. You're thinking instead, thinking dangerous thoughts.

Apotheosis.

You wish you were back at the academy, back in the comforting gloom of the archives with your old, familiar books. Without your reference materials at hand, you have to dig deep in your memory and think back to what little you've read on the subject. An old idea, dismissed by any serious scholars and peddled only by fringe philosophers, the concept of Apotheosis suggests that a man could – somehow – become something akin to a spirit. Suffice to say, the philosophers never actually explained how that was possible.

But if – IF – it had actually been achieved here...

“Um...” Fia begins, finally breaking her silence, “You're not going to tell Ellis about this, are you?”

“No,” you reply, “I told you, didn't I? There's no point in reporting you now. We can just pretend that this never happened.”

“...Thank you,” she murmurs, hanging her head, “I really owe you one.”

“I'll hold you to that one day,” you warn, “If we actually make it out of here alive.”

-

When morning comes, Straub arrives with a message. There's a meeting being called in the grand cathedral. Attendance, he implies, is not optional. Just from the look on his face, you have an idea of what this meeting is going to be about. Everyone else is thinking the same thing, with what little conversation you had been able to manage faltering and failing. Though you don't taste a thing, you wolf down the last of your breakfast and make ready.

General Lowe has had a large table brought into the grand cathedral, placed almost directly in front of the Sun King's icon. Omiros prowls around with a sour look on his face, no doubt disapproving of the temple being used for mundane things like planning a military campaign but saying nothing. General Lowe says nothing, not even looking up from his maps as you file in.

“Steady now,” Master Rosenthal murmurs to you, “Stay calm, Lucas.”

“I am calm,” you assure him, whilst also trying to assure yourself.

“Is the cargo ready to leave?” General Lowe asks suddenly, breaking his silence. His question hangs in the air for a long moment, unanswered until he finally raises his head to glare at you.

“...Yes sir,” Master Rosenthal answers at last, “Everything is loaded up, and the wagon is ready. We can leave at any time, and be across the Graf river by noon.”

“Good,” General Lowe nods, then gestures to Straub, “As soon as that wagon is across the bridge, give the order to abandon the ridge. Pull the men back, and prepare the defence of the city itself. You Exorcists, I want you-”

“General Lowe!” the instructor interrupts, “Our orders were to evacuate the-”

“I am giving you NEW orders!” the general barks.

[2]

>>5804213

General Lowe's voice echoes out across the grand cathedral, shocking you all into silence. His thuggish face twists into a dark scowl, his hands clenched into fists. “The situation has changed,” he continues, labouring over each word, “The Reivians are calling down spirits once more. That would be a breach of the Accord, no? Is it not your duty to protect the Accord?”

“That may be correct, but you have no authority to give us orders,” Master Rosenthal reminds him, “We protect the Accord, yes, but we will do it as we see fit. You're asking us to risk our lives for your cause – and while you may ASK that of us, you cannot order us to do it.”

With a contemptuous scoff, General Lowe looks back down at his maps. In a way, he almost looks like a sulking child.

“...Sir,” Ellis asks awkwardly, “You said you were abandoning the ridge, is that right?”

“They're bleeding us dry out there, fighting indecisive battles without ever committing the bulk of their forces. If we try to hold the ridge forever, they'll just grind us down to nothing,” General Lowe explains, tracing lines on his map, “I aim to draw them into a single decisive battle, to smash their army once and for all. We'll be able to make better use of our artillery here, and the city itself will be our fortress.”

“By concentrating our forces within the city, we hope to make better use of them,” Straub adds, “Our concern remains, of course, the spiritual aspect. The Reivians will likely aim to bolster their attack with summoned spirits. That's why we would... appreciate... your assistance. Of course, Master Rosenthal is correct – we cannot order you to stay. We merely ask that you consider it.”

“You have one hour to decide,” General Lowe grunts, dismissing you with a gesture.

-

Outside the grand cathedral, you stare out at the cloying mist and think. The Veil here is already wounded. How much worse will it get after a full-scale Reivian attack? Under any other circumstances, you'd agree that you were vitally needed here. But now...

“I think they can do it. I really think they can hold the city,” Ellis announces suddenly, breaking his sielnce, “This battle will go down in history, I'm sure of it. The defence of Ixtab...”

“Elias Malinkov, Hero of Ixtab,” Clarissa jeers, “Is that what you're thinking?”

“The thought never crossed my mind for a second,” he complains, guilt flashing across his face, “But the General is right. We're NEEDED here. You see that, don't you?”

This question is directed at you all, at the whole group. You turn away with a grimace, even as Clarissa nods wearily. “Of course we're needed,” she tells him, “I won't abandon the city. I'll hold it to my dying breath, if that's what it takes.”

[3/4]

>>5804222

Johannes is silent, his jaw clenched. Then, finally, he gives a curt nod. “I can't let you stay alone,” he says at last, “I must be a damn fool for saying this, but I'm going to stay with you. You'd better appreciate it.”

“...I do,” Clarissa murmurs, giving Johannes a deep nod of thanks. Yet, her dark eyes flash with a strange light – a light of what seems like apprehension, unease.

“This is so stupid...” Fia whines, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, “You guys... do you really know what you're getting yourselves into?”

“Of course we do,” Ellis assures her, throwing one arm around her shoulders, “C'mon, don't you want to go down in history?”

“Well YES, but as the girl who lived a long and happy life. Not... this,” Fia complains, although her cheeks are flushed red with the attention, “Oh, but I suppose I don't have much reason to go back. I've properly buggered everything up here. Why not? I'll do it!”

“Buggered... what up?” Ellis asks, confusion clouding his eyes. He seems on the verge of asking more questions, but that's when Clarissa moves to interrupt him.

“We'll appreciate every bit of help we can get, obviously,” she decides, giving Fia a pat on the shoulder, “Thank you, Fia. You're very brave.”

That just leaves you, doesn't it? It feels like you're watching an act of collective insanity, some kind of suicide pact, and yet...

Maybe Ellis is right. Maybe the city really can hold.

>You'll stay. You'll stand and fight with everyone else
>You can't stay here. Your duties lie back at the academy
>Other

>>5804222
Wait I thought all these spirits the Reivians are summoning are bound to people and therefore cannot be banished which takes away most of an Exorcist's value in this fight. I guess the whole third eye and guardian spirits (and whatever WMD Clarissa is cooking up) can make somewhat of a difference, but you'd probably get more value in a bunch of highly trained assassins with sniper rifles.

>>5804223
>You'll stay. You'll stand and fight with everyone else
If I eat it, I'm going to haunt you both.

>>5804223
>You can't stay here. Your duties lie back at the academy
Someone needs to ensure that research isn't interrupted, the 3rd Army is updated on happenings, and that Cloranthy, Harriet, and Persephone have a vested interest in seeing us again. Leaving them hanging would be bad.

We need to tell Clarissa about Persephone before we go, both what happened to her and right before we left. crossing the veil is absolutely possible and we're coming back for her should the worst happen.

>>5804223
>You'll stay. You'll stand and fight with everyone else
god damn peer pressure

>>5804223
>You can't stay here. Your duties lie back at the academy

>>5804234
>>5804223
Also, I don't want to tell Clarissa mystical secrets like that, both because it would betray our girl's confidence and maybe arm Clarissa to do something REALLY crazy

>>5804249
>because it would betray our girl's confidence and maybe arm Clarissa to do something REALLY crazy.

Knowing it is possible should help her to commit, also if she's almost certainly going to die before being able to do anything about it does to really matter? her not doubting it may be the only thing that makes it work.

Also giving her a reason to come after us is a good idea right? Nothing can go wrong

>>5804253
Based sociopath

>>5804223
>You'll stay. You'll stand and fight with everyone else
Doesn't feel right leaving everyone like this, logic be damned.

>>5804223
>You'll stay. You'll stand and fight with everyone else.

>Anyone who knows how to use a rifle well get one. We’re hunting priests.

No letting Clarissa turn herself into a death Angel

>>5804223
>You'll stay, but you're not fighting.
If the Veil is going to be ripped up, this would be an interesting chance to jump in and mess up whatever they'll try to call over.

“Just stop a minute and think about what you're saying,” you tell the rest of the cohort, locking eyes with everyone in turn, “You heard what Master Eminsecu said, didn't you? The Reivians are binding their spirits, protecting them against a simple banishment. We're not going to be any more useful than the soldiers themselves.”

“We don't know that for certain,” Ellis argues, “That couldn't have been anything more than a theory!”

“He seemed fairly certain,” Johannes points out, “Are you saying he didn't know what he was talking about?”

“Well... no, but...” Ellis hesitates, “We can still do good here, even if he was right! I can fire a rifle just as good as any man, and probably better! Just think of the soldiers, too. Don't you think they'll feel safer, knowing that we're here to watch over them? They don't have to know about this... theory.”

Not until your attempts at banishment fail, and you're shown to be just as powerless as they are. How much of a boon to morale will you be then?

Murmuring an excuse, you split off from the group and wander a short distance away. Looking out over the city, peering into the mist, you try to force some kind of order into your chaotic thoughts. You can't bear the thought of abandoning them all, but... but there's still so much that you've got to do, still so much work you've left unfinished. There are too many loose ends, not just with work but with all the people waiting for you.

Closing your eyes, you allow your inner eye to open. The Veil draws apart as you gaze into the spirit world, seeking out whatever guidance it might impart. Carried on a wind that is not of your world, you hear the constant howling of wolves and still, the ticking of that damned clock. There's no sun in sight, hardly any light at all.

Not even the light of the moon.

Clenching your inner eye shut once more, you fight back a wave of nausea and march back to the rest of the cohort. They fall silent as you approach, all eyes turning to you in expectation. Even you don't know what you're going to say until you open your mouth.

“I'm staying too,” you announce, the words feeling like a dagger in your own back, “I'll stand with you.”

It's a good thing that you hadn't been expecting cheers and a round of applause, or you would have been disappointed. Clarissa nods, the cold mask of her expression hardly changing, while Ellis lets out a faint sigh of relief. Fia doesn't even seem to notice, still lost in her own little world of worries. Johannes is the first one to move, slapping you roughly on the arm.

“Good man,” he rumbles, “You can lift a rifle with those spindly arms of yours, right?”

“Of course I can, you ass,” you shoot back, “Now shut up, before you make me change my mind.”

[1]

>>5804285

Master Rosenthal is waiting for you by the entrance to the grand cathedral, his expression caught between worry and impatience. It's strange, seeing him stressed out like this. He glances around when he hears you approach, and his expression changes to a weary smile. “I see. I understand,” he says immediately, without anything needing to be said, “If you've got anything you'd like me to bring back to the capital, you'll need to hurry. I won't be able to stall for very long.”

“I'm good,” Ellis assures him, “I don't need to send any letters, because I plan on coming back alive!”

“I'm sure you do, but you really ought to consider all possibilities,” the instructor sighs, “I'll leave you to it. But Fia? please talk some sense into him.”

But who's going to talk some sense into her?

-

As a precaution against any last minute doubts or second thoughts, you retreat to your quarters and sit down with paper and pen. You should do as Master Rosenthal advised and write some letters for everyone back at the academy. When you sit down at your desk, though, you find that your mind goes as blank as the paper itself. What are you supposed to write at a time like this?

You start with a note to Master Brehm, explaining everything that Master Eminescu told you... and the Exorcist's fate. Then you read it back and discard it as too stiff, too formal. You try a note for Harriet instead, urging her to stay strong and to believe in herself. Too melodramatic, too sentimental. Setting that one aside as well, you turn at last to Persephone.

Nothing comes to mind, not even an overly formal, overly sentimental first draft. As you sit there, staring at the blank page, there comes a knock at your door. Clarissa – you can tell, just from the way she knocks. With a sigh, you call for her to enter. The door opens, but she doesn't enter – instead, she lingers on the threshold and gazes in at you.

“What made you change your mind?” she asks quietly, her voice soft.

“What makes you think I changed my mind?” you counter, “I just had to think things through, that's all.” Clarissa just sighs, and an awkward silence descends. “I hope you've written something for Cloranthy,” you warn her, “You'd better have, if you're wasting time here with me.”

“It's all taken care of,” she assures you, “What about you? Doesn't look like you're having much luck.”

“Yeah, well...” you glance back at the discarded papers, “It's not exactly easy, is it? I'm trying to write a letter for... for Persephone, but I don't even know where to start.”

Clarissa thinks on this, her face like stone. “Don't overthink it,” she suggests, “What do you actually want to tell her?”

Now you're really put on the spot.

>I want to apologise. For leaving her like this
>I want her to know that I care about her. I really care about her
>I just want to say I'll be back soon. That I'll see her again
>I want... (Write in)
>Other

>>5804322
>I just want to say I'll be back soon. That I'll see her again

>>5804322
>I just want to say I'll be back soon. That I'll see her again

>>5804322
>I just want to say I'll be back soon. That I'll see her again
fuck we shoulda gone back
aaaaaaaahhhh

>>5804322
>I just want to say I'll be back soon. That I'll see her again.
"I mean, I love her, but if I write that in a letter and DON'T come back she'll probably take up necromancy just to torture my lying soul."

>>5804333
Agreed, but it is what it is I guess. Bit suspect of the voter to be honest, but I don't HATE this turn of events from a narrative standpoint or anything, so let's see where it goes.

>>5804322
>I just want to say I'll be back soon. That I'll see her again

You stare down at the blank page for what seems like an eternity. How can it be that a single sheet of blank paper can be a worse torment than anything else you've ever suffered?

“I just want to say that I'll be back soon,” you decide after a while, toying with the useless pen in your hands, “That I'll see her again.”

“So write that,” Clarissa suggests, “It's not that hard.”

“I clearly haven't had as much practice at this as you have,” you shoot back, giving her a brief scowl, “What, have you been waiting for this moment for all your life?”

“Not all my life, no,” she counters, shaking her head sadly, “Whatever you write, just write from the heart. She'll know what you mean.”

It might sound tacky, but it's sincere. At least, you certainly hope it is. You reach down to put pen to paper, then pause. You hesitate, glancing back to Clarissa. “Persephone and I...” you begin, “We-”

“I know,” Clarissa interrupts gently.

“You... know?” you repeat, staring stupidly at her, “How?”

“Girls know these things,” she explains with a shrug, “And I had a chance, a brief chance, to see her before we left. She looked so disgustingly smug, it wasn't hard to guess why.”

Well, this is awkward.

“I'll leave you to it,” Clarissa concludes, backing out of your doorway and firmly closing the door behind her.

-

Maybe talking it over with Clarissa was the help you needed, because the words flow more smoothly after that. It's still not the easiest thing you've ever written, but at least it's words on paper. You stop short of confessing your love, unsure of just how that might come across. You are still hoping to see her again, after all, and in the world of the living.

It's hard to imagine what she might think when she reads your letter. You can almost picture Persephone reading the words with a smirk, refusing to read any sincerity into them, and discarding the letter without a second thought. But also you can imagine her cherishing your words, in her own fierce, secretive way. Hoping for the latter, you fold up your letter and gather up the discarded drafts for Harriet and Master Brehm. They're not great, but they'll have to do.

You've hit your deadline.

Hurrying from the barracks, you race down to the city entrance just as Master Rosenthal is preparing to leave with the wagon. He looks terribly lonely, sitting behind the reins by himself, but he wears a brave face.

“I'll be going then,” he announces, casting his eyes over your little group, “Behave yourselves, everyone. Remember that you're representing the academy, so don't do anything to embarrass us!”

“We'll see you soon!” Fia chirps, waving happily to her instructor. You watch her with an idle curiosity, wondering just long she can sustain the brittle act of cheer. Not long, as it turns out – as soon as Master Rosenthal makes his move, she slumps her shoulders and lets out a long groan of dismay.

You know how she feels.

[1]

>>5804357

Standing at the city walls, you watch the flow of movement outside. The ragged survivors are descending from Foulke's Point, grudgingly ceding their positions to the enemy. Master Rosenthal has long since vanished over the Graf river, bringing his precious cargo back towards the capital – your letters along with it. There's so much more that you could've said, but you'll save that for later. You'll save that for when you can see Persephone once more.

You're not sure where the others are, but that doesn't matter. You're fine with solitude for a little while. Of all things, you find yourself wondering what might be going on in the Reivian camp right now. Do they sense victory approaching, or do they fear a waiting ambush? It won't be long before they attack, you're sure of it. Even if it means marching into Sheol's jaws, they'll do it willingly, eagerly.

A sudden chill runs down your spine, an unspoken warning of danger. A second later, you hear the dull rumble of artillery fire and duck down behind the parapet. But the artillery isn't meant for you – you see fire blossom to the east, explosions tearing apart the ground near the banks of the Graf river. It's only when the second volley flies that you realise what the Reivians are doing – they're destroying the bridge leading back into the mainland.

If you weren't already trapped here, then you are now.

“We assumed as much,” Straub announces, joining you by the walls, “They will want us isolated, separated from any reinforcements. But, of course, that changes nothing. We knew that no help was coming.”

“Are there any other ways out?” you ask, glancing round at the tall officer.

Straub considers your question for a moment, as if weighing up your motives for asking. “There are, supposedly, some mountain trails that lead back east,” he answers eventually, “I have seen maps depicting them, but they were very old maps. If they still exist, the trails would be precarious – not sufficient to evacuate a large body of men.”

“I see...” you murmur, fighting the urge to search the mountains for any sign of a pathway.

“I would ask, of course, that you tell nobody of this,” the officer adds, “While I have no doubt that every man here will stand firm and do his duty, the possibility of an escape route may cause unwelcome... distractions.”

It would be terribly inconvenient if his soldiers didn't fight to the death, after all.

“Is it really safe to be out here?” you ask, trying to change the subject, “If they turn their guns on the city itself next...”

“We're assuming that they won't bombard the city proper,” Straub assures you, “Their Emperor will wish to claim this city as his prize. It won't be nearly so impressive if he has to reduce it to rubble in the process.”

“You're assuming a lot,” you mutter to yourself, but Straub just pretends not to hear.

[2]

inb4 we die and Persephone becomes the MC

>>5804416
Shang-Han portal opening any% speedrun

>>5804420
Kek.

>>5804399

The first attack comes a short while later. There's no attempt at hiding, no attempt at stealth or deception. The Reivians simply march out from behind the mountain ridge and advance towards Ixtab's walls. Seeing them now, outside their entrenchments, you finally grasp the scale of their army. They seem to be without number, an endless wave that rolls on and on. Someone passes you a rifle, and you numbly take it.

“Hold your fire!” General Lowe barks, prowling along with wall as he surveys his troops. Even he has a rifle, resting casually over one shoulder as he takes his position. “Artillery first,” he adds, “Then the infantry. You know the drill, men!”

“Just do what everyone else does,” Ellis whispers to you. Was it him who passed you the rifle? Does it even matter?

The first thunderous volley from the artillery blasts away any questions you might have had, leaving you with ringing ears and blurry vision. Explosions rip through the muddy field stretched out before you as the shells land, throwing up great showers of soil and scattering bodies far and wide. But still, impossibly, the Reivians continue their mindless advance. Ignoring the shells bursting around them, they plunge on towards your lines.

Either side of you, the soldiers raise their rifles. You hasten to do the same, aiming down the sights at the mass of scurrying bodies. From here, they look just like rats – just a swarm of vermin, you tell yourself, fit only to be slaughtered.

“Pick your targets!” General Lowe bellows, “And... fire!”

Like a convulsion, a wave of gunfire ripples through the line. Below, bodies jerk and fall as the hail of bullets catch them. Yanking back the bolt on your rifle, you slot a new cartridge into the chamber and shoulder it once more, searching out a new enemy and bringing your finger to the trigger. Then, almost as soon as it began, it's all over. General Lowe cries out for you to cease fire, and the smoke begins to clear.

[3/4]

>>5804427

The field before you is littered with bodies, so many that you feel nauseous just looking at them. Even as some of the soldiers begin to move back, returning to their positions, you lean heavily against the wall and wait for your racing heartbeat to slow. You're not sure how long you rest for until you hear a deep chuckle from behind, the noise causing you to glance back with a start.

“There's a sight that you don't see very often,” General Lowe remarks, gazing out across the battlefield. You follow his gaze, watching as a handful of white-garbed men emerge from the Reivian lines and creep towards the scattered corpses. “Here to recover their dead,” the General explains, “What do you say, Straub? Should we let them?”

“There's no reason why we can't be gentlemanly about it, sir,” the aid replies, studying the battlefield with distaste.

“They wouldn't do the same for us,” Clarissa points out, raising her rifle to her shoulder. She takes aim at one of the white-garbed soldiers, her finger hovering over the trigger as she waits for the order.

“What do you say, Master Hearne?” General Lowe asks, his voice thick with contemptuous amusement, “Shall we be the better men?”

>Let them gather their dead. They might finally learn how to be civil
>Gun them down. They don't deserve anything better
>Leave me out of this. This is your job, not mine
>Other

>>5804428
>Gun them down. They don't deserve anything better
What is a few more years in Sheol's machine worth anyway?

It's obvious that they aren't going to be burying them. and the less "priests" around the better.
>Other
if we get a moment why not set them on fire, The morale will be good for people and we always have wanted to set something on fire, we have our chance and if we go far enough they can't recover them anyway.

>>5804428
>Let them gather their dead. They might finally learn how to be civil

>>5804428
>Let them gather their dead. They might finally learn how to be civil
Not much strategic advantage in killing that small group, it will just motivate the rest of them to be more brutal.

>>5804428
>Let them gather their dead.

They won't learn to be civil, but we won't forget, either.

>>5804428
>>Let them gather their dead. They might finally learn how to be civil

>but watch them for anyone trying to get inside, this might be a distraction.

“I say let them gather their dead,” you decide, watching carefully as the white-garbed soldiers pick through the battlefield's churned mud, “They might finally be learning how to be civil.”

“You see? Your friend thinks highly of the enemy,” General Lowe crows, glancing aside to Clarissa. Marching over to her, he puts a hand on her rifle and pushes it down to face the ground. “Hold fire for now. You heard Straub – we can be the gentlemen here,” he continues, “Plenty time for killing later, without needing to shoot down unarmed men.”

“Yes sir,” Clarissa mutters, slinging her rifle and standing by. She gives you a sour look, but otherwise says nothing else.

“Far be it for me to tell you how to do your jobs, but I would suggest keeping a close watch on them,” you add, nodding down to the battlefield, “Make sure they don't use this as cover for another attack.”

Straub nods briskly, then moves out to call orders to some of the waiting men. They stand ready, their rifles primed for any hint of trouble. You linger for a while longer too, watching as the unarmed men – medics? - go about their grisly work. But for their stained white clothing, you'd think of them as carrion crows searching for some tasty morsel.

Time passes slowly. The white-robed men work with seemingly endless stamina, hauling one body after another back to the Reivian lines. Just outside of artillery range, they're starting to raise tents and dig trenches in preparation for a long siege. Despite the horrific casualties from this one attack alone, you easily lose count of their number. You borrow a pair of binoculars from one of the passing soldiers, but see no sign of the red-garbed priest.

“Not bad for a day's work,” Johannes mutters, his deep voice causing you to look away from the gruesome scene, “Not quite what I imagined when I decided to stay.”

“What did you imagine?” you ask, shuddering a little as one of the Reivian medics lifts up half of a sundered body only to callously throw it aside.

“I imagined it being a lot closer,” the heavyset man decides after a pause, “Fighting in the streets, man to man. Getting our hands dirty.”

“I'm quite happy with keeping them at arm's length, thank you very much,” you counter, “A few more attacks like this one, and we might not be quite so outnumbered. Let's just hope the Reivians oblige.”

“Let's,” he agrees, watching the movement below for a while, “We'll have to see what runs out first – their men, or our bullets.”

“If it's the latter, we might end up getting your wish,” you remark, finding the strength to give him a bleak smile, “But I don't fancy our chances defending the city with swords and bayonets, do you?”

But Johannes just shrugs, accepting that possibility as he accepts everything else. What difference would it make, that shrug seems to say.

[1]

>>5804460

When you finally tire of watching from the city walls, you slink back to the barracks to get some rest. You feel in desperate need of a wash, a good bath, but that's more of a luxury than Ixtab can afford. You splash a little cold water on your face, your hands, but it doesn't help much. The smell of combat, a charred, smoky smell, has thoroughly soaked into your clothes. When you're done here, done with all this, you'll burn them.

The barracks feels alive with activity, every empty room now occupied by a resting soldier. Compared with the hushed air from before, the constant noise and movement is almost intolerable. Feeling more restless than ever, you get up and go for a wander. Fia and Ellis are sitting in the common room, the young man staring blankly into empty space as his friend chatters relentlessly at him. Come to think of it, you don't recall seeing Fia on the wall.

Probably for the best.

You move on, trading a nod with a soldier as you pass him by in the corridor. You're one of them now, an equal rather than an outsider. Whether they see you as an Exorcist or not, it doesn't really matter. You're here to fight alongside them, that's all there is to it.

Leaving the barracks, you circle around the grand cathedral until you come to General Lowe's quarters. The door is ajar, and you show yourself in. There's no sight of the General himself, or his aide, but you can hear the faint rustle of papers coming from the storage room. Already dreading what you might find, you creep through to the rear room.

Clarissa sits, practically kneeling before the eerie idol with a wide fan of papers spread out before her. Her shoulders tense up as you enter the room, but she doesn't turn around.

“They took detailed notes, when they found this thing,” she explains, “Good thing too, since the tomb is buried under rock by now.”

“It's a bad idea, Clarissa,” you warn, “Whatever you're planning, it's a bad idea.”

“I know that,” she agrees simply.

“That means you shouldn't do it,” you continue, reaching forwards and touching her shoulder. Her entire body stiffens at your touch, yet still her gaze remains fixed on the idol. “You're going to do it anyway,” you mutter, “Aren't you?”

“Sometimes, bad ideas are all that we have left,” Clarissa answers, reaching out to touch the idol only to draw her hand away before making contact, recoiling as if the stone was burning hot. She stays like that for a long while, her hand poised in the air. Caught between fascination and horror, attraction and revulsion.

Life and death.

>I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be aiming to continue this tomorrow, same approximate time
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5804487
Thanks for running.

World War 1 tech/tactics plus angry monster spirits is going to be a terrifying combo.

>>5804491
>is going to be a terrifying combo.
We have a spectral flame / napalm-thrower to deal with it though. So to a point hordes won't be an issue as long as we have sufficient choke points to force them though.

>>5804487
Thanks for running!

>>5804491
mmmmm, mystic mustard gas

>>5804494
I think you're overestimating Lucas and his spirit. One guy with a flamethrower, if we can even manifest a consistent flame like that, won't turn the tide of an entire army that doesn't fear death. No way we can get across no mans land to actually use it like that anyways, which leaves urban combat and all bets are off when it comes to that.

>>5804494
>>5804501
What about a symbol, rather than an attack? With enough wood, we could make a giant burning sun over ixtab. If it doesn't help morale, it could at least bait out a similarly flashy spirit to charge forward.

You're starting to get used to the sound of artillery, starting to grow accustomed to the rumble and thunder of the big guns. No longer do you flinch and search for cover when they open up in a new volley. In fact, you're even starting to recognise the different guns by their respective sounds. You're not exactly an expert just yet, but you know enough to tell who is firing at what.

That's why, when the explosions start up once more, you immediately know that something's wrong. Dropping your book as you start up, you grab for your rifle and hurry from your bedroom. Those are Reivian guns, and they sound close. Was Straub wrong? Could they be shelling the city itself?

The thunder of the guns continues as you emerge out into the catacomb city, sprinting for the upper walls and instinctively ducking behind the parapet. Carefully peeking your head up, you watch as the explosions wander up and down the already shredded ground before the city. For some mad reason, the Reivians seem intent on shelling the muddy field separating your lines from theirs.

“Those bastards woke me up!” Ellis shouts, dropping down into the cover beside you, “I was having the most wonderful dream too!”

“They've gone too far this time,” you agree, although you're not sure if he can even hear you. “What are they doing?” you continue, raising your voice against the rumble of explosions, “Are they trying to scare us?”

“Preparing the ground! They'll attack again, I expect!” the soldier yells, grabbing your arm and dragging you upright. “See those craters?” he asks, pointing to the deep wounds left by the constant shelling, “They'll use them for cover, take a little less fire that way!”

“Why didn't they just do that before?” you point out, thinking back to the first attack.

Ellis shrugs, not even wincing as a shell bursts at the very furthest border of the city. “Probably wanted to test our defences first, get the measure of us,” he suggests, “Just a probing attack, they... oh.”

He falls silent as the shelling comes to an abrupt end, the sudden silence crashing down upon you like a lead weight. In the stillness that follows, the other soldiers shoulder their rifles and ready themselves. Seconds tick by, turning to minutes, but the expected attack doesn't come. No movement from the Reivian lines, just the thick haze of smoke rising up from their well-used guns.

“Where was I?” Ellis asks himself, “Oh yes. Probably just a probing attack, they never expected it to succeed. Now that they've got a better idea of our positions, we can expect the real attacks to begin.”

“Awful lot of dead men for a probing attack,” you mutter, looking across the open field. You can still see some remains scattered about, but nothing that resembles a complete human body.

“Plenty more where that came from,” Ellis concludes, slapping you on the shoulder, “I'm going back to bed.”

[1/3]

>>5805108

Unlike Ellis, it's not the sound of artillery fire that wakes you. You're not sure what it is, but you find yourself ripped from the grasp of sleep and left to lie in the darkness, your eyes wide open. Every fibre of your being is crying out an alarm, even if you can't actually see any warning signs for yourself. Once again, you find yourself reaching for your rifle and hastening to the wall.

You're not alone. You spot the rest of the cohort, even Fia, lingering uneasily by the parapet as if waiting for some call to action. General Lowe's men have done their best to prepare lanterns around the city, but their light can only extend so far. Now that the night if fully upon you, your visibility has been reduced to the barest sliver. Even without the night's blackness, the unearthly mists have grown thicker while you were asleep.

“More of their dirty tricks,” Ellis assumes, waving a hand at the cloying fog. You nod silently – this has all the signs of a ritual. Fire spirits again, like when they killed Master Eminescu, or something else this time?

“Let's go,” Johannes mutters to you, “Can't see a damn thing from up here. We need to go down.”

“Down?” you repeat. Down means moving to the first line of defence, the advance posts down in the outer city. Down means leaving the relative safety of the walls. But then, depending on what the Reivians are getting ready to call down, nowhere might be safe.

Down it is, then.

“We have to split up, cover all of our approaches,” Ellis adds as you're hurrying down towards the outer city, “I know, I know, but we can't afford to concentrate in the centre. We need to cover the flanks too.”

He doesn't even give you a chance to complain about the idea. Still, as much as you hate it, you know that he's got a point. The outer city has three main streets, you recall, three main barriers that you'll need to defend. That's a lot of ground for five bodies to cover, four and a half really if you're being realistic about Fia's chances. It's not great, but it'll have to do.

“I'll take Fia and watch the left flank,” Ellis continues, when you arrive at the main junction, “The rest of you... well, sort it out amongst yourselves.”

“I can cover the right,” Clarissa volunteers, “Don't worry, I can handle it. I'll have plenty of soldiers for backup – I won't be alone.”

You hesitate, but there might not be enough time for a full debate. With a curt nod, you led her go on her way – alone, it seems, despite her assurances. “Just call out if you need help,” you urge as she's moving off, “Don't be an ass about it, Clarissa!”

She just waves your words away, leaving you and Johannes to hold the central street by yourselves. With a bitter feeling burning in your chest, you advance up the wide street until you arrive at the makeshift barricade.

[2/3]

>>5805109

The barricade feels like a paltry defence compared with the high walls of the inner city, but the men holding it look ready for anything. They stand firm, their rifles trained on the darkness beyond the city, and they wait. Taking your position alongside them, you ease open your senses and listen to the spirit world. Mindless whispers and chimes echo back to you, along with the now-familiar howling of wolves coming from the Reivian lines. The spirit world is restless, and no mistake.

But nothing happens. You hold firm, waiting for the attack that never seems to come as the seconds tick by in your head.

“Movement!” one of the soldiers hisses, “I see movement!”

Straining your eyes against the darkness, you search out for that elusive sign of movement that he mentioned. At first, nothing, but then you catch a fleeting glimpse of motion. So brief that it might have been a trick of the eye, you nevertheless train your rifle on the last hint of motion. There it is again, an inhuman creeping motion slinking ever closer to your lines.

“Enemy contact!” the soldier, a junior officer, shouts, “Flares!”

With a flat bang, a ghoulish red glow explodes into light and reveals the horrific battlefield before you. Dozens of Reivian soldiers, their bodies twisted and contorted, are creeping towards the barricade. They seem to freeze for a moment as the light touches them, and you open fire. Your first shot hits, you're sure of it, but the Reivian doesn't even flinch. He just keeps skulking closer, his comrades equally unharmed as the bullets pluck and punch at them. It's only when a lucky shot strikes one of the Reivians in the head, finally dropping him, that you realise what's going on.

“Dead men!” you howl, revulsion clenching your stomach like a fist, “They're sending dead men against us!”

“Stay calm, and aim for the head,” Johannes orders, loading a fresh cartridge into his rifle, “That's the only thing that'll stop them.”

“By the Sun, there's so many of them...” another soldier wails, as yet more of the ghoulish soldiers emerges into the burning red light, “There's no end to them!”

Panic grips you. You could hold the line against men, but these are not men. How long will you be able to hold out before they overwhelm your lines? The high walls of the inner city would offer a better protection, but...

>You can't hold the outer defences. You need to fall back to the inner city
>You have no choice. You have to hold the line here, no matter what
>There must be a priest commanding the spirits. Take him out and this is over
>You've got a plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>5805110
>There must be a priest commanding the spirits. Take him out and this is over
3rd eye time.

>>5805110
>There must be a priest commanding the spirits. Take him out and this is over
The artillery was to buy time for the ritual and make the terrain bad for dead sprints. Persephone would've been the best shot for assassinating the priests.

>They aren't men, so is your fire fair game? Test if burning is faster than headshots
Lucas seems better suited for being a decoy than the sniper, given his track record.

>>5805110
>There must be a priest commanding the spirits. Take him out and this is over
Let's go headhunting. Only way this can end.

>>5805110
>There must be a priest commanding the spirits. Take him out and this is over
He's not gonna immolate himself, might as well get to it

“The priests!” you call out, looking around to Johannes, “There must be a priest commanding these ghouls!”

“So what?” he snarls, taking careful aim before bringing down another of the animated corpses with a single precise shot.

“So, take him out and this is over!” you snap, trying to steady your hands as you seek out a new target. No matter how hard you try, though, you just can't stop your hands from trembling. With a frustrated groan, you let the rifle slip from your hands and clatter to the ground. Dreading what you might see, you force your inner eye wide open and gaze out across the battlefield.

An ethereal silver light washes over the battlefield, each one of the animated corpses shining with a cold glow. Like the strings of a puppet, a faint sliver of light trails behind the corpses and leads further back into the gloom. They all lead the same way, leading back to what must surely be your target.

Johannes calls your name, then curses, as you lunge forwards and over the barricade. Drawing your sword and revolver, you plunge deeper into the night as you follow the glimmering silver threads. Whenever one of the puppets gets too close, close enough to grab at you with their broken, bloodied hands, you lash out with your sword, and the pale fire wreathing it. Wherever that fire touches, flesh blackens and breaks apart.

Heedless of the bullets singing around you, from both the Reivian lines and your own forces, you hunt your quarry through the cloying mists. Ahead, you see the silver threads starting to gather into a single rope, the obscene cord leading into the shelter of a particularly deep crater. A hulking Reivian soldier rises up as you approach, only to stagger back as you discharge your revolver. He must still be a man, for he grunts in pain. A second bullet puts him on his back, hopefully for good, and you jerk your head around to search for the priest himself.

A flash of red from the corner of your eye alerts you to the attack, and you manage to bring your arm up to block the knife's descending fall. Pain blossoms up your arm as the priest's blow splits your flesh, and you barely have time to catch his hands before he drives the knife forwards into your gut. The priest is strong, stronger than you were expecting, and you find yourself wrestling for control of the knife. Slowly, he pushes the blade closer to you, closer and closer until a sudden explosion splits the night.

The priest flinches back at the sudden sound, and you kick him away. Diving for your revolver, lost in the initial struggle, you bring the weapon around and discharge the last four shots, one after another, into his body. Each shot causes his body to jump and dance, before he finally falls still for good.

[1]

>>5805110
>There must be a priest commanding the spirits. Take him out and this is over

Backlinking to >>5804442

File: pitbull.png (260 KB, 460x320)

260 KB PNG

>>5805134
Jesus Lucas, I thought you were going to do some stealth or push a flank with some people. My man just ran across no mans land full of zombies and gunfire from both sides just to shoot a dude.

>>5805137
>My man just ran across no mans land full of zombies and gunfire
Since when did shots in the dark ever hit anything important.

I'd be far more worried about the recent explosions.

it might also be worth bringing the priest back so they can be searched for any items of interest, intel or otherwise since we might not get a 2nd chance.

Also having the uniform might be useful if we need to do things in the future, I just hope that the blood stains and holes can be hidden.

>>5805134

You hardly have a chance to celebrate your victory. More explosions, more distant this time, ring out as the Second Army opens up with their artillery. You don't know what they're firing at, you just know that you need to get back to the city before you get caught in the crossfire. Peeking your head up above the crater, you see a chaotic churn of bodies swirling around you. You see Reivians, not puppets but living soldiers, flailing around in a panic as the shells fall around them.

Dropping back down into the relative safety of the crater, you thumb fresh cartridges into your revolver. It seems to take an eternity, loose rounds spilling from your numb hands as the blood seeps from your wounded arm, but you finally manage to load the whole cylinder. Just in time for you to sense movement from behind you. You turn sharply, bringing the revolver up and-

“Asshole!” Johannes curses, dropping into the crater behind you, “Nearly blew my head off!”

“Well yeah, I wasn't expecting-” you reply, exasperated, “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure that you haven't been blown to bits, obviously. Puppets back there just dropped, all of them at once. Guess I know why now. So-” he pauses, ducking down as another artillery shell thunders down nearby, “So now we just need to worry about the stragglers... and getting you back in one piece.”

You barely hear these words over the ringing in your ears, but nod nonetheless. As the falling shells draw to a close, you peer above the crater's lip once more. Seeing that the coast is clear, you clamber up and hasten back towards the comfort of the city lights. It's only when you realise that you're running on ahead that you look back to Johannes. When you see the red-robed body slung over his shoulders, all you can do is stare.

“What?” he grunts, scowling at you, “This is vital military intelligence.”

-

“Well Straub?” General Lowe rumbles, “What do you think?”

“Our defences held, sir, but I would struggle to call this a complete success,” the aide replies quietly, looking up from his notes, “We lost good men tonight, and our western artillery.”

“So I heard. Reivian infiltrators, using this ghastly sideshow as cover to hide their advance,” he mutters, “Blew themselves up along with the guns, I heard.”

“I suspect that was part of the plan,” Straub points out, “Fanatics, sir. As if we didn't already know that they were beyond reason. You reported priests at the front, yes?”

Clarissa nods, and you do the same. “But not the high priest himself,” you concede, thinking back to your brief glimpse from atop Rourke's Point, “At least, I don't think so. He had a much larger hat.”

“Just what I'd expect from a Reivian,” Straub sighs.

[2]

>>5805150

“Not great, not terrible,” General Lowe decides after a long silence, “The bastards gave us a bloody nose this time, but we won't let them get a second chance. From now on, I'm ordering that ANY Reivian – armed or unarmed – be considered an enemy combatant. They'll be shot on sight – and if we get the chance, we'll burn the bloody body too.”

Clarissa nods, the corners of her mouth twitching up in a cold smile of satisfaction, but she says nothing. Johannes just lets out a quiet sigh of acceptance. Even Straub looks a little uneasy about the order, but there's no hint of dissent.

“There was one thing,” the aide adds, looking back down at his reports, “I'm missing some information. Malinkov and Northwood haven't reported in yet. Have you seen them at all?”

“I saw Ellis. He was still at the front, hanging about with some of the troops there,” Clarissa answers, “I didn't specifically see her, but I assume Fia was clinging to him as always.”

“Hmm,” Straub frowns, “If you have the chance, tell him to report in. We've been sweeping the area, but there may still be some Reivian infiltrators in the outer city.”

“Malinkov...” General Lowe grunts, “He was supposed to be covering the western approach, wasn't he? Fine mess he made of that. Straub, put his name down for punishment detail when you finally bloody find him.”

There's a brief silence. He doesn't have the authority for that, of course, but nobody has the courage to remind him of that fact. “The body we recovered,” you ask quietly, hoping to change the subject, “What do you want to do with it?”

“Oh, that? We'll burn it in due time. We searched the remains, but there wasn't anything useful,” General Lowe dismisses the matter with a wave of his hand, “I'm sure it's lying around here somewhere, if you want to take a look for yourself. Straub?”

“Yes sir,” Straub nods, “We kept the remains separate from our own men. I can show you, if you desire.”

>Yes, please. I'll take a look, see if there's anything you may have missed
>No need. I'll go and see if I can find Ellis. See why he hasn't reported back
>Don't bother. I need to get some rest before the next attack
>I had some questions first... (Write in)
>Other

>>5805184
>No need. I'll go and see if I can find Ellis. See why he hasn't reported back

>>5805184
>Yes, please. I'll take a look, see if there's anything you may have missed

We might be able to produce countermeasures or otherwise notice something useful, he did seem inhumanly strong after all, and anything we can do to level the playing field will payoff in short order.

>>5805184
>Yes, please. I'll take a look, see if there's anything you may have missed

>>5805184
>Yes, please. I'll take a look, see if there's anything you may have missed
how many hearts does it have?

“Please,” you agree, giving Straub a nod, “I'll take a look at the remains, see if there's anything you may have missed. You would have been looking for military secrets, I assume.”

“That's correct. Plans, orders, anything of that sort,” Straub gestures for you to follow him as he leads you from the grand cathedral, “There were a number of trinkets on the remains. They may mean more to you than they did to us.”

Considering this in silence, you let Straub lead you through the hushed city. A heavy silence hangs over the whole area, broken only by the occasional gunshot from the distance and the eerie sounds drifting out from across the Veil. You hold up a hand to stop Straub, your skin prickling as you sense something. The mist ahead glows softly, lit up from within by a yellowish light drifting aimlessly through the streets.

Touching a hand to your academy medallion, you sketch out a simple sigil of banishment to dismiss the spirit. Straub watches with interest, then glances to you. “Forgive me if this is a foolish question,” he asks, “But I thought these spirits could not be so easily banished.”

“The Reivians are binding their spirits when summoning them, preventing us from banishing them. You're right on that front,” you explain, “But that was just a stray – a wandering spirit. The Veil here has been damaged by their rituals, and it's bad enough that spirits such as this can pass through freely.”

“Hmm,” Straub muses, “And if they continue their rituals?”

“The Veil could collapse completely,” you warn, “And then nobody here will be safe. Remind me to start preparing some countermeasures after this, just in case.”

Straub nods, making a note in his ledger.

-

In death, the Reivian priest is a vaguely pathetic figure. He's been stripped naked and laid out on a stone slab, with just a sheet draped across his lower half to protect his modesty... or your sensibilities. His red robe is folded up beside him, the metal skull mask placed atop it. Reminding yourself to check those later, you give the body itself a cursory examination.

A squat, broad figure, the priest has signs of strong muscles beneath a layer of fat. Even in death, his skin has an unpleasant sallow look to it that hasn't yet faded to white.

Looking past the dark bullet wounds on his body, you examine a serious of markings in turn. His flesh is marked with tattoos, harsh and blocky things quite unlike the jagged patterns more familiar to the Forest Kingdom. You're not sure if they signify anything, but you take careful sketches of them nonetheless.

Leaving the body for now, you turn to the trinkets that Straub mentioned. There's the knife, of course, a mostly ceremonial tool that still serves well enough as a weapon – you can attest to that. Next are a number of charms bound on a long chain. A wolf's head, naturally, but also the Ixtari character that Master Rosenthal showed you.

Apotheosis. Again.

[1]

>>5805203

Turning the charms over in your hand, you look back to the slowly cooling corpse. The longer you look at it, the more you wonder about what kind of man the priest once was. Was he a true believer, willing to offer up his life in service of his Emperor? Or was he just a cynic, paying lip service to his own faith while growing his own power? Certainly, he wasn't the sort of man who would lead from the front. But then, General Lowe hasn't exactly been manning the barricades either.

Slowly, you find yourself sinking into a trance. You let it happen, opening yourself up to whatever insights you might be able to gleam. Once more you hear the howl of wolves echoing out, almost as if the sounds were coming from the priest's belly. But amidst the howling, you almost make out words... human words.

“In the Emperor's immortal name...” you murmur aloud, someone else's words coming from your mouth. There are more, more words that coil around you, never quite taking shape or form. Whenever you try to grasp them, though, they vanish like mist. The more you try, the more a terrible frustration boils up within you.

How much could you learn, if only you were able to force this wretched thing to speak?

With a flare of anger, you clench your inner eye shut once more. Just before closing your senses to the spirit world, you catch one last howl – but this time, it sounds just like laughter.

>I'm sorry for the early finish, but I think I'm going to pause things here – feeling kinda cooked today. I'll be aiming to continue this on Saturday
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5805225
Thanks for running!

You lose track of time, sitting there with the slain priest laid out before you. Even with your eyes closed you can feel the dead man's presence, but it doesn't bother you. In some perverse way, he almost feels like a trusted companion now. Your eyes are closed, but you're not meditating. Instead, your eyes are turned inwards as you question yourself, drawing theories and seeking answers.

Know yourself.

Introspection can be difficult, even unpleasant. Even brave men can shrink away from what hides within the recesses of their own minds. Yet sometimes, there is no other choice.

“Apotheosis,” you speak aloud, uncaring if anyone overhears, “The act of attaining divinity. Correction, the IMPOSSIBLE act of attaining divinity.”

“Not impossible,” you think immediately, although you can't help but imagine the priest speaking these words. “Not impossible, but men have forgotten the way,” you continue, “Men have been made to forget.”

“By who?” you ask, waiting for the answer – or at least, a possible answer – to come.

“By the one who would jealously seek to protect their newfound power,” the reply comes, “By the one who would allow no challengers.”

“The Sun King?” you suggest, but no answer comes. You linger for a few seconds more, forcing yourself to be patient. There's no rushing a process like this. It must be allowed to unfold naturally, without interruption or interference. “Suppose it was the Sun King, then,” you continue, “If such a thing became known...”

“Everything would be cast into chaos. The Regent rules by the Sun King's authority, men trust their safety to the Sun King's authority, Exorcists command spirits by invoking the Sun King's authority,” you think back to yourself, “What then, if the Sun King is believed to be a fake, a fraud? Even the nature of the Accord would be called into question.”

“The True Adherents want this information to stay hidden, to protect their secrets,” you muse, “But the Regent seeks out this information for himself. If the carvings below even HINT at the path towards Apotheosis...”

But this thought goes unanswered. That's fine – it's not hard to guess why men might desire such a thing. With the thread of thought broken, you finally open your eyes and rise to stand on numb legs. There's other business you have to attend to.

-

Countermeasures.

With the paintbrush held firmly in your hand, you carefully draw out an intricate sigil on the delicate sliver of wood. The table before you is littered with various objects waiting for the same treatment – wooden fragments fit to be turned into talismans, battered army helmets, even a few ceremonial breastplates. Clarissa sits across from you, methodically copying down the same sigil, while Ellis lingers restlessly nearby.

[1/3]

>>5809809

“So you say that these markings will protect the soldiers?” Straub asks, leaning over your shoulder to examine your work. You don't reply straight away, instead focussing on making sure the last few parts of the sigil are just right.

“So long as their faith remains true, yes,” Omiros answers instead, his cold voice needling at you. You shudder a little as you sense the priest approach, his shadow falling across your worktable. His spidery hand reaches out, and you instinctively find yourself shying away as he takes one of the finished talismans. “The Sun King protects all true believers,” he continues, “Tell your men to place their trust in Him, and they shall have nothing to fear.”

With that, the priest leaves you to the tedious task. As soon as he's out of earshot, you finish the talisman and finally glance around to Straub. “It's important that your men understand the limits,” you warn, “These charms will protect against the strays, the wandering spirits, but they're unlikely to have the same effect on the Revians' bound spirits. A moment of hesitation at most, but not more than that. They shouldn't get overconfident.”

“I'll make sure that they understand,” Straub promises, hastening away. Free from distractions once more, you go back to your labours. It's a lot of work for two pairs of hands – Ellis tried, but he ended up being more harm than good. He tried his best but the results were unusable, ruined by the tremor gripping his entire body.

You glance over to the entrance of the grand cathedral, where the young soldier waits. He's going to help with handing out the protective charms, so at least he's not going to be completely useless.

“He's starting to crack,” Clarissa murmurs, noticing your gaze. He doesn't sound particularly concerned about the fact, but neither does she sound especially pleased. It's just a simple fact, distant from any feelings whatsoever.

“Do you think I should have a word with him?” you ask, even though you already suspect what the answer will be, “I never thought he'd be the one to feel the pressure. Fia maybe, but...”

“Do what you want,” she answers with a slight shrug. She studies him for what seems like a very long time, thinking deeply to herself. “He's a man who's never struggled in his entire life, never known failures or setbacks... until now,” she muses, “It's almost a shame. He had a bright career ahead of him, as bright as the sun.”

Unlike her, whose path had only led her deeper into the shadows. It's not hard to guess why she seems so bitter, even setting the matter of his father aside. But without sharing her callous indifference, you can't just let the matter lie. For your own peace of mind, if nothing else.

And it's a break from painting sigils.

[2/3]

>>5809810

Ellis flinches a little when you approach him, offering to help with handing out the charms. Even if you didn't need to check in, you privately relish the opportunity to get away from painting the same sigil over and over again. It reminds you far too much of copying down the Ixtari glyphs for your liking, and your eyes ache from concentrating.

“Not exactly the glorious battle you were expecting, is it?” you remark quietly, hoping that your attempt at a smile will take the sting out of your words.

“Not quite, no,” Ellis concedes, “I know, I know. Go ahead and poke fun at me. You've got that right, I suppose. But believe me, I was prepared for this. I mean, I thought I was. It's just...”

He pauses. You hold your tongue, waiting for him to speak.

“It's just not what I was expecting,” he finishes lamely, “I knew there would be fighting. I knew men would die, a lot of them and on both sides. But I never thought the Reivians would stoop this low. That last attack, those ghastly corpses... I was prepared for the shooting and the shelling, but I never expected to see men die by tooth and fingernail.”

“Having second thoughts?” you ask, “I mean, about staying here?”

A cruel question to ask, perhaps. It hits Ellis like a closed fist, causing him to almost physically recoil. But then, the only reason why it hits so hard is because he knows the answer... and he doesn't like it.

“Of course not. No second thoughts,” Ellis lies, “I just... I don't know, there's still just so much that I want to do! I'm sure I'll get the chance, of course – I'm no defeatist, but... but what if I don't?”

With this admission, he stares at you with pleading eyes, as if you can somehow solve every one of his problems in an instant. But then you remember what Straub told you, about a potential path through the western mountains – a path that might lead someone to safety, and an escape from this doomed city.

Ellis' silence draws out, his gaze desperately urging you to say something, anything.

>It's too late for second thoughts, Ellis. We made our choice
>I heard here's a path through the western mountains. You should get out while you still can
>I won't tell you what to do, but there's said to be a path out through the western mountains
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>5809812
>It's too late for second thoughts, Ellis. We made our choice

>>5809812
>Too late for second thoughts

Looking at Ellis, you suddenly feel a pang of directionless anger. He was so confident, so sure of himself before, as if he was already savouring the glory of victory. Clarissa was right about him, you decide. But even as you think this, you know that your anger isn't really aimed at him. Not really.

“It's too late for second thoughts, Ellis,” you tell him, and yourself, “We made our choice here. Now we need to stick with it.”

But still, his damnable silence just keeps drawing out. Just when you're on the verge of grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking some sense into the young man, he lets out a quiet, humourless laugh. “You're right, I suppose,” he admits, “Nobody was forcing me to stay. I chose to, I chose to stay. And now...”

A pause, a long silence.

“And now we've just got to make the best of it,” Ellis decides, forcing a bright grin onto his face, “Why, those Reivians got the best of me once, but I won't let it happen again. I bet they won't even make it past the first line of defence!”

-

“We cannot hold the outer city,” Straub warns, his voice weighed down with weariness, “I recommend that we pull back to the inner walls, and-”

“We can hold the outer city. We HAVE to hold the outer city,” General Lowe interrupts, “Damn you Straub, I won't let those bastards take a single inch of our land!”

“With respect, sir...” the aide insists, and the tone in his voice suggests that this is a conversation that he's had many times before.

The war situation, you muse, has not necessarily developed to your advantage. The Reivian attacks have become almost constant over the last few days, small probing attacks that stab out at the defences before withdrawing back into the ever-present mist. Every time they attack, a few more men die to throw them back. Every time they attack, the Reivians creep deeper into the outer city before being driven away.

Their attacks are, thankfully, limited to light infantry. Since their first attack with the animated dead, the Reivians haven't tried calling up more spirits. Even so, General Lowe has been striving to deny them the chance. After every attack the “disposal teams” are sent out with hatchets and saws to burn or mutilate the corpses, anything to make sure that the remains can't be risen against you. But even this isn't safe – recently, the Reivians have been waiting in ambush, even hiding amidst piles of their own dead to prey upon the disposal teams.

They captured a man once, only to return him – most of him – the next night. You don't want to imagine what they did with the head.

“Damn you, Straub!” General Lowe repeats, his hoarse cry jolting you from your thoughts, “You win! Now stand aside – if we have to retreat, I'll tell the men myself. I owe them that much, at least.”

[1]

>>5809828

“Thank you, sir,” Straub sighs, but General Lowe dismisses his words with a gesture. Storming from the cathedral to deliver the bad news, General Lowe marches straight past Clarissa without a pause as she enters. She looks awful, her clothes stained and soiled with blood while a field dressing has been haphazardly bound over a gash on her forehead. Stalking closer, she throws a grimacing mask down onto the table.

“They sent another wave,” she announces grimly, “There were Deathmasks among them this time.”

This is met with a cold silence. Even you know what that means – the Deathmasks are the Reivian elite, the best of the best. Men who have renounced everything, even their names and identities, to serve the Reive Dynasty. If they're sending Deathmasks to the front, that could mean two things – either the Reivians believe victory is at hand, and they just need one last push to seize it, or they're getting desperate.

“I'll let the General know,” Straub says quickly, looking at the mask with distaste, “He's already agreed to withdraw the men to the inner city, and focus on defending the wall. But this could be significant. Excuse me.”

Bowing his head, Straub hurries after his commanding officer. As he leaves, Clarissa collapses down into a vacant chair and lets out a long groan of fatigue. Nobody speaks for a long while. Even you can't think of anything to say, merely watching as a tiny sliver of blood leaks from Clarissa's wound.

“It doesn't matter,” Ellis says eventually, “Even Deathmasks won't be able to breach the outer wall. They won't get any further.”

“They'd better not,” Johannes points out, “If we lose the inner city, we'll have to retreat into the cathedral itself. After that, there's nowhere left to go.”

“We won't lose the inner city!” Ellis insists, emphatically shaking his head, “We CAN'T lose the inner city!”

You look away with a grimace, unable to stomach the sight of his desperation. Sometimes you've come to wish that you'd sent him away, just so you wouldn't have to deal with him.

“The Angel will come, won't it?” Fia says with a bright hope in her voice, “The Angel always defends Ixtab. It'll come, just like in the stories!”

“It won't come,” Clarissa sneers, fixing Fia with a withering glare. A chill runs down your spine as these words echo through the cathedral. Don't say it, you think to yourself, don't say another word. “The Angel won't just come by itself,” she continues, defying your hopes, “It has to be called. WE have to call it.”

Even knowing what she was going to say, you wince.

“Bullshit,” Johannes growls, “You're talking about a breach of the Accord. Whatever this Angel is, we can't call it down. We're supposed to protect the Accord, not tear up the rules just because it suits us – we'd be no better than the Reivians.”

[2]

>>5809847

“No. You're wrong. I've been thinking about this,” Clarissa insists, her eyes glinting like gemstones as she turns to face you, “Lucas. Do you remember what Master Rosenthal told us? We were discussing the Sethians, but you mentioned the Forest Kingdom. You remember, don't you?”

You do, of course, but you find yourself desperately regretting your conversation now. “I don't recall,” you lie, hoping that she'll take the hint and drop it. She won't, of course, but you have to try.

“Master Rosenthal explained that the Foresters can deal with spirits without breaching the Accord, because the Veil in their land is weak. They can call down spirits without doing any damage to the Veil,” Clarissa explains, looking at each of you in turn, “It's almost the same here. The Reivians have torn the Veil wide open. I'm willing to bet that we'd be able to call down the Angel without doing any more harm, and technically-”

“Damn your technicalities!” Johannes shouts, banging his fist against the table, “You KNOW this is wrong, Clarissa! You KNOW that, and no amount of excuses is going to change that!”

“Well, what choice do we have?” she snaps back, “We lose the city? We all die here? I will do whatever it takes to win this fight, and if that means bre... if that means bending a few rules, I will HAPPILY make that choice. I'm not asking for your help... but don't try and stop me.”

Unspoken violence crackles through the air like lightning, the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Johannes just glares at Clarissa, and she scowls straight back to him.

“Could...” Fia begins, her voice a nervous squeak, “Could it work? Could you... do it?”

Ellis glances towards his companion, his face paling at the sound of her question. “I think so,” Clarissa answers quietly, ignoring the young soldier, “When the found General Lowe's idol, they took detailed notes of the carvings in its tomb. They're not in Ixtari, I think I can translate them... perhaps devise a ritual from them. But I'll need time to work.”

“This is a bad idea,” Johannes warns, “If you go through with this, I'll have to report it to Master Brehm. I don't have a choice.”

“Fine. Do it,” Clarissa counters, almost daring him to try, “That won't stop me.”

Johannes just turns away with a grunt. You can see his fist hidden down by his side, clenched so tight that his whole arm is trembling. As his silence draws out, you wonder if you ought to say something.

>This might be a bad idea, but it's the only one we've got. I'll help any way I can
>Johannes is right, this isn't the way. I can't let you do this, Clarissa
>I don't know about this. But I won't stand in your way either
>[Say nothing]
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>5809857
>This might be a bad idea, but it's the only one we've got. I'll help any way I can

>Other
Take Johannes & Clarissa aside talk things through so they don't get in one another's way. proper communication is key to not having everything fail, we need to come to consensus and work towards it's execution.

We need to hold Ixab, the Accord is fucked we're probably never going to survive but at least we may have a chance of surviving to see ourselves tried for our actions instead of dying and letting the Reivians have access to what we have seen which may well spell doom for the rest of the empire, their is a slight chance that a pardon or otherwise may be offered if we make it out.

>>5809857
>This might be a bad idea, but it's the only one we've got. I'll help any way I can

>>5809857
Just some thoughts and things to consider

>I think... (Write in)
>I'm worried that this Angel of Sheol might not discriminate friend or foe once it's here. Death, as far as I understand, doesn't care about what country you are from.

>Also say this all goes to plan, how do we get to it to leave once it's here?

>Omiros seemed to believe the Angel would save us, but I don't know if it was faith or if he was counting on Clarissa to call it.

>It might be worth interfacing with the General on this to make a plan if he knows an Angel is going to drop on his head.

“This might be a bad idea, but it's the only one we've got,” you decide, even though the words taste like ashes in your mouth, “I'll help you in any way I can, Clarissa.”

Clarissa hesitates, your words causing her eyes to widen. Of all the things you could've said, this was not what she had been expecting. “I... appreciate that,” she says after a pause, “Thank you, Lucas. Really, thank you. I'm sure that we'll be able to make some real progress with your help. Even if you're just able to assist with the translation...”

Even as she talks, you can feel Johannes scowling at you. You really can feel it, as if it was a heavy weight pressing down upon you. When you realise that he's not going to look away, you reluctantly turn to meet his gaze. He doesn't even look angry – well, he looks a little angry – but disappointed, wounded by your apparent betrayal.

“Johannes, listen-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a gesture.

“There's nothing that I can say that will get you to change your minds,” he growls, “Fine. But I'll have to tell Master Brehm about you too, Lucas. I have to.”

“I know that,” you reply. It takes a lot of effort to keep your voice level, steady, but you manage.

“It's going to break him,” Johannes continues, “Ruin him, maybe.”

“I know that,” you repeat, feeling something inside you shrivel up and die.

-

The five of you, your sorry little cohort, sit in silence for what seems like an eternity. Nobody moves until Ellis finally finds the strength to stand, taking Fia by the hand and all but dragging her from the cathedral. They're going to have words, you suspect, but you need to have a discussion of your own. You need to clear the air, if such a thing is possible, to avoid any kind of... complications. You're well past that point already, but at least you can try not to make things any worse.

“I think we should discuss this,” you begin, waiting a moment to see if the others will take your bait. Neither Clarissa nor Johannes says anything to this, as if you hadn't said anything aloud at all. “We have to hold Ixtab,” you continue, and Clarissa nods along with this, “And we've got no good options left. This way, we might at least live long enough to stand trial for what we've done.”

“Let them have the damn city,” Johannes mutters, “Old stone and stories, that's all it is. It's not worth this, any of it.”

“It IS!” Clarissa insists, “It's not just the city, it's what it represents. We have to draw a line here, a line that those Reivian bastards will know not to cross!”

“It's more what's under the city that I'm worried about,” you add, “That tomb. We buried it, sure, but what's to say that the Reivians won't dig it up again? If they hold the city, they'll have as long as they need to uncover everything – and that might... it might spell doom for everything. This is bigger than just Ixtab.”

[1]

>>5809886

“Clarissa,” you continue, turning to her next, “What makes you so sure that this Angel will discriminate? Death, as far as I know, doesn't take sides. It doesn't care which country we're from.”

“That's where these come in,” she replies, holding up the charm she wears – one of the charms you painted. “We're here serving the Sun King. We wear this mark, as do all the soldiers here. The Reivians don't. They're the invaders here, the enemy. The Angel will be able to tell,” she continues, “It HAS to.”

Johannes lets out a snort of bitter humour, but says nothing. “And once you call down this Angel, IF you can call down this Angel...” you ask next, “How exactly do you plan on sending it away? It might not want to go back.”

“The old stories... I know, I know. The old stories say that the Angel was called to defend the city, it would only come when there was a need for it. When we rid ourselves of the Reivians, the Angel will have completed its mission. It'll go back,” Clarissa hesitates, “And... if we can create a summoning ritual, there's usually a banishment ritual too. We won't try anything unless we have a banishment prepared too, how does that sound?”

“At least you're not completely insane...” Johannes mutters, loud enough that you can overhear. Then again, he wasn't exactly trying to be subtle.

“And if we go ahead with this, we should warn General Lowe,” you suggest, “Just so he's aware of what we're doing. The last thing we need is for the Angel to actually appear, only for one of our people to get trigger happy.”

“Of course, that's only wise,” Clarissa agrees, “And the priest too.”

Omiros... You can't help but wonder about him. He was the one who told Clarissa about the Angel, as you recall, and he seems to truly believe that it will come. While that may be the kind of pure faith that you would expect from a man of his profession, you instinctively find yourself suspecting more cynical motives. He may be expecting a miracle, but he's certainly not above giving it a little assistance...

“Johannes, I know you don't like this. I knew you wouldn't. But all I'm asking is for you to let us work,” Clarissa insists, leaning forwards and clasping Johannes' hand, “I won't ask you to dirty your hands... I wouldn't do that to you. But you need to let us do this. Please.”

Johannes holds her gaze for a moment, then tugs his hand free from her grasp. “Even so,” he begins, his voice strained as he searches for the right words, “Even so, you're asking too much. You're asking me to be complicit in your... your crimes.”

“It's not a crime, not a breach of the Accord,” she replies quietly, “I thought you, of all people, would be able to appreciate that.”

Pain flashes across Johannes face, no less than if she had pulled out her dagger and drawn blood.

[2]

>>5809905

“Damn you,” Johannes says at last, his voice drained of strength, “Damn you for making me do this. Fine. You win. Have it your way.”

“...Thank you,” Clarissa murmurs, “I know that this is hard, but you'll see. One day, you'll understand why we're doing this.”

Johannes just shakes his head, then rises from his seat and slowly lurches from the cathedral. A horrible sickness burns at the pit of your stomach as you watch him leave. Will he ever forgive you for this? You've known, ever since you decided to stay, that sacrifices would have to be made, but you never expected it to be like this. When he finally vanishes, Clarissa slumps back in her chair and lets out a low sigh of fatigue.

“I almost wish we hadn't told him,” she whispers, “No... No, it's better this way. Better to have it all out in the open now, no matter how painful it is.”

“I just hope this is all worth it,” you mutter, “If this comes to nothing...”

“It'll work,” Clarissa promises, “It has to work.”

-

“You're doing what?” General Lowe snaps, the distraction plain in his voice as he looks up from the maps spread across his desk.

“We intended to call down the Angel of Ixtab, a protective spirit. It will drive back the invaders, and destroy all those who would threaten the city,” Clarissa answers, “We need time to devise a ritual capable of calling it down, but this will be our key to victory.”

General Lowe stares at her for a few long seconds, incredulity clear on his thuggish face. He doesn't believe a single word she just said, but eventually he just shrugs. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he states bluntly, “I'm a practical man. I deal in military matters, I've got no time for mysticism. If you think this will work, do it. Do what you want. But I need every man I can get to defend the wall, so don't expect any help. And if this is just some trick to shirk your duty...”

“Of course not,” you assure him, feeling faintly wounded by the accusation, “And we won't need any of your men. Just a little more time to work.”

“Do what you want,” General Lowe repeats, dismissing you with a wave. Clarissa hesitates, then nods and turns to leave. As you're joining her, General Lowe clears his throat. Pausing, you slowly turn back to him. “Time,” he warns, “Is bought with blood. Remember that, both of you.”

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to salute properly, and depart. Outside General Lowe's office, you start to make your way to the storage room, where the idol is held, only to pause at the sight of the slim, blonde figure waiting outside. Fia shifts her weight nervously from one foot to the other as she waits, her eyes widening with relief – and fear – when she sees you.

[3/4]

>>5809953

“Ah!” Fia yelps, jumping a little at the sound of your footsteps, “I was waiting. Um, obviously. What I meant was, I was waiting here for you.”

“Well you certainly weren't waiting for a carriage out of here,” you point out, “What do you want?”

“I want to help you,” Fia states, tugging at her long, flowing sleeves, “I CAN help you. You need every pair of hands you can get, right? Well, I've got hands! I can read too, and I... I can help!”

This, you recall, is the girl who accidentally drugged you with hallucinogenics. Well, technically that was Cloranthy but Fia was the one who bought the damn stuff. This is also the girl who was acting as a spy, conspiring to destroy the Ixtari symbols you so painstakingly transcribed. Now that she's here to offer her aid, you feel more worried than relieved.

“I don't know about this,” Clarissa muses, “I'm not sure if I like the idea of working with a sneak like you.”

“That's... okay, that's not entirely unfair,” Fia admits, “But I'm serious! I want to help!”

“Can I ask why?” you ask mildly, “What's in it for you?”

“Well, um, I don't want to die,” she points out, “That's a pretty big motivation for me. What's in it for YOU?”

She's got you there. Clarissa doesn't exactly look convinced, but she doesn't move to chase Fia away yet either.

>I don't think we need any extra help, Fia. No deal
>We'll use every bit of help that we can get. Welcome aboard
>Other

>>5809961
>This probably lines up with what Omiros wants, so I trust you won't intentionally flub things
>I am, however, more worried about Ellis if you don't keep an eye on him.

>>5809961
Supporting >>5809962

>>5809961
>I don't think we need any extra help, Fia. No deal.
I don't trust it. I don't trust HER. Do we even know for certain than Omiros doesn't have plans beyind this place, or that they are directly affiliated?

>>5809961
>Welcome aboard

There's more to consider than just Fia here. You have to assume that she's still working with Omiros, with these True Adherents, or trying to get back into their good books. She might have failed at her original objective, but there's still a chance for them here. The questions is, in that case, what would THEY want her to do? If Omiros, say, wants a miracle that he can wave before the faithful, it would be in his best interests that this ritual is successful... and Fia would be instructed accordingly.

And if nothing else, her own motives of self-preservation remain a fairly convincing factor.

“Well, personally, I trust that you're not going to deliberately sabotage anything,” you tell Fia, “I don't think any of us want that.”

“No no, of course I...” Fia pauses, “What do you mean “deliberately”? Just how clumsy do you think I am?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” you ask. Fia pauses again, genuinely thinking over her answer before shaking her head. “Very well then,” you continue, “I say you can help us, but there's always Ellis to consider. I'm more worried about what he might get up to if you're not there to keep an eye on him.”

“That's right. I don't like the way he looked about all this,” Clarissa muses, “I don't think he'll... understand what we're doing here. I think he's too honest, too straightforward, for that.”

Too honest - what a strange thing to say. What does that say about your mission here, if honesty is seen as a hindrance? Still, you understand what she meant. Work such as this is painted in shades of grey, whereas Ellis sees the world in black and white. He wouldn't understand.

“I... yeah, um, Ellis wasn't exactly very happy about all this,” Fia concedes, “I told him that we're doing the right thing, that he just needs to have faith, but I don't know if he gets it. I think he's spooked, after what the Reivians have been doing...”

“That's absurd,” Clarissa scoffs, “We're nothing like them!”

“I know!” Fia agrees, nodding eagerly, “But try telling HIM that! I'll keep working on him, I promise. I'll get him to understand. He just... needs it explained to him properly, that's all. Leave it with me.”

She has an awful lot of faith in her own abilities. You only wish you had half as much.

-

You pause, looking up from the scattered pages as the thunder of artillery rolls out from the city outside. Reivian guns, the shells falling short of the city. Shrugging the sound off, you look back down at the old script laid out before you. The Reivians have been shelling for a few days now, at random and with little effect. They do it, you presume, for intimidation. Or at least stop you from sleeping.

“That field must be the most destroyed place in the land,” Clarissa muses.

“They brought all those shells out here,” you joke, “They don't want to drag them back home.”

“They won't be going home,” she promises, “Not a single one of them.”

[1]

>>5810011

To their credit, General Lowe's men were careful about the notes they took. Some of the characters are a little sloppy, but nothing is illegible or unusable. The script itself is thankfully not Ixtari, but an archaic form of the Akklo script. While translating it is going to be tedious and exhausting, it will at least be possible.

For the first few hours, you work in near-complete silence. There's the scratch of pens and the rustle of papers, but nobody speaks. Occasionally Clarissa will leave her desk and kneel down before the eerie idol, bowing her head and closing her eyes. You leave her to it, although you never quite feel comfortable when she's doing it.

Then, eventually, a breakthrough.

“These carvings seem to be a historical record of sorts, covering several attempts at calling down the Angel,” you explain, flipping through some of your translations, “I don't want to worry anyone, but the results seem like a bit of a mixed bag. Not a lot of successes, and some fairly disastrous failures. In some cases, the Angel just didn't answer the call – usually because the city was safe, there was no crisis for it to avert.”

“Well, that doesn't apply here,” Clarissa replies, “We've definitely got a crisis on our hands. What happened in these failed attempts?”

“Usually nothing. They carried out a ritual – I'm still trying to piece together what that was – but nothing happened,” you pause, “Except for one time where everyone died.”

This is met with silence.

“But that only happened once, right?” Fia asks nervously, “So what are the odds of it happening again?”

“Forget the odds. I don't care about the odds,” Clarissa interrupts, before you can even consider Fia's question, “We should focus on WHY it failed so badly. If we know what they did, we can avoid repeating their mistake.”

You shuffle your papers once more, rereading your translations. “The warlord Huang Fen was a man of many enemies. He ruled a great swathe of land as a tyrant, crushing all those who opposed him,” you explain, “But he grew too arrogant, and sought to expand his petty kingdom even further. He invaded his neighbours, spilling blood and demanding their subjugation. But the neighbouring warlords united against him and fought back.”

“After a string of defeats, Huang Fen was pushed back into his own lands,” you continue, “Worse still, many of his armies betrayed him and turned on their former master. Facing defeat, he retreated to Ixtab – the last major city under his control – and prepared for a last stand. When he was on the brink of defeat, he called out for the Angel... and was destroyed.”

“Bad luck for him,” Clarissa mutters, “So what did he do wrong?”

>I've got absolutely no idea
>I've got an idea... (Write in)
>Other

>>5810034
>I've got an idea... (Write in)
He wasn't protecting anyone. Maybe not even himself, if he was so eager to go into battle. The angel just gave him what he asked for.

>What is General Lowe protecting? What are you protecting, Clarissa?

>>5810034
>I've got an idea... (Write in)
He attacked first and brought the invasion upon himself
In other words, he was a huge dbag who had it coming

>>5810034
>>5810036
Probably has the best idea of it actually, Huang Fen likely called the Angel with the goal of killing all those people he pissed off, we should call it with the goal of protecting the city and its people.

>>5810011
Grim shit from Clarissa

>>5810034

>>5810036 and >>5810042 seem likely. The Angel exists to defend Ixtab, not to use Ixtab as a staging ground for expansionist invasion. Plus, did he really believe in anything or anyone but himself?

>>5810044
Yea maybe she shouldn't be calling the Angel with that mindset

“For one thing, he wasn't protecting anyone. Not even himself – Huang Fen was waging expansionist wars, remember,” you suggest, “He attacked first, then ran back to Ixtab when the tide turned against him. He only tried calling the Angel because he was losing the war.”

“Aren't we losing the war too?” Fia asks, only to turn pale when Clarissa glares at her.

“Maybe so, but we didn't start it,” you point out, “It's not the same. He attacked his neighbours first, we didn't attack anyone.”

At least, you certainly hope not.

“Hm, I see. That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Clarissa agrees, nodding as she considers your words, “So if we assume that Huang Fen was destroyed because he was waging a war of aggression, we should be successful because we're the ones protecting our land.”

“I think motive could be important,” you reply with a nod, “What is General Lowe protecting? What are YOU protecting, Clarissa?”

She bristles, as if wounded by some unspoken accusation. “We're defending our homeland. Aren't you doing the same?” she answers, her voice growing louder and louder with every word she says, “I want to win this war. Of course I do. But there wouldn't BE a war if the Reivians hadn't marched across the border and started shooting people. Everything that has happened, every single life that has been lost, is because of them! And that's why they need-”

“They need what?” Fia whispers.

“...They need to be taught a lesson,” Clarissa answers stiffly, choosing her words with great care. That wasn't what she had been going to say. That wasn't it at all.

Another long silence. Bowing your head, you turn back to the translations and get back to work.

-

“Here's another thing which bothers me,” you point out after a while, “They always stress the title – High Priest Beloved By Death. Is that just formality, or is that important? It means... well, I'm assuming that it means he had a guardian spirit, a Psychopomp. But how important is that? Is that an essential part to the ritual?”

“Our friend Huang, does it say if he had a guardian spirit?” Clarissa asks, “Or any of the others?”

“None of them are given the same title, just the original priest,” you answer, shaking your head, “Maybe his guardian spirit was what allowed him to contact the Angel to begin with, to get its attention, and since then it's been... I don't know, it's been watching over this place. That's a stretch, though.”

You all consider this for a moment. “It's a shame that none of us have a Psychopomp,” Fia muses, “I know you have a guardian spirit, Lucas, but... um...”

Her words trail off, Clarissa's dark glare pinning her in place and silencing her. Of course – Fia wouldn't know that it's still a bit of a sore subject.

“Just, um, just forget I said anything,” the blonde girl mumbles, “Just pretend I'm not here, actually.”

[1]

>>5810062

“You need to think very carefully about why you're doing this,” you murmur, glancing up from your notes, “What exactly do you want to achieve here?”

Clarissa meets your gaze, then quickly checks on Fia. The blonde girl sleeps softly, sprawled out across a desk with her face buried in half-finished pages. Satisfied that there won't be any eavesdropping, Clarissa looks back to you but says nothing. She just waits, her dark eyes daring you to keep talking.

“Because if you're thinking that you want to kill as many Reivians as possible, I don't think this is going to work,” you continue, “If it does work, it may have unforeseen consequences.”

“Isn't that the whole point of why we're doing this?” she asks mildly, her voice low and level.

“We're doing this to protect the city, to protect the whole nation,” you correct her, “People will die, yes. But that's not the goal here. At least, that shouldn't be the goal. Even the Reivians aren't going to war, purely to kill as many of us as possible. We're just the poor fools standing between them and their true objective.”

Clarissa looks away, toying with a pen as she considers your warning. You can't help but think as well, thinking back to everything you've done together – from the monastery and her abortive attempt at bonding with a guardian spirit, to the Centipede Cult and all that happened there. Looking at her now, you picture a woman caught in the inescapable pull of some terrible whirlpool – caught up in forces beyond her control, always dragged down deeper and deeper. Perhaps at some point she surrendered to it, letting herself be drawn to Ixtab and the Angel.

Perhaps she's always known that she would reach this point, the path laid out before her from the very first day of her life. She may have dreamed of this moment, just as you've dreamt of the burning forest. Except you're still waiting for that fateful day - for her, the moment has finally drawn near.

“I just want my father to live,” Clarissa says at last, “That's all. That's all I want.”

Reaching across the table, you give her hand a squeeze. She tolerates it, but only for a moment.

>I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be looking to continue this tomorrow, but start times might be a bit fucky – clocks are changing overnight and that always messes with my schedule. Aiming for the same time, but who knows
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5810096
Thanks for running!
Thanks for the DST reminder too, that one always sneaks up on me.

>>5810062
>>5810096

Poor Fia. Clarrisa's vengeful attitude and war-crime boner is going to endanger us all.

File: Fia Northwood.jpg (425 KB, 1955x2048)

425 KB JPG

The mist is thick, and churns unending. Fighting against it as if it was a gale wind, you push forwards. Shadows swirl around you, dim silhouettes moving though the fog. Some of them are your sworn companions, some of them not. One in particular has been following you for some time, the emaciated figure looming over even the tallest of the occasional trees that you pass.

Your search has finally brought you to this terrible place, and for what? To die in the mist and emptiness?

Raising your torch high, you peer through the mist for any sign of... anything, anything at all. This is the place, this MUST be the place, but you see nothing. All that you were promised has turned to nothing. Despair gnaws at your heart, but with no other options left you do the only thing you can do – you march on. You march on, and then you realise that perhaps you've found what you've been looking for.

Stairs. You've found stairs.

-

You jolt upright, roused by the faint rattle of gunfire. It seems so far away, so distant in here. Clarissa still sleeps, slumped back in her chair with a blanket draped over her shoulders. Reaching up, you feel a similar blanket over your own body. Glancing around, you see Fia waiting nearby. She sits like a cat, her eyes seeming to glint in the darkness as she watches you stir. Before you can say anything, she raises a hand to hush you. Nodding, you ease yourself upright and slip out of the storage room.

“How long was I asleep?” you ask, rubbing grit from your eyes.

“A few hours. I know time is important and all, but I didn't have the heart to wake you,” Fia answers, “You won't be good for anything if you're too exhausted to think.”

“We're close to something big. I can feel it,” you murmur, “I dreamt... Well, that doesn't matter now. Did I miss anything important?”

Fia stares at you for a moment as she tries to find an answer to that. “We're still at war, if that's what you're asking,” she replies eventually, “I don't know, there was an awful lot of shooting a while back. You slept right through THAT, but then a little skirmish wakes you up? Anyway, I don't really know the details. You'd be better off asking someone who was at the front – I saw your buddy earlier, when I was getting some supplies from the barracks. He looked... uh...”

“Bad?”

“Bad,” Fia agrees, “Oh, I don't mean injured or anything like that. Just tired. Exhausted really, and angry. I know it's not really my place to ask, but... he's really not happy about this stuff, is he?”

“That's just the kind of man he is,” you sigh, “He's always been like this, holding the rule of law above all else. He knows the law better than anyone I've ever met too.”

“So, I mean, he should know... he should understand what we're doing here,” Fia points out, “He should know that we're not breaking any laws.”

“He knows,” you agree, “He knows that we're using a loophole. That we're cheating.”

[1]

>>5811071

The conversation lapses for a moment as you both think on this. It's hard to say what Fia is thinking, whether she's feeling any guilt or shame about the work. Perhaps the simple urge for survival has eclipsed any of that. But you can't help but think back, back to when you visited the capital with Johannes. The time you spent together, cleaning and repairing a forgotten old shrine hidden in the backstreets. That too is a part of the Accord – treating the spirits with honour and respect.

Is that what you're doing with the Angel? Or is it just another weapon to use against the Reivians?

“Um...” Fia hesitates, “You said we were close to something big, didn't you?”

Not the most subtle way to change the subject, but you appreciate the effort. “I think so,” you tell her, “But at the same time, we're still so far away. I don't think these carvings give us the whole ritual needed to call down the Angel. We're going to have to work backwards, piece it together from what little clues we've got. It's tough work – as much an art as it is a science. It'll get easier as we go along, I'm sure, but getting started...”

Again, Fia thinks on this. “Try Master Omiros,” she suggests after a pause, “I'm sure he'll be able to help.”

“Omiros won't help,” you reply, shaking your head, “At least, he won't help me.”

“Well, that's why I'm here!” Fia insists, “I'll talk him around, don't you worry!”

“...Then why don't YOU talk to him?” you point out, “It'll be much easier, and less painful, if you handle him.”

“Er... well...” she hesitates, “I'm not really the best person for this. What I mean is, if Master Omiros tells ME something, then I need to remember that and tell YOU what he said. But if I get it wrong, or muddled up or anything like that, it'll all be useless. Like with Clo and her weird herb shopping, you see?”

A very good point, which doesn't really touch upon the real reason she doesn't want to go alone – she's scared witless of Omiros. Not that you can really blame her there.

“That's enough sitting around chatting,” you decide, allowing yourself a sigh, “We've got work to do.”

>You should get back to preparing the ritual. Time is bought in blood, after all
>You should make time to check on Johannes, get the news from the front
>You should take Fia's advice, see what assistance Omiros can offer
>You've got other plans... (Write in)
>Other

>>5811073
>You should make time to check on Johannes, get the news from the front

>>5811073
>>You should make time to check on Johannes, get the news from the front
Telling Clarissa the thing about protecting was the most important part,

We gotta check if we've got more priests to shoot or trees to burn. We should have made a big enough name that someone might be up to challenging Lucas personally.

“Work, right. Work,” Fia repeats, nodding away to herself, “Where do we start?”

“I don't know about “we”, but I want to check on Johannes,” you answer, shuddering a little at the thought, “I want to get the news from the front... and I want to check in.”

“Oh. Well, um, good luck!” she offers, taking a faltering step backwards as if frightened by the look on your face. She starts to head back into the storage room, then hesitates and glances back. “I probably don't need to say this. I definitely don't need to say this,” she adds nervously, “But try not to start any fights, okay? The last thing we need right now is even more trouble.”

Is it really that bad, that she's expecting you to come to blows over this?

“Don't worry, I'll be on my best behaviour,” you assure her, “There's no reason why we can't be civil about this.”

With a timid, hopeful smile, Fia nods – but then she retreats into the storage room, closing the door tightly shut behind her.

-

Johannes is still in the barracks when you arrive, slouched down in front of a half-eaten meal and staring off into space. He massages his temple with one hand, as if warding off a migraine, while his other hand toys with the protective charm strung around his neck. Fia was right – he looks... bad.

He doesn't look around when you approach, sitting down opposite him. His shoulders tense up a little when he realises it's you, but that's the closest thing to a reaction you get. You wait in the vain hope that he'll say something, that he'll make the first move, but you know that it's futile. So you keep on waiting anyway, trying to think of the perfect thing to say that will magically solve all of your problems.

You don't have much hope of finding that, either.

“I heard there was another attack,” you say at last, painfully aware of how lame it sounds.

“It's nothing but attacks now,” Johannes points out, “They're in the outer city, hiding amongst the buildings and taking potshots at us. It's a stalemate – they can't breach the main gate, and we can't throw them back. But they can't keep this up forever. There's barely any of them left. Straub says the only have us beaten two to one.”

You're not sure being outnumbered two to one counts as “barely any of them left”, but it's certainly an improvement.

“They tried to bring up sappers, to blow the gates open, but we drove them back,” the heavyset man continues, “Haven't tried anything else yet. No major assaults, no summoning either.”

“Maybe they can't summon here, within the city itself,” you muse. Another hopeful thought, but maybe there's something to it.

“Whatever,” Johannes grunts, pushing the half-eaten meal aside and finally looking around at you. His eyes are dull, ringed with shadows and streaked with blood. He studies you for a long time, and you suddenly wonder what he's seeing. Whatever it is, he doesn't like it.

[1]

>>5811126

“It's a bad idea, what you're doing,” he growls eventually, tearing his gaze away from you, “You're making a mistake, Clarissa too. You shouldn't be-”

“We've been over this,” you interrupt, trying to keep your voice level, “We've talked about this. You said-”

“I know what I said!” Johannes snaps, stopping just short of bringing his fist crashing down on the table. He stops there, frozen in place with his fist clenched, for a long while before slowly lowering his arm. “I know what I said,” he repeats, speaking through gritted teeth, “Shouldn't have said it. Shouldn't have let things get this far. But you're not going to listen, neither of you are.”

A spasm of irritation cuts through you, but you force yourself to be still. “I'm here, aren't I? I'm listening,” you urge, “Tell me what's wrong. What are you so afraid of?”

It's almost amusing, in some terribly bitter way, to watch Johannes' face contort as he tries to put his thoughts into words. It's an impossible task, but you can well understand the kind of formless fears that must be gnawing away at him. “It's a bad idea,” he repeats at last, scowling immensely at his own words, “Men shouldn't do things like this, whether it's against the Accord or not. Men shouldn't tamper with powers like this.”

“What if it doesn't stop here?” he continues, “Maybe this works. Maybe you drive the Reivians off, or kill every last one of them, or whatever. What then? What if the Reivians go digging about in their land to find something even worse than your Angel and use it on us?”

“Oh come on!” you groan, “If they had something like that, don't you think they would have used it by now? Why waste all this blood if they had a trick like that up their sleeves?”

“Point is, you don't know what's going to happen when you perform this damn ritual,” Johannes warns, “Could change everything, the whole damn world. You don't know what you're doing.”

“I know what's going to happen if we DON'T call the Angel,” you snap back, “We all die, that's what. We die, the city falls, and this will all be for nothing. Is that really such a better option? Because I don't hear you coming up with any better ideas.”

Johannes shrugs, his shoulders like a mountain range heaving and shuddering. “No, I don't have any better ideas,” he admits, “We hold the line. That's all we can do. If you really want to help, you'd be on the wall with the rest of us. When the next attack comes, we'll need every rifle that we can get.”

He doesn't understand. Perhaps he never will, despite Clarissa's best hopes.

>I've made up my mind. Just don't try and stop us. Please
>I'm sorry, but this is the only way. It's not too late to help us
>Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we're going too far...
>Other

>>5811186
>I'm sorry, but this is the only way. It's not too late to help us

>>5811186
>I'm sorry, but this is the only way. It's not too late to help us

>>5811186
>I'm sorry, but this is the only way. It's not too late to help us

I get where he is coming from. If I had my way this whole army group would have retreated across the river before it got trapped, but now that we are stuck in we don't really have much in the way of options.

>>5811186
>I agreed to stay here, to help you all fight this damn war even though I didn't want to. And YOU, you made such a big stink about how you didn't want anyone playing hero, consigning themselevs to die 'heroically' for a 'noble cause'. But now... isn't that what your'e asking ME and Clarissa, and ALL of us to do? To stand on the wall, hold the line, and agree to just lose and die to preserve some principle you can't even fully put into words?
>I plan to LIVE, and to keep the kingdom and the Accord alive. THIS is how we do that, not by letting some openly Accord-flaunting enemies crack this place open and scoop out all the forbidden knowledge that's insdie to use it ANYWAY, and with LESS restraint.
>I'm sorry, but this is the only way. It's not too late to help us

“I'm sorry, Johannes, but this is the only way,” you sigh, realising that there's nothing you can say that will change his mind. Even so, you feel one last desperate urge to try. “But it's not too late,” you tell him, leaning forwards and meeting his eyes, “It's not to late to help us.”

Johannes holds your gaze for a long moment, the dull light of his eyes saying nothing about the thoughts churning within his mind. You wonder if that's a blessing or not. Thought it can't last more than a few seconds, the moment seems to stretch out for an eternity.

“That's what I've been doing,” he says at last, a heavy sadness in his voice, “But you're not listening.”

-

Johannes' words keep playing through your head as you return to the storage room, echoing over and over again. Trying to push aside your doubts and fears, you place one hand on the door handle and steady yourself. With a deep breath to settle your nerves, you throw the door open and enter. Fia and Clarissa are hard at work, comparing some of the translations that you've been working on.

“We've got something,” Clarissa announces, her eyes glinting with a rare excitement, “We... no, Fia had an idea. We've been going about this all wrong.”

“That doesn't sound like a good thing,” you reply, skimming over the papers laid out before them.

“We were approaching this in the wrong way. It's no wonder that we couldn't figure out the ritual. We were trying to command the Angel, to call it down and direct it. Of course, that's not what THEY did in the old stories,” Clarissa continues, hastily sorting through the pages, “They didn't call it down, the invited it. They asked for protection, they didn't demand it. It's so obvious, I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner...”

“I just thought of the old stories my folks told me,” Fia adds, “I still don't really know what you're doing though...”

You barely hear these last words, your own pulse speeding up as you realise your error... and the success that looms before you. “It's fine. It would take too long to explain,” you tell her, shaking your head, “Essentially, it's like... it's like writing a letter. We need to piece together the characters we've been given, the characters carved into the tomb, and write a letter that'll get the Angel to sit up and take notice.”

“And how will you know if it works?” the blonde girl asks, peering down at the myriad symbols sketched out before her.

“That's the difficult part,” Clarissa answers, “It's almost entirely gut instinct. You can... feel the spirit world reacting, even without performing the complete ritual. We'll know when it's right. We'll know.”

Fia scratches her head in confusion, not quite getting what you're talking about. You don't blame her. Usually you'd be working from an existing ritual, something written down or passed from one generation to the next. A task like this is exceedingly rare.

Thankfully.

[1]

>>5811247

The rattle and crack of rifle fire provides a constant background noise to your labours, the noise rapidly fading into the background as you toil away. Now that you've made a start on the ritual, progress is much smoother. When you slow down, Clarissa will take a break to kneel down before the idol and wait for inspiration to come. It never takes more than a few moments before she rises and returns to the table, working with renewed vigour.

Fia drifts in and out of your workspace, occasionally handling any small chores you need doing but otherwise letting you work. She knows better than to interfere at this stage, at least, a fact that you're privately glad about.

She returns with hot tea, only to find you and Clarissa sitting in a dejected silence. “What's wrong?” she asks, looking between you, “You haven't gone and buggered it up, have you?”

“No,” you answer quietly, “It's finished.”

“Oh. Really?” Fia pauses, “But that's good news... isn't it?”

“The summoning ritual isn't the problem, it's... ugh, I should've realised this sooner,” you complain, shaking your head in dismay. When you realise that Fia doesn't have a clue what you're talking about, you take a step back and think how to explain. “There are two versions of the Akklo script, and I assume this archaic version is no different – an ascending version, and a descending version. The ascending version is used to call up a spirit, the descending version is used to dismiss them,” you explain, “But all the symbols we've got are in what I assume to be the ascending script. Do you see their shapes, how they all tend to point upwards?”

“I see. So...” Fia hesitates, “So you don't know how to banish the spirit?”

“We likely won't even NEED to banish it,” Clarissa interrupts, before you can say anything, “This is just pointless worrying.”

“I could potentially prepare a banishing rite using the modern Akklo script, but I have no way of knowing if it would work,” you continue, as if Clarissa hadn't spoken up, “We just don't have an example of a descending script here for anything better.”

Fia lets out a little sigh, her shoulders slumping as the realisation sets in. Clarissa starts to say something else, but you turn and silence her with a gesture. “You said that we wouldn't do this unless we had a banishment prepared,” you remind her, “You said that, remember?”

Clarissa's mouth twists into a grimace of frustration. “Lucas, we are SO close!” she insists, “We've come so far, we can't stop now. If we stop now, everything that we've done will have been for nothing. Prepare your banishment, if you really think you must. We can wait a little longer if that's what it takes. It might not be perfect, but it'll be good enough.”

>It'll have to be good enough. We'll go ahead with the ritual
>You said that we wouldn't do this without a banishment. We're not doing this
>Other

>>5811284
>You said that we wouldn't do this without a banishment. We're not doing this
"You want your father to live? Then don't call down a death spirit you cannot control or dismiss, down to the very place your father is living."

>>5811284
>You said that we wouldn't do this without a banishment. We're not doing this
Johannes was right...
again...

“You said that we wouldn't do this without a banishment,” you repeat, locking eyes with Clarissa, “We're not doing this.”

“Lucas-” she begins, but you cut her off with a curt gesture.

“Do you want your father to die?” you ask, the question striking her like a slap in the face, “Because that's what might happen if you unleash this... this death spirit upon us all, with no way of controlling it. Do you really want to risk that? Do you?”

Clarissa hesitates, biting her lip and clenching her fists. For one absurd moment, you wonder if she's about to burst into tears. Then, struggling to regain her composure, she tilts her head. It's not quite a nod, but it's close. “Then we'll delay things. Like I said, we can wait a little longer if that's what it takes,” she says quietly, “There were other tombs, other notes taken from them. There might be a sample of the descending script in them. If we work fast, we can...”

“I'll... I can help!” Fia adds desperately, “Just tell me what to look for, and I'll help you search!”

They're just prolonging their suffering, dragging this out. As much as you want to tell them to give up, to abandon their futile efforts, you can't bring yourself to say it aloud. You just shrug, shaking your head as you try to think of something you CAN say. “Fine then. See if you can find anything,” you manage, your voice flat, “But Clarissa-”

“I know. I know, Lucas,” she interrupts, holding up a hand to silence you, “You're right. Calling down the Angel without a banishment would be dangerous. Too dangerous, maybe.”

“Too dangerous,” you agree, “Promise me that you won't do anything stupid. Promise me.”

Again, her fists clench tight in her lap, so tight that you can see the white bone of her knuckles beneath a taut layer of skin. But then, finally, she nods.

-

Suffocated by the air in the storage room, you make your excuses and slip out. Leaving Clarissa and Fia to their futile search, you retreat into the cold air outside and let the faint breeze wash over your face. Even out here the air feels thick and cloying, the unnatural mist clinging to your skin like a layer of oil. Ignoring the faint shadowy figures that wander around you, just as they ignore you, you wander the streets of Ixtab.

Over by the great wall, the dividing line between the inner and outer cities, you can still hear the sounds of combat. Not much, just a few sporadic shots here and there. Hardly worth mentioning at all, in the grand scheme of things. Just a few lives ending here and there. You almost wish for the final push, just to put an end to things one way or another.

Thrusting that thought aside with a snarl, you turn and start back towards the barracks. The long hours that you spent working have left you exhausted, a fatigue so deep that it seems to cling to your bones. Suddenly, all you can think of is sleep. If the city falls while you're resting, it'll just have to fall without you.

[1]

>>5811329

You wake with a start, the remnants of your half-remembered dream still clawing at you. You remember seeing the High Priest Beloved By Death, remember speaking with him and hearing his true name, but... but it's already gone, the slivers of memory slipping through your fingertips. Instead you're left with a numb confusion and an unusual silence – REAL silence, without even a single gunshot from the distance.

It's not something you heard that woke you, but something you felt. You can feel the spirit world reacting, terrible forces moving in response to equally terrible actions. Throwing back your bedsheets, you hastily pull on your boots and shove your revolver into your pocket. Barging out of your bedroom, you rush from one room to the next as you look for anyone else, but every room that you check is empty. Cursing under your breath, you rush from the barracks and look out towards the front line. If this is the Reivians, than they must be calling up something dire.

But this doesn't feel like them. You can't say how you're so sure of that, but a new idea starts to form in your mind. She wouldn't...

With your revolver drawn, you run to the disused storage room and burst inside. The idol is still there, lording over the empty room, but all the papers are gone. Without the scattered pages, the storage room feels very empty indeed.

“Should've burned them,” you mutter, already turning and running back towards the grand cathedral, “Should've burned the lot of it...”

The grand cathedral, too, seems empty on first glance, with only the towering icon of the Sun King to loom over you. But for the first time since waking up, you can hear the faint whisper of a voice – a real, physical voice. It seems to be coming from above you, echoing down from some high place. The tower, you realise as you recall the tall spire rising up from the cathedral. Turning your eyes away from the holy icon, you rush past to search the rear of the cathedral. There, behind a discrete doorway, you find a spiral staircase winding upwards to some unseen destination.

Stairs. Why does it always have to be stairs?

Silencing your complaints, and the protests of your groaning muscles, you hurl yourself up the spiral stairs. The voice from above hesitates, pausing its chanting for a moment before continuing with renewed strength. You recognise the words being said, the ritual words that you yourself wrote. Of course you do. What else could it have been?

The last of the stairs vanish beneath you as you arrive at the top of the tower. Clarissa stands with her back to you, her arms raised as she sketches out arcane symbols in the air. Fia skulks beside her, shifting nervously from side to side as she watches the ritual take place. But more than either of them, your gaze is drawn to the other thing.

To the great orb of darkness forming before her.

[2]

>>5811348
but she pinky promised

>>5811348
Fuck.

>>5811348

“Clarissa!” you cry, “What are you doing? You said-”

“I'm sorry, Lucas!” she shouts back, “But this is the only way. You knew it would end like this, didn't you? You HAD to know!” Lowering her arms slightly, she turns to face you. Her expression is twisted, shame warring with desperation and anger. “I'm just finishing what we started,” she continues, “I'm not afraid, Lucas. I know that I can control this. But you have to stay back. Don't get in the way!”

“You promised me that you wouldn't do this,” you protest, starting to raise your revolver before hesitating, “Clarissa, you... you promised!”

With a grimace, almost a flinch, she turns away. Behind her, the swelling orb of darkness is starting to deform, spikes of shadow piercing out through its liquid form. Spelling out a few gestures in the air, Clarissa barks out a string of Akklo words and the orb starts to calm once more. “I'm sorry,” she repeats, “But it's too late to stop this now. It's-”

“Clarissa!” a new voice roars, and you turn just in time to see Johannes emerge from the stairwell. Ellis joins him a moment later, his jaw hanging slack as he takes in the sight before him. Even Johannes hesitates, faltering for the briefest fraction of a second before recovering his wits. Steadying himself, he shoulders his rifle and takes aim.

“Johannes, you too?” Clarissa groans, risking a glance over her shoulder, “You said you'd let us do this!”

“And YOU said you wouldn't do this!” you shout, almost choking on your outrage.

Ignoring this, Clarissa returns to her inhuman chant. Each word she says is accompanied by a violent gesture, her hands punching and clawing at the air. With each word, the orb grows that little bit larger. It's pure darkness, yet you can see something moving within it. A shape, the form shifting and flowing like water, but it's getting closer and closer...

With a groan, Johannes snaps off the safety on his rifle. As if this was the sound she had been waiting for, Clarissa spins around with her own revolver suddenly drawn. She takes aim at Johannes, even as Fia drops to her knees and trembles. You start to raise your own revolver, but to do what?

“I can control this,” Clarissa repeats, stressing each word, “But not if you keep distracting me. Just step back, or... or anything could happen!”

Ellis flinches back, then rushes to Fia's side and clutches her tight against his body. Neither Clarissa nor Johannes seem to notice, their eyes locked purely on each other as the orb of darkness grows more and more unstable. It doesn't look like either of them is going to listen to reason, but if Clarissa's right...

You have to do something. Don't you?

>Do nothing. Let this farce play out as it will
>You'll try... (Write in)
>Other

>>5811359
>Do nothing. Let this farce play out as it will
Put away our gun. Observe. This is a mess, but I don't know for sure what the right answer is, and killing either of our friends right now still won't solve this. It's too late.

>>5811359
Fuck, that orb is going to go off anyways and a fucked up ritual will cause way more harm than good. We need Clarissa to focus and even more importantly focus on the intent behind the summoning. Protection of the city and it's defenders. Right now we have a whirlwind of emotions.

>You'll try... (Write in)
I think the priority is to disarm Johannes and let Clarissa focus.

>>5811359
yeah, it's probably past the point of no return
our best chance now lies with Clarissa's full focus

>You'll try... (Write in)
Talking down Johannes

Damn it.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn the ritual, damn Clarissa for insisting on going through with it, and damn you for working on the thing in the first place. This is a disaster. A complete, unmitigated disaster. You can't go back and stop it happening in the first place, but at least you can try to stop it getting any worse. The question is, then, how?

“Calm down, both of you!” you call out, lowering your revolver, “Just slow down. Nobody needs to do anything rash here.”

“Little late for that!” Johannes grunts, taking a cautious step forwards. You can see the tip of his rifle wavering as his arms tremble, no matter how much he tries to hold them steady. “You stop this, Clarissa,” he warns, “You stop this, or I'll put you down. I swear by the Sun, I'll do it.”

“And make everything we've done, every sacrifice we've made, mean nothing? You won't do it,” Clarissa snaps back, “You're no fool, Johannes. You know better than that.”

“And I thought you knew better than this!” he cries, his voice cracking with grief, with horror. His finger moves down towards the trigger, creeping a fraction of an inch closer before he hesitates once more.

If he pulls that trigger...

“Johannes, listen to me. She might be right,” you warn, trying to calm him, “If she loses control of the ritual, we don't know what might happen. But we can't take that risk. You were right, you were right about everything – is that what you wanted to hear? But that doesn't matter now. We just need to stop this from getting any worse, and-”

“Hurry up!” Fia wails, pointing at the orb as it convulses, “Please, hurry up!”

“Damn it!” Clarissa snaps, lurching back around to face the orb. She starts to bark out the words of the ritual once more, and you see Johannes reach for the trigger.

“No!” you scream, but it's already too late.

In this enclosed space, the rifle shot is deafening. As Johannes fires, Clarissa spins back around and brings her revolver back up to face him, her wrist jolting back as she lets off a shot of her own. The rifle round nearly misses Clarissa, just barely skimming across her, but even that is almost enough to pluck her from her feet. She staggers, but Johannes drops like a stone.

Crying out in terror, you drop your revolver and rush to Johannes, collapsing down to your knees and reaching for him. The shot has taken him low in the side, blood already darkening his coat as it bubbles from the wound. You just stare for the first few fractions of a second, with no idea how bad the wound is. You're not a damn doctor...

Johannes struggles against you for a moment, his unfocused eyes wandering wildly before finding your face. Realisation dawns, and his struggles cease. Instead, he reaches out and desperately clutches at your sleeve. Fighting for every motion, he weakly points behind you.

[1]

this quest is unreasonably depressing, I can't remember that last vote that even had an option on the table I felt good about

>>5811411
A lighter tone was tried once.

It didn't work out.

>>5811411
Liberating Harriet, and also every interaction with Cloranthy and Persephone.

>>5811400

Clarissa stares in horror, the pistol slipping from her grasp as she realises what she's done. She stares in horror... and then she turns back to her accursed rite. Though you can barely hear her through the ringing in your ears, you watch as she punches out the crude, violent gestures of the ritual. The orb calms, but it's bigger than ever – grotesquely swollen now, as if about to swallow Clarissa up entirely.

“Remember why you're doing this!” you cry out, desperately hoping that she can hear you, “We fight to protect this city, the people in it. Remember that!”

With your words echoing out through the tower, Clarissa turns slightly to face you. Her eyes glisten with tears, but she gives you the slightest of smiles.

And then the whole world turns white.

-

For a long time, perhaps an eternity, the whiteness remains unbroken. You idly wonder if you might be dead, then casually dismiss the possibility. If this is death, then Sheol's machines would be waiting for you. This is something... else. Something beyond life and death, beyond the constraints of a physical form.

Casting your consciousness out in search of something, anything, you finally hone in on the single point of darkness piercing through the whiteness. You concentrate, and the darkness comes into focus. It takes on a form, a familiar shape. Clarissa's shape. She sits in the white void, the sad smile still lingering on her face. She sees you, or at least senses you, and looks up.

“For the sake of my country, and my father, I would shoulder any burden. I would commit any sin,” Clarissa announces, her voice clear and firm, “I have no regrets.”

And then she is gone, her darkness swelling outwards to blot out the terrible whiteness.

-

With a rasping gasp of air, you wake to see an unfamiliar ceiling above. Your memory returns like a series of blows, each one worse than the last. Clarissa, Johannes, the ritual... you remember it all. Forcing strength into your abused body, you sit upright and look around in a daze. Johannes lies a pace away, shaking slightly as Ellis attends to his wound. You still don't hear anything, but you can see the young soldier's lips move as he speaks urgently to the wounded man. Johannes speaks back, but each word seems to call for a heroic effort.

Slowly, you turn. The orb of darkness is gone, the tower interior seeming vastly larger without it, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the motionless figure lying where the orb once hung. Stumbling and shuffling, you drag yourself over to where Clarissa lies and pull her up into your arms. Her body is cool and still, hanging limp when you gently shake her as if trying to coax the life back into her flesh. But there's nothing you can do. She's already gone.

And still, that serene smile lies frozen on her face.

[2/3]

>>5811441

Fia shuffles closer, kneeling down beside you and gazing at Clarissa's body. You step back without a word, entrusting her body to Fia. On numb, unsteady legs, you wander down the spiral staircase and emerge into the grand cathedral below. A few soldiers mill around, but you walk straight past them. A few of them ask questions, but you don't answer. One of them reaches out to touch you, only to pull his hand back as if burned.

Walking out into the cold night air, you let the mist swallow you up. All is silent once more, a stillness so perfect and unbroken that it cannot be natural. Everywhere you go, the soldiers of the Second Army watch with wide, haunted eyes.

You walk until you reach the great wall, the tall doors standing ajar. Passing through, you step into a charnel house. Everywhere you look, you see Reivian corpses laid out before you. They seem oddly peaceful in death, their bodies showing no visible wounds or damage. At any minute, they might rise as if waking from a pleasant nap... except you know that they won't. As you take in the sights before you, a single thought settles into your mind.

The battle for Ixtab is over.

>I think this is a good place to pause things for this week. I'll be aiming to continue this next week, exact dates to be decided – maybe Friday, maybe Saturday.
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5811443
RIP. Her dad better not waste it.

Thanks for running.

>>5811443
Thanks for running!
RIP Clarissa :(
Now to hope the Reivians don't dig up any superweapons of their own.

>>5811443
Welp. She did it. I just hope Johannes lives.

Thanks for running, QM! Excellent work.

>>5811443
Shit. Clarissa(

Oof. Certainly one of the more suboptimal outcomes.

>>5811186
>>5811284
I think these were the last straws, but we missed out on quite a few cards long before this.

Getting Omiros' trust would've given us more pull with the whole angel of death deal. Jumping into the forest portal had a way to open up options for dealing with the Revians, but Lucas is nowhere near gitgud enough to survive alone. RIP Clarissa, but I'm concerned that the jungle kingdom didn't actually lose many people in this war.

>>5812232
>jungle kingdom
Are the Reivians from a jungle region? I thought they were, like... Mongolian or Turkic, or a rough equivalent, based on the description. Maybe Persian, since they essentially have Immortals?

>>5812239
er, whoops, Forest Kingdom, and the revians aren't part of it. That's the problem.

There were at most, only a few Foresters there, not even sure if the high priest was revian or forester. So the Foresters could still invade after the Revians did most of the work.

>>5812240
I'm honestly unclear on how populous the Forest Kingdom even is. It sounds like it's deliberately primitivist in some regards, though, so likely poorly armed... Apart from, troublingly, spirits. This may also limit their ability to coordinate movements en masse, though. I also think most/all of their nation may be within our country's borders, limiting communications with the Reivians.

Little by little, day by day, the mist begins to lift. The battle for Ixtab might be over, but there's still a lot of work to be done. Sometimes you stand at the great wall and watch as the remnants of General Lowe's men move through the outer city and gathering up the fallen Reivians. They drag the bodies out of the city and leave them in neat rows on the ravaged field beyond. It seems like an endless task, and the sight of those rows stretching out into the distance always leaves you feeling vaguely nauseous.

The city stands, the Angel has departed, and life goes on. You certainly don't feel like you're living in a new world, a changed world, yet you can't fully dismiss a feeling of unease. There are subtle mechanisms that work silently, out of the sight of men. Are they still grinding through their inexorable motions?

Maybe. Or maybe not. Either way, it's too late to go back now.

The days slip by uneventfully, each one exactly the same as the last. You rise, and you take sustenance – you can't even really call it eating. Then, with life preserved for another day, you spend long hours wandering the city. When evening comes, you visit the makeshift infirmary to check on Johannes. He's almost always asleep when you arrive – that's why you leave it until evening, after all – but the pale, grim-faced medic is always there to give you an update on his condition. There too, no change. But it was close. If Ellis hadn't been there to staunch the bleeding, then perhaps...

You don't like to think about it.

Once, just once, you saw General Lowe on your wanderings. Just like the very first time you saw him, he had been standing by a row of funeral pyres with his gaze locked on the flames. You watched him from a distance, both fascinated and repelled, but eventually left without approaching him. There's nothing for you to talk about.

When night falls, you never have much trouble sleeping. You don't dream either, which is something of a relief.

The rest of your companions, your cohort, seem equally as aimless. Ellis spends most of his days in the barracks, staring into space or sleeping, pretending to sleep. Fia, by contrast, always seems to be rushing back and forth as if caught on some desperately urgent errand, although you never actually hear of her doing anything. It's not hard to guess that while they're going about it in different ways, they're both trying to avoid conversation. You can't really blame them – after all, you're doing the exact same thing.

Conversation, after all, can only lead to worse things – to recriminations and regrets, to questions that cannot be answered.

[1/2]

>>5817462

Then, eventually, something happens to break you from your fugue. As you're eating breakfast one morning, Ellis wanders over to your table and sits near you. Not exactly opposite you, but closer than he usually dares to venture. You spare him a passing glance, then turn back to the bland gruel that has been fuelling your days. It's only a moment later, when he speaks up, that you look away from the meal.

“I saw the priest yesterday,” Ellis murmurs, “It didn't seem right, the way he looked so happy. I mean, at a time like this...”

Before you can answer this, even think about answering this, you hear the rattle of the door. The other soldiers snap to attention as Straub enters, but the officer waves their salutes away with a gesture before sitting down with you. He studies you first, then Ellis, before he speaks.

“I came to offer my condolences,” he says stiffly, awkwardly. You mutter a vague response, while Ellis nods and gestures for the officer to continue. Looking faintly relieved to have the formalities out of the way, Straub clears his throat. “I sent a runner to bring the news to the Third Army across the river,” he explains, “They've been building a temporary bridge and preparing wagons. I expect them to arrive tonight.”

“We're going home?” Ellis asks, his eyes widening with new hope.

“Not everyone, but yes. We'll be evacuating the wounded, but we need to maintain a presence in the city itself. You needn't worry – you're both cleared to leave,” Straub continues, lowering his voice, “But there was something I wanted to mention to you, before you depart. Ever since the siege was broken, the men have been... talking.”

“I'd be more surprised if they weren't,” you point out, “Is that a problem for you?”

“No. So long as it's not distracting them from their duties, they can talk all they like,” Straub shakes his head, “But I thought it might be of interest to you, professionally speaking. It may be something you wish to record, to catalogue. I tried speaking with some of the men myself, but they were... reluctant to speak with me.”

Again, you'd be more surprised if they had been. Rank puts a distance between men that can be impossible to cross. As you consider this, Straub gives you a formal nod and rises to leave. The soldiers cautiously watch him leave, then go back to their meals.

“What do you think?” Ellis whispers.

You just shrug. It's true, the academy would probably want you to make an accurate record of everything that happened here, including what the soldiers themselves saw. But then, the thought of reliving it all through so many different accounts...

Ellis just stares, waiting for your answer.

>Straub is right, you should take statements from the soldiers
>You should try and speak with Johannes. You've put it off long enough
>Perhaps you should find Omiros, see why he's so smug
>Forget it. You'd rather just wait until it's time to leave
>Other

>>5817464
>Straub is right, you should take statements from the soldiers
We'll have plenty of time with Johannes on the way back.

We should get the statements just to check if the Angel had to fight something else the Revians cooked up, or if they saw any Foresters in the aftermath.

But man we shouldn't be anywhere near Omiros. If Persephone ever finds out why he's smug....

>>5817464
>Straub is right, you should take statements from the soldiers
It might be worth it to "complete" the Dispel ritual and relevant notes to be left with the Church here in Ixtab, specifically for the next time the angel is required to speed it's deployment.
If we leave thing vague enough to ensure that the specific use case is met. While the Academy can have the summoning ritual and the specifics of the report.

>>5817464
>Straub is right, you should take statements from the soldiers

The longer he stares at you, the more Ellis begins to irritate you. Can't he just make up his own mind at something? You're never thought of yourself as a natural leader, yet you always seem to find yourself taking that role. It's not as if you have an aura of natural leadership or anything like that, or at least you certainly don't think so, yet it keeps happening.

Pushing your irritation aside, you give Ellis a nod. “Straub's right, we should speak with the soldiers,” you tell him, “Take statements from them. Record everything – who knows what might come in handy later on? The academy might never get another chance to study what went on here...”

“I hope so,” Ellis says quickly, “Where do you want to start?”

You glance aside, to where a small group of soldiers are pretending not to be listening in to your discussion. One of the men looks across to you, accidentally meeting your eyes before hurriedly looking away. Then he sighs, slaps one of his comrades on the arm to silence him. Looking around as a group, they make some room for you to join them.

It's a start.

-

Starting from the barracks and working your way out, you stop any soldiers you see to question them on their version of events. It feels strange to be talking to so many different people after days of self-imposed isolation, but the pain you had been expecting never materialises. Somehow, hearing the soldiers recount their experiences feels like a very distant thing, as if it had all happened a great many years ago.

There are some variations, tiny little differences, but the overall story is remarkably consistent. You're conscious, of course, that the men have had many days to gossip amongst themselves and get their stories straight, but you don't feel like that's the case here. When the men talk, there's nothing secretive or conspiratorial about them. As a whole, they seem hushed and awed by their experience.

The general narrative speaks of a mounting tension in the air – the feeling of a vast presence growing closer and closer, so vast that even the common soldiers with their mundane senses could detect it. The fighting had faltered, then stopped completely as the Reivians ceased their advance. The fighting had been in its thickest before that, but then came the pause.

When the Angel itself arrived, the men all report the same thing – a vast shape that rose up into the sky above the city, a shape that was all robes and wings. A shape that carried a terrible sword, but did not use it. The mere sight of it was enough to strike the Reivians down, destroying them without leaving a single visible wound. Some of the men shudder as they tell you this, recalling a loathsome crawling feeling that passed through their bodies, their minds, but left them unharmed.

And then it was gone, leaving corpses and memories in its wake.

[1]

>>5817494

Ellis mostly takes notes as you interview the soldiers, trusting you to ask the right questions. That's fine enough – judging by the look of confusion on his face, you doubt he'd be much help when it comes to the interviews themselves. He's always got a joke or a comment on hand to break the ice, to get the soldiers to open up, and then he fades into the background. Teamwork, you suppose.

Sometimes you ask an extra question or two, just to see what else you can get from the soldiers. Was there any indication that the Reivians had a spirit of their own? Not in this case, although the soldiers suspected a Reivian trick when they first felt the Angel's presence drawing near. When you ask about any potential Forester involvement, you tend to get a lot of blank stares instead of a proper answer. You ask instead about facial tattoos, anything that might mark out a man as a Forester, but there were none.

You could examine some of the bodies themselves to double check, but you're more than willing to trust the soldiers on this one. The only tattoos on display were on the priests, and those were of a distinctly Reivian design.

One thing strikes you. Of all the soldiers you speak with, not one of them suggests that the Angel had been called down. They all seem to be assuming that it arrived of its own volition, drawn by the need to defend the city... just like the old stories say. You can't help but wonder if Omiros had something to do with that too. Just thinking about that old carrion crow...

“Hey, no need to scowl like that,” Ellis tells you, slapping you lightly on the arm, “We're almost done here. In fact, I think we've taken enough statements – we're not going to find anything new, I wager. How about we take a break?”

“Sure,” you mutter, crossing to the side of the street and sitting down by one of the looming mausoleums. “Got a question for you,” you continue, “When you and Johannes... What had you been planning?”

“Me?” Ellis stops to think, “Well shoot, I don't know if I was planning anything at all. Johannes found me, told me to follow him and be ready for anything. Fia told me a little about what you guys were planning, but I never realised that you were going ahead with it until I got there and saw for myself.”

“It wasn't exactly something we planned,” you complain, “At least, I certainly didn't... Well, whatever. You didn't try to stop it, did you?”

Ellis gives you a weary smile. “From what Fia told me, I figured it was something way over my head. I know when to pick my battles, you know?” he explains, “And to be honest with you, I was scared witless. Even if I had come with a plan in mind, I don't know if I could've followed through on it. All this time, you know, I thought I was a pretty brave guy. I guess you never really know until you come face to face with the real thing.”

[2]

>>5817509

“I'm just glad you were there,” you tell Ellis at last, shaking off a lingering silence, “I've been meaning to thank you. For taking care of Johannes, I mean.”

“Shoot, don't worry about it,” Ellis shakes his head, “Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but I was never any good at first aid. Always fumbled it when I was in training, never remembered what to do.”

“I'll... keep that in mind for next time,” you answer weakly, “Not that there will be a next time, I mean. Come on, let's go and see if there's anyone left to question.”

Glad for the excuse to change the subject, Ellis hops to his feet and follows you onwards.

-

There aren't many soldiers left to question, and you move quickly as you pass through the last of the city. When you arrive at the cathedral itself, you shudder a little and circle around it. Just the thought of setting foot inside there is enough to turn your stomach. That wound is still a little too raw, and it might always be so. You'll be glad to see the back of this place, and no mistake.

Instead, you pass the cathedral by and check in at the officer's quarters. At first, you think it's deserted here before you hear a faint scratching noise from the storage room. With sudden unease, you hasten through to the storage room and throw the door open. Inside, Fia leaps back from her writing desk with a yelp, dropping her pen with a tiny clatter. Spread out before her are countless sheets of paper – you recognise your translated notes, and the copies she was methodically making.

“Fia,” you warn, “Why are you copying those notes?”

“Um...” she begins, “So we can have a spare copy? For... for the academy? If this ever happens again, it'll spare us all a lot of time and hassle if we can just check the notes and-”

“I'm not so sure if that's a good idea,” Ellis interrupts, “I don't think... Hey, look, I don't really understand what happened here, but I don't think it should ever happen again. I don't think this is something we should be playing with. A power like this, it could change the world.”

“That's just what Johannes said...” you murmur.

“Well, maybe he was right!” Ellis points out.

“So maybe we don't call down the Angel again. Sun, I hope we never have to call it as well! But even if we don't, just think about everything that we could learn! We'll have all the time in the world to study these notes now, and maybe even finish that banishment... if we ever need it,” Fia stammers, her words spilling quickly from her lips, “You could finish the banishment, couldn't you?”

“Potentially,” you reply warily, “If the academy has a sample of the descending Akklo script, it should be possible. But...”

>But the risk is too great. We need to burn these notes, so this can't happen again
>But it'll take time. I'll need your help to get it done
>Other

>>5817530
>But it'll take time. I'll need your help to get it done
complete the works but curate exactly what appears in the reproductions, then destroy the originals and what would otherwise allow easy replication of the summoning ritual.

We need to strike the right balance, so its there if it is needed (for the right reasons) in the future but not easily able to be derived without effort, knowledge, skill, need and purpose.

We can provide an outline / detail the whole derivation process (sans documentation) in the inevitable report we make and the subsequent inquest into our conduct that will result.

>>5817530
>Other
Be honest, did Orimos ask you to copy these?

>>5817530
>I don't think a Banishment could work. Clarissa was dead the second she summoned it. A sacrifice to Sheol.

>>5817530
>But it'll take time. I'll need your help to get it done

Don't destroy the originals either

“Fia, be honest now,” you warn, “Did Omiros tell you to copy these notes?”

“No!” she blurts out, “No, he doesn't know anything about this! In fact, if he told me to copy these notes then... then I'd be burning them right now instead!”

Now she's just being dramatic. Still, you don't think she's lying – she's the world's worst spy, after all. “Nobody's burning anything. At least, not yet,” you assure her, “But why are you so against Master Omiros all of a sudden?”

Fia grimaces, bending down to pick up her pen once more. Toying with it as she thinks, she takes a moment to answer you. “Maybe I'm wrong,” she begins, “But I think... I think she set this all up, just so Miss Lowe would be the one who called down the Angel. I bet he could've done it himself if he wanted to, if he really wanted to, but he didn't. He let HER do it instead!”

“Because he knew she...” you pause, swallowing heavily, “Because he knew what the ritual would do.”

With a brief hesitation, Fia nods. “If that's the kind of man he is, then I don't want anything to do with him,” she answers, “And I don't care what kind of trouble I get in!”

Better late than never, you suppose. “And now you want to study these rituals... what, out of spite?” you ask, “Is that it?”

“Well, um, maybe?” Fia shrugs, giving you a defiant look, “So what if it is?”

“You might need some help, that's all. It's a lot of work for one pair of hands,” you explain, giving her a shrug of your own, “And I have to warn you now, I'm not certain if the banishment – even if we are able to figure one out – will work. It don't think it would've worked this time, I don't think it would've saved...”

Your words trail off here, leaving your thought unfinished. But even without saying it aloud, you've made your point.

-

You spend a few hours with Fia, making careful copies of all your notes. She even makes a few sketches of the idol itself just to include with the notes, for whatever that's worth. You'll need to include it in your report, if nothing else. That thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. That's not going to be much fun to write. Paperwork never is, but this...

“I liked her, you know,” Fia says suddenly, as you're finishing up your notes, “Clarissa, I mean. She could be mean, and scary, but I actually liked her a lot by the end. I think we could've been really good friends if she hadn't... you know.”

Privately, you doubt it, but you keep that thought to yourself and murmur something appropriately vague instead.

“When we get back, I'll need to look after Clo for her,” Fia continues, “She's going to need someone. Oh Sun, what am I going to say to her...”

That's not a question that you can answer, any more than she can.

[1]

>>5817587

The sound of a horn summons you to the edge of the city just in time to see the first of the wagons arriving. Seeing friendly faces after all this time is a surreal feeling, as if they aren't quite real – or they come from a different world entirely. The wagons are accompanied by a small detachment of soldiers from the Third Army, the young men looking like polished toy soldiers compared with the grimy, battered remnants of General Lowe's army.

Watching with weary, jaded eyes as the wounded men are loaded up into the wagons, you catch sight of Johannes being lifted up. Hastening across, you climb up into his wagon and grab one of the last open seats. It takes a moment for Johannes to notice you, his head swinging heavily around to face you. Meeting his eyes for a moment, you find yourself automatically glancing away. You spot Straub getting into one of the other wagons. He must be heading back to the capital too, to report-

“Long time no see,” Johannes grunts, his hoarse voice jabbing at you, “Been avoiding me, Hearne?”

“Me? No way. I've been visiting the infirmary every day,” you reply, hating how defensive you sound, “You just happened to be asleep.”

“All that damn medicine they kept giving me,” he growls, “Doctor said the same thing. Said you were always there, always making the place look untidy.”

“Nothing better to do with my time,” you assure him. You're about to say something else when the wagon lurches into motion, the sudden movement causing Johannes to grimace in pain. “Are you okay?” you ask quickly, “If you're not good to travel-”

“Spent too much time in that damn hospital bed already,” he interrupts, “Would've gone insane if I hadn't got up and moving now. Try and send me back there, you'll be the one needing a hospital.”

“Keep talking tough. I'm not above fighting a cripple,” you shoot back, managing to smile despite everything. You can joke, but there's no escaping the dark cloud hanging over you both. Sooner or later, you're going to have to grasp the nettle and talk it over. You've got a long road to travel until you reach the academy – you might as well get it over with. “Listen,” you begin, “About what happened-”

“Don't,” Johannes says bluntly, looking you dead in the eye, “It's over. Done. There's nothing to talk about.”

“I didn't want it to happen like this,” you continue, ignoring his protests, “I never planned for it to happen like this. Clarissa, she... she went behind my back.”

As soon as you've said it, you find yourself regretting your words. No matter how true it might be, it still feels like you're throwing her to the wolves. Johannes doesn't answer this straight away, merely watching you with his dull, drugged gaze as he weighs up your words. Right now you'd give anything to be able to read his thoughts, even though you dread what you might find there.

[2]

>>5817604

“Clarissa made her choice. You made yours, I made mine,” Johannes says at last, “Maybe she was stupid and stubborn, but she did what she thought was right. Said it was her choice to make, didn't I? Well, I'm standing by that.” He pauses, staring off into space for a moment. “Still,” he grumbles, “Can't believe she actually shot me...”

He's missing out the part where he shot at her too, but that's fine. You'll be polite and let the matter lie.

“Also, you've given me the right to say “I told you so” until the end of time,” Johannes adds, “And I WILL use it. Consider this a threat.”

“Fine. Sure. You've earned that much,” you assure him. He's playing it off easily enough, but you can see the pain in his eyes. Not just pain from the gunshot wound, either. “I've got to admit, I wasn't sure if we'd ever see the academy again,” you muse, thinking aloud just to avoid the silence, “Next time someone asks us to go to war, how about we refuse?”

“Probably the smart choice,” Johannes agrees, wavering a little as he nods. Putting his head back and closing his eyes, he rests in silence for a long time. So long, in fact, that you wonder if he's gone back to sleep. Maybe it's better if he has, although you wonder just how much sleep he can get with the wagon bumping and jolting across the blasted, uneven ground.

Leaving him to rest, you lean back as best you can and let your thoughts drift off. You can just about see the city from the corner of your eye, fading into what remains of the otherworldly mist. You dearly hope that you never see the catacomb city again, but somehow you can't quite bring yourself to believe that. It's always going to be here, waiting for your return...

“This doesn't change anything, though,” Johannes warns, his eyes snapping open as he scowls at you, “I'm still reporting this to Master Brehm.”

>Please don't. Not after everything else that happened
>Fine, if you really think that's right. You've earned that, too
>Do what you want. I really don't care any more
>Other

>>5817618
>Do what you want. I really don't care any more
I did what I thought I had to do.

>>5817618
>And that's your right. Though I'd appreciate it if we could speak of it at the same time to give him my side of the story.

>>5817618
>Fine, if you really think that's right. You've earned that, too

>>5817618
>>5817623
gotta make our excuses

“And that's your right,” you reply with a sigh, “Although I'd appreciate it if we could speak with him at the same time. Just so I can give him my side of the story. I really... I really did what I thought was right.”

“Sure. You're just as stupid and stubborn as she was,” Johannes agrees, “When we get back to the academy, we'll talk to Master together. I wasn't planning on going behind your back anyway.”

“Good...” you murmur, leaning back once more. As the silence descends once more, you find yourself wondering what might happen. Official censure is possible, even likely, but you find it hard to care about a thing like that now. Your career prospects might be ruined, but you don't care much about those either. Short of sending you to face the gallows, there's not much they can really do to you.

“I'm not doing this just to make trouble for you,” Johannes says suddenly, “If Master Brehm decides to leave it be, I won't take it any higher. But he's still our instructor. It's his call to make.”

“I know. Like I said, do what you think is right,” you assure him, “It's too late to worry about the consequences now, isn't it?”

Johannes just lets out a quiet grunt. It might have been a laugh, or it might not.

-

The temporary bridge over the Graf river wobbles terribly as the wagon creeps across, but it holds firm. Letting out a sigh of relief as you feel solid ground beneath the wagon's wheels, you sit up and look out across the military camp. Now that the Reivian army has been destroyed, the soldiers here seem far more casual and leisurely. You notice a number of carriages waiting for you by the road from town, along with a familiar face.

Bellerose waves as he notices you, and you feel your heart sink. Ignoring him for now, you offer Johannes your shoulder and help him down from the wagon. He starts to push you off with a growl of frustration, only to quickly lean back on you once more as his legs waver beneath him. Grimly bearing the man's weight, you stagger forwards until Bellerose hurries across to help share the load.

“Got in a bit of a mess, did we?” the officer begins cheerfully, “You're a soldier now, lad.”

“Great,” Johannes mutters, “Does that come with a pay rise?”

“A pay cut, actually,” Bellerose remarks with regret, “But the honour of serving the nation... well, that's priceless!”

“What do you want, Bellerose?” you grunt, letting him lead you over to one of the plush, luxurious carriages. With a bit of manoeuvring, you manage to get Johannes in and sitting down before Bellerose hops back down, scanning the incoming wagons for the rest of your cohort. When he spots Fia and Ellis, he waves again.

“Here to pick you up, that's all,” he replies at last, “Got orders to escort you back to the capital.”

“The capital,” you repeat, “Not the academy?”

“The capital,” Bellerose confirms, “Got someone who wants to speak with you.”

[1]

>>5817654

“Miss Northwood, Master Malinkov... Oh, don't give me that look. We all know who you really are,” Bellerose begins as he greets the others, “Right this way please. We've got an awfully long journey ahead of us, and I'd rather not waste any more time. Can't recall if I introduced myself earlier – Captain Bellerose, Ministry of Internal Affairs.”

Fia stiffens a little as he says this, but Ellis just looks bemused. “I've not heard of that,” he remarks, nevertheless clambering into the carriage, “Is it new?”

“Very new, yes,” Bellerose answers with a nod, “And if anyone asks, pretend you've never heard of us.”

“Are we in trouble?” Fia asks, sounding utterly dejected. The brief flourish of defiance she had shown earlier has completely faded now, as she senses the consequences of her actions catching up with her.

“No no, of course not!” the officer assures her, “Well, maybe. I don't know how you academy types will handle all this, but you're in any trouble with MY office.”

That doesn't exactly reassure her.

-

You ride hard, only stopping for the briefest of rests or to change drivers. Even when night falls, you carry on racing through the darkness. You never really sleep, but you drift in and out of a doze as the countryside races past your window. Fia fidgets in her seat, constantly tugging at her collar or the ribbons in her hair, while Ellis sits and snores beside her. Aided by the occasional sip of medicine from a small silver flask, Johannes also manages to sleep away most of the journey.

Just as you're about to drift off into a deeper sleep, you hear a voice as Bellerose calls out softly to Fia. You almost open your eyes to see what's going on, but some instinct stops you. Instead, you stay still and pretend to be asleep.

“Glad I had a chance to speak with you, Miss Northwood,” Bellerose murmurs, “Or is it Fia?”

You hear a soft rustle of cloth. A shrug, you assume.

“Well, either way. I've been wanting to speak with one of your lot for a long time,” he continues, “You... what do you call yourselves again?”

“True Adherents,” Fia whispers, “But I'm not one of them, not really. I don't know anything about them either. I'm not the person you're looking for.”

“We'll see about that,” Bellerose counters, only to fall silent as Ellis snorts and starts to stir awake. You wait a little longer, only to abandon your ruse after it's clear that the conversation is going to remain unfinished. “Rise and shine Master Hearne, you too Master Malinkov,” the officer announces, “We're making steady progress. Back at the capital in no time!”

“Can't wait,” Ellis grumbles, “I think I've forgotten how to walk.”

You wish he hadn't said that. Now your legs are feeling numb too. Shifting as much as the cramped carriage allows, you look out the window and wait for your journey to come to an end.

[2]

>>5817698

You already suspected what was coming, but you still feel your pulse quicken as the carriage slows to a halt at the foot of the palace. Bellerose doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, casually hopping out of the carriage and offering Fia his hand. She ignores him, stumbling out of the carriage and limping around as she tries to shake some life into her numb body.

“Come along now,” Bellerose announces, “Just one little errand to run, then we'll have you back home at the academy.”

You say nothing, simply following behind the officer as he leads you inside. The guards at the door salute as he approaches, but he continues on as if he hadn't even seen them. Johannes seems steadier on his feet now, thankfully able to walk on his own even though his features are tight with pain. Trusting Ellis to stand by in case of any mishaps, you turn your attention to the palace hallways themselves.

The palace is already like a maze, the corridors winding and twisting around on each other. Thick red carpets muffle the sound of your footsteps, while lanterns seem to burn from every column you pass. Aside from the guards on the door, you haven't seen another living thing in the palace, yet you can't shake the feeling of being watched. More than just watched, even, but surrounded as if you were walking through a crowd.

You don't like to admit it, and you don't even understand it yourself, but you're sick with fear. Fear of who? Of what?

Though you've long since lost any sense of direction, you feel as though you must be getting close to the centre of the palace. You seem to have climbed higher too, although you don't recall taking any stairs. One way or the other, though, you feel like you're getting close to something. As if conjured up by your thoughts, you turn the next corner to find yourself standing at a set of great brass doors. Even the doors themselves are a work of art, intricately decorated with the imposing image of the Sun King. Heedless of their beauty, Bellerose marches forwards and bangs his fist on the ornamental doors.

A moment, a heartbeat later, the doors start to swing open.

“You'll be fine,” Bellerose murmurs to you, his voice barely audible over the groan of metal, “If anyone talks to you, just smile and nod.”

“Wait-” you begin, although there's no time to finish that thought. Before you can say anything more, Bellerose puts a hand on your back and “gently encourages” you inside. Stumbling a little from his shove, you hastily recover and look out across the room. There are a number of figures seated around a long table, but only a few are familiar. One is the tall, scarred figure of Master Malinowski, and another...

Although you've only seen him once, and at a great distance, you immediately recognise him as the Regent.

>I'm going to pause here for today. Current plan will be to continue tomorrow, starting from the same approximate time
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5817753
Thanks for running!

so ready to smile and nod when the Regent asks if we're responsible for the Ixtab mess.

>>5817753
Apotheosis time

File: Johannes Crane.jpg (85 KB, 646x727)

85 KB JPG

You don't know what to do at a time like this, what to say or how to behave. Bellerose's advice comes back to you – just smile and nod. Keeping that in mind for now, you risk another glance across at the long table as you try to guess who some of the unnamed men might be. One of them is wearing a military uniform, although curiously devoid of any insignia, while another wears vaguely priestly robes. None of them are particularly recognisable or memorable, with the sorts of faces that you've forgotten almost as soon as you look away.

“Can we get a chair?” the Regent announces suddenly, clapping his hands together, “A chair please? One of our guests is unwell, and may prefer to sit!”

A guard appears, seemingly from nowhere, and moves a beautifully ornate chair over to your group. For a moment it remains there unused, seeming somehow mocking, before Fia starts to move for it. Ellis takes her gently by the arm, shaking his head as Johannes reluctantly slumps down into the seat.

“I've been informed of your deeds in Ixtab,” the Regent continues, rubbing his hands together with what seems like nervousness. But it can't be that, surely. Why would the Regent be nervous in his own palace? “A great victory, a great victory indeed,” he adds, only for Malinowski to loudly clear his throat, “...Although won at too great a cost, of course.”

Is this the part where you're supposed to smile and nod?

“You're too kind, sir. Sire. Ah...” Ellis stammers, fumbling for the right words. Now that you think about it, you don't know how you're supposed to address a Regent either. It's never something you expected to need to know.

“Please, don't stand on ceremony. Just Rabin will do fine here,” the Regent assures him, “I understand this is all going to be very strange to you, but please don't worry. We just need to... establish a few facts.”

Again, silence. You hold your tongue and wait to see if anyone else is going to risk speaking up first, but it looks like everyone else has exactly the same idea. The Regent doesn't seem particularly bothered by the silence, although it's far from a comfortable one. As the silence draws out – perhaps only a few seconds, perhaps stretching into full minutes – you find yourself studying the Regent. Up close like this, he doesn't seem like a leader. More like a mild bureaucrat, a man suffering from some endless distraction. His age is hard to tell too – his face is young, but his eyes are surrounded by deep wrinkles. The pressures of his office, perhaps.

“You... want to know what happened at Ixtab?” Fia says at last, wincing as if her own words cause her pain, “Um, we can do that. Where do you want to start?”

“You misunderstand me,” the Regent replies, giving her an apologetic smile, “We know what happened. But we're here today to discuss the, ah, official version of events.”

[1/2]

>>5818852

“Forgive me,” Johannes says slowly, “But are you suggesting that the “official” version of events is somehow different to the “true” version?”

“Shh!” Fia hisses, flashing him a frightened look. But the Regent just shakes his head, gesturing for calm. “I... I don't see why we have to lie,” Fia continues, almost whining now, “We didn't do anything wrong... did we?”

“The Veil had already fallen,” you point out, “There was no breach of the Accord.”

The Regent nods and starts to answer this, only to be interrupted as the fat, priestly man speaks up. “We all understand that, of course, but you cannot say the same about the common man,” he announces, “They cannot understand the finer points of the Accord, the intricate nature of the laws that govern us. They are easily confused, easily misguided. You must realise how your actions could be... interpreted.”

“The way I see it, it would be better for everyone involved if we agree that this... this Angel? Yes, if we agree that this Angel arrived to protect Ixtab of its own volition,” the Regent continues, “It would stand as undeniable proof of the Sun King's favour, while your own actions would be beyond reproach. The best possible outcome, I'd say.”

“Aside from the fact that you're asking us to lie on an official report,” Johannes states bluntly.

The Regent doesn't reply to this straight away. You find yourself looking away, glancing across at Malinowski instead. He still hasn't said a word, and it doesn't look like he's going to. Not yet, at least.

“Take a moment to think it over,” the Regent suggests, gesturing towards a discrete door at the side of the room, “I appreciate that we're asking a lot of you. I don't mean to rush you into anything.”

Maybe so, but you're not going to leave the palace until you've reached your decision either.

-

“Load of crap,” Johannes grunts as he slumps down into the overstuffed armchair, “After everything we've been through, this is what we get. Bullshit, the whole lot of it.”

“I don't understand what they're so worried about,” Ellis admits, scratching his head, “Who's going to start spreading rumours about this?”

“Cultists, necromancers. Anyone who wants to undermine the Accord,” you reply quietly, “If people start believing that we'll break the rules whenever suits us, they'll start to wonder why they can't do the same.”

“But won't they just lie anyway?” Fia points out, “We could do everything right... I mean, we DID do everything right. But that doesn't mean these people won't just go ahead and lie about us anyway.”

Johannes says nothing, his brow furrowed with frustration.

“Should we...” Fia continues, “Should we vote on it?”

>We should do it their way. I vote for the Regent's plan
>I'm not going to lie for their sake. I vote for the truth
>I don't care, I just want to get this over with. I abstain
>Other