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That morning, under a bright and cold sun, you wake with a good feeling in your gut. A feeling that today might be the day that you leave this damn mountain, hopefully never to return. With each hour that passes, the feeling sinks its claws deeper and deeper into you. Restless, you pace the manor grounds between time spent gazing wistfully through the grimy windows at the path beyond the walls.

Then, finally, you see movement – the first of many wagons to rumble slowly into view. You stare at them for a long moment, as if you can't quite believe that they're really here. To actually see the object of your imagination after so long feels unreal, like you might still be dreaming. Then, shaking off your wonder, you hurry to gather your companions and open the outer gates.

It's time to leave.

-

“So...” Bear begins, looking around in confusion, “Where's the old boy?”

“Munroe is... unavailable,” you answer vaguely, watching as the few remaining servants mechanically unload crates and barrels from the wagons. It's good that they're here - if the King really sends his men to the manor as you hope, they'll need supplies.

“Unavailable,” the heavyset man repeats, squinting up at the manor windows as if expecting to see the old servant peering out. He thinks for what seems like a very long time, then shrugs. “Whatever,” he says, “So long as we're getting paid for this delivery, it really doesn't matter to me. You guys want a lift down the mountain?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm, “I thought you'd never ask.”

-

You're endlessly impressed by the capacity for blindness and deafness that well-paid men are capable of. Despite the fact that you load Eleanora onto a wagon with hands bound and mouth gagged, Bear's men don't even spare her a second glance. They simply make some room on the wagon for the extra passenger and carry on with their work. For her part, the Martense girl glares at you with her pale blue eyes and gnaws at her gag in frustration. You feel no guilt about keeping her gagged – she has nothing to say that might be worth listening to.

After the initial rush of fear and rage cools, you notice a new fascination creep into Eleanora's eyes. She gazes about her as the wagon rumbles down the mountain, passing ridges lined with trees and long grass. This must feel like a whole other reality compared with the dark, subterranean world that she grew up with. A shame, then, that she'll only have the chance to experience this new world for a very short time.
>>
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>>6088666

Previous: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Moloch

The convoy slowly grinds its way down the mountains, stopping overnight at the squalid, nameless village before resuming its journey. While you stop to rest, you notice Jan carefully taking off Eleanora's gag and talking quietly with her. You consider stepping in to prevent it, but decide against it. She's behaved herself so far. If she starts to act up now that her gag is gone, you'll come down on her like a hammer.

Delayed by a stop for repairs, the convoy rolls into Portsmaw later than planned. With no trains departing for the capital until the morning, you're forced to find a room for the night. At first, this presents a problem – you shudder at the thought of trying to drag Eleanora into a fine hotel without making a scene – but then you remember Juno's squalid dockside hotel, a place that wouldn't ask any awkward questions.

Herding your captive into the dim, dismal upstairs room, you lock the door and dump your luggage onto one of the beds. Eleanora wanders across to the window and peers out, seemingly hypnotised by the raindrops striking against the glass – or, perhaps, considering the window's possibility as an escape route. She traces the falling raindrops with her fingers, long nails scraping against the glass.

“I can't do this,” Daniel announces, scowling at Eleanora, “I've got to get out of here.”

“We just got here,” Ariel groans, “Can't you just sit still for a few hours?”

“I've done nothing but sit still for the last few days,” the soldier complains, “We're finally back in civilisation, and I want to enjoy it. Good food, good drink...”

It's more than that, of course. After so long at the Iron Keep, isolated high up in the mountains, he desperately craves the warmth and life of a bustling city, and strong wine to blot out the memories of everything that transpired in the tunnels beneath the manor.

“Well I think it's an excellent idea!” Elle announces stubbornly, “I'll join you.”

“You, uh, you will?” Daniel looks around in surprise, “Miss Legrasse-”

“What's wrong? I'm allowed to have a little fun too, aren't I?” she asks, “I don't want to stay cooped up in here any more than you do.”

An awkward silence follows, broken only by the methodical screech of Eleanora's nails on the window. “I can stay here and keep an eye on her,” Ariel sighs eventually, “I napped on the ride down, so I can keep watch overnight.”

“That's settled then!” Daniel announces, “It's the perfect plan. Bard, are you in?”

>I don't think so. I'll stay here and keep watch with Ariel
>I'd rather not. I want to go out and have some time alone
>Count me in. I could certainly use the distraction
>Other
>>
>>6088667
>I don't think so. I'll stay here and keep watch with Ariel
I have had a terrible premonition of this feral cannibal doing something unspeakable to our poor androgynous friend.
>>
>>6088667
>Nah, I’ll stay and help keep watch
Elle supervising Jan flashbacks
>>
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“I don't think so. I'll stay here and keep watch too,” you decide, shaking your head, “I'd rather not leave her here with just one person to stand guard. That's just asking for trouble.”

“I'm here too!” Jan points out, trying to look confident and offended at the same time.

“I know,” you answer bluntly, “And that's what worries me.”

As soon as the words have left your mouth, you regret them. With a wounded grimace, Jan's gaze drops down to the floor. Daniel looks between you for a moment, then forces a laugh. “Well, suit yourselves,” he remarks, “But I know a nice little club here in Portsmaw. You're really missing out!”

“Just go if you're going to go,” you tell him, flapping a hand at the door, “Just leave us in peace.”

Relative peace, that is, as Eleanora draws another shrill screech out of the window.

-

Even Eleanora grows tired of her nonsense eventually, lapsing into a merciful silence. Jan sits in a frayed armchair with a book, reading or pretending to read, as the minutes slowly creep by and turn to hours. Ariel never lets her gaze stray away from Eleanora, her small revolver drawn and resting in her lap for immediate use. As the time drags on, you start to wonder if you're really needed here. Either Eleanora has more patience than you thought, or she truly has accepted her fate.

“A question, if I may,” the semi-human noble says suddenly, as if sensing your thoughts.

“Ask, if you really must,” you tell her with a dismissive sneer, “I can't promise you an answer though.”

Eleanora looks back to the window, then gestures out across the little slice of the city visible through the dirty glass. “This place,” she asks, “Do you really live like this? Crowded together like rats in a nest, choking on the smog filling the sky, hiding from the rain in squalid little holes like this...”

“I chose this place specially for you,” you remark, looking at the peeling wallpaper and damp stains on the ceiling, “I thought it might remind you of home.”

“How dare you!” she hisses, “This place is nothing like the Iron Keep. It has no history, no legacy. This place is an empty vessel that won't ever be filled. You'll forget about it as soon as you've left, and you won't even notice when it's torn down. This place, this whole city, is the same – crude, disposable, meaningless fodder for the masses.”

Eleanora spits these words out, her pale blue eyes flashing angrily in the darkness. When she's finished, her chest heaves with the effort of her outburst.

“All done?” you ask mildly, “Good.”

“Nothing to say?” she snarls, “You're not going to defend your precious city?”

“I never promised you an answer, remember?”

[1]
>>
>>6088686

Seething with petulant anger, Eleanora throws herself down on one of the hard, ugly beds. A short while later, unladylike snores start to rise up from the huddled lump of her form. Relief washes over you, and you allow yourself to lean back in your chair. Ariel yawns, checking her revolver over before returning it to its holster. As she does, she chews her lip as if struggling to put her thoughts into words.

“I mean, she's not completely wrong,” she admits eventually, “Portsmaw is an old city, sure, but there's barely a handful of buildings left from the original city. Everything else has been replaced by cheap shit like this. It's the same everywhere – even Siegfried House has been rebuilt and renovated so many times that it's basically a new building.”

Cheap shit like this dockside hotel, you think to yourself, or the luxury rooms for noble guests in the centre of the city. Both new, both bland and anonymous, just aimed at a different market.

“Not like the Pale Estate,” Ariel continues, a wistful smile creeping across her face, “Whenever I walk through the corridors there, I can FEEL the history. Not an oppressive weight like the Iron Keep, but something... uplifting.”

“I wish I could share your enthusiasm,” you sigh, “I don't have many good memories of that place.”

“Well, there's your problem,” she decides, slapping you on the shoulder, “You just need to make some good memories, and fast. You've got a lot of catching up to do.”

She's been spending too much time with Daniel – her cousin's cheerful behaviour is rubbing off on her. Though, it's an act that doesn't quite ring true coming from her – when the mood takes him, Daniel can be as bright and brilliant as the sun, whereas Ariel is more of a dark, enigmatic moon... like Gratia.

“What are you staring at?” Ariel asks, tilting her head to the side. Shaking your head, you look away from her.

“I'm going to try and catch a nap,” you mutter, “Wake me if anything happens.”

-

With a heavy hooded coat covering her unnatural complexion, Eleanora barely draws a passing glance as you bundle her onto the train. You're lucky that she doesn't seem in the mood to cause trouble, because you've got your hands full with keeping Elle upright. Pale and nauseous, she looks like a girl suffering from some terrible wasting disease. If you had to guess, you'd assume that this is her first attempt at some serious drinking. Probably her last attempt too.

“Ugh...” she groans, shuddering as the train lurches into motion, “Why do these things have to MOVE so much?”

“They tried selling a train that didn't move at all, but nobody bought it,” you remark, “I can't imagine why.”

Elle scowl at you, but can't quite summon up the strength for a witty retort.

[2/3]
>>
>>6088705

A few hours of rest on the train help drive back the worst of Elle's sickness, and a strong cup of tea helps sustain her. With Eleanora in tow, you hasten straight to the palace. After enduring the security checks and discretely explaining your story to the pretty blonde secretary at the front desk, you're soon whisked through to the King's private office. One glimpse of Eleanora's face seems to do wonders for rearranging the monarch's schedule.

Elle freezes as you're ushered into the meeting room, her gaze immediately drawn to the sickly looking woman sitting alongside King Albrecht. While you're glad to see that the King is taking you seriously, you're far from happy to see the Choirmaster here. With a smouldering cigarette in her hand, Eve Moreau listlessly gestures for you to sit.

“Master Pale. Everyone,” King Albrecht begins, “...Miss Martense.”

Eleanora bares her teeth in a half-hearted attempt at a snarl. Despite her attempts at bravado, you can see fear in the way her eyes dance back and forth across the room.

“I had a suspicion that my father may have tried asking the Martense for access to any Lessons they may have held. My suspicion was incorrect, however we found something far worse at the Iron Keep,” you begin, “It started when we met their servant, Munroe...”

-

You talk for a long time, losing track of time as recount your time spent in the Iron Keep. King Albrecht listens without interruption, occasionally glancing aside to Eleanora as if reassuring himself that it's not all a wild fantasy. By the time you're finished, the room is thick with Moreau's cigarette smoke and your throat is raw. Albrecht is silent at first as he considers your words, letting his oracle get in the first words.

“Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Master Pale,” she says in her dry, hushed voice, “Your Majesty, I would recommend that the whole mountain be quarantined. Seal it off to all outsider, and allow my people to conduct a thorough investigation. I fear that there may be a deeper corruption at work, something that may not be fully wiped clean.”

“Unacceptable,” King Albrecht counters, “The Martense lands provide us with a critical supply of coal and iron ore, among other things. Sealing the mountains off could prove disastrous to our industry.”

“And allowing uneducated fools to wander across them at will could prove far worse,” Moreau insists, “Master Pale, I'm sure that, as a direct witness, you understand my logic.”

With a grimace, King Albrecht turns to you. With a faint reluctance, he nods for you to speak freely.

>The threat is over, Choirmaster. With a few precautions, normal business can resume
>There may yet be a threat. Miss Moreau is correct, the whole mountain should be sealed off
>This decision is far above my head. I can offer no opinion
>Other
>>
>>6088686
Portsmaw - a place we will forget
The Iron Keep - a place we wish we could forget
I know which one I prefer
>>
>>6088735
>The threat is over, Choirmaster. With a few precautions, normal business can resume.
We were fine and we did kill a lot of ghouls. Just send in a few experts to oversee.
>>
>>6088735
>The threat is over, Choirmaster. With a few precautions, normal business can resume
>>
“The threat is over, Choirmaster,” you answer, giving Moreau a cold, calm look, “We made sure of that, I can assure you. With just a few precautions, normal business can resume.”

Moreau is good, but not perfect. While her expression barely changes, you can see her jaw tighten with displeasure. If you had to guess, you'd say that she's not used to people disagreeing with her. With her bilious green eyes fixed on you, she takes a silver cigarette case out from her pocket and opens it with a flick of her wrist.

“Precautions,” King Albrecht repeats, gesturing across to one of his secretaries to start taking notes.

“I would recommend keeping some soldiers stationed at the Iron Keep, if you plan to keep using it,” you begin, “And perhaps some of your “experts”, Miss Moreau, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

Moreau's eyes narrow as if trying to decide if you're mocking her or not. Just as she's bringing a lit match up to her new cigarette, Elle lets out a rasping cough and the Choirmaster hesitates. Taking the cigarette from her dry lips, she slips it back into the silver case instead. “You are, of course, the only direct witnesses to these events,” she says at last, “I will defer to your wise judgement.”

Now you're the one trying to figure out of you're being mocked. Probably, but you let it slide.

“By all rights, ownership of the Iron Keep and all associated responsibilities would pass to your family, Master Martense,” King Albrecht says slowly, “But I understand that your parents have not been involved with the mining business. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir,” Jan murmurs, his head low, “My parents are tailors, sir.”

“Mm. I'll have some of my own agents take over the administration of the mines on a temporary basis, while I reach out to them. Should your parents wish to take over the mines, I will ensure that they are suitably trained and prepared for all that it entails,” the King decides, “I have no desire to steal the family mines out from under you, Master Martense, but I have even less desire to see them fail. As I have said, they are a vital resource for the Kingdom.”

“Yes yes, of course. Do as you see fit. I just...” Jan hesitates, “Eleanora, I mean Miss Martense...”

King Albrecht holds up a hand to silence the young man. “I understand your concern,” he says carefully, “However, I have a responsibility to root out corruption wherever it can be found. Often, this can be a burden – a most unwelcome one at that. Miss Martense will be taken into my care, and I will pass the appropriate judgement upon her.”

“She will hang,” Moreau adds, relishing her words to an unseemly degree. You glance aside to Eleanora to judge her reaction, but she doesn't even seem to hear the words. Her eyes are closed, her lips drawn tight in a rictus smile of silent defiance.

[1]
>>
>>6088771

Compared with the thick smog of cigarette smoke, the fresh air outside the palace tastes as sweet as honey. Savouring it like a fine wine, you let the clean air purge the last remnants of filth from your body. With Eleanora left in King Albrecht's capable care, you feel as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders – as if you can finally start putting this all behind you.

“Right,” you announce, clapping your hands together, “Back to the estate, I suppose. I'm sure there's a horrendous pile of letters and problems waiting for me there, but that can't be helped. Does anyone know when the next train leaves?”

An awkward silence greets this question. “Actually...” Daniel begins, “I thought I should stay here with Jan for a bit. You know, I'm sure there's going to be a lot going on for him and-”

“No, of course,” you interrupt, “I've already taken up too much of your time as it is. I'm sure we'll have a chance to meet up again before too long.”

“I... need to stay in the capital for a little longer too,” Elle says awkwardly, nervously tugging at her long sleeves, “I think I've been... distracted lately, so much so that I can't concentrate on my job properly. I'm going to have to swallow my pride and turn to some of my old teachers for guidance. Hopefully, they can help me.”

You're surprised at how much this announcement stings. You're silent for a moment, uncommonly lost for words.

“I don't know how long it'll take,” Elle continues, her words coming faster and faster, “It may only be a few days, but it might be... more than that. Not too long, I hope! But if it is, um, I can always wire you a quick note just to explain what's going on. I'll stay in contact, I promise! I just-”

“Elle,” you interrupt, “Slow down. Remember to breathe.”

Elle's lips flap silently for a moment, then she swallows heavily. “I just don't know exactly how long I might be gone,” she says at last, carefully forming each word, “I know that King Albrecht wanted you to have an oracle, but I'm of no use to you like this.”

>I understand. Stay in touch, and we'll meet up when you're ready
>No, you need to stay. I still need you here with me
>I... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6088788
>I suppose I can actually visit Juno. Whether or not I avail of her services as an oracle, the Calamity of the Martense might be a suitable piece of information to trade for something.
>For all the effort they put into bothering the Teilhards, they didn't lift a finger for the very definitely stagnant house.

We could also review the whole poison business as well, if the list bard's father was looking for matches what kalthos was peddling.
>>
>>6088788
>I understand. Stay in touch, and we'll meet up when you're ready

>>6088805
Dang bro no need to say all that out loud
>>
>>6088813
fair enough, lol
>>
>>6088788
>I understand. Stay in touch, and we'll meet up when you're ready
>I hope I can count on you three too look after each other while in capitol

>>6088805
You stabbed Elle twisted it and then spat in her face LOL
>Oh you feel inadequate? Let me see that other hoe with similar skill set you are definitely won't be jealous over.
>>
Elle is right about one thing, you are supposed to have an oracle accompanying you. However, while Elle was King Albrecht's selection for the job, there are other options available. While you're certain that Juno Tomoe would try to extract some kind of painful price for offering her assistance, you may be able to meet it. You're sure that they would be very interested to know about the Calamity seeping into the roots of House Martense...

“I understand. If you think this is important, I'll trust your judgement,” you tell Elle, setting your scheming aside for a moment, “Stay in touch, and we'll meet up when you're ready.”

A relieved smile breaks out on Elle's face. “Thank you for being so understanding, Isambard. I was so worried that... well, you know what I mean,” she says quickly, bowing her head, “I'll send word as soon as I'm finished, and I'll come straight to the estate. If... if anything happens, and you need to reach me in an emergency, just send a note to the palace. They'll be able to pass the word along.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you assure her, looking aside to Ariel, “Is this the part where you abandon me too?”

“Me? No way,” she remarks with a snort of laughter, “Unlike these well-adjusted individuals, I really don't have anywhere better to be. Besides, you'll get up to all sorts of trouble if you're left on your own.”

“Exactly,” Daniel agrees with a laugh of his own, “You'll need a woman's touch in that estate of yours, Bard.”

“Um...” Ariel hesitates, “Do you have to make it sound so-”

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding!” he insists, slapping her on the shoulder. Ariel glares at him, although you can see hints of a smile fighting to show themselves at the side of her lips.

-

The train feels very empty without your companions alongside you. You've gotten used to having Daniel and Jan around, and now it feels as if you've left them behind. Which, you suppose, isn't wrong. They have their own lives, just as you have yours. Frankly, you've already been working together than far longer than you ever suspected.

“So,” Ariel says as the train rattles west towards Castaigne and the Pale lands, “Do we have a plan?”

“Not really,” you admit, shrugging slightly, “I'm sure Alex is back by now. He might have some more information, and a story to tell... though, I can't imagine that it'll be an especially cheerful one. After everything that we've been through, I'm not sure if I can stomach it right now.”

“Nonsense. A strong, brave gentleman like yourself isn't going to shy away from a few hard truths, is he?” Ariel remarks with a crooked smile, “Though, I certainly wouldn't mind a nice relaxing holiday instead.”

“You could've had a nice relaxing holiday,” you point out, “But you're here with me instead.”

[1]
>>
>>6088828

This time, Ariel is the one who shrugs. “Okay, good point,” she concedes, “But that's enough about me and my frankly dismal social life. How about you answer me something. Are we really going ahead without an oracle? Only, when Elle told you about her plans, I'm sure I saw you scheming...”

“You're changing the subject.”

“And you're dodging the question,” Ariel shoots back, giving you a mischievous smile, “But that's fine. That's all the answer I needed.”

You scowl at Ariel, but she isn't deterred. With a sigh, you slump back in your seat as if admitting defeat. “If a situation should arise where an oracle is required, and Elle isn't able to return sufficiently quickly, then yes. I would consider approaching Juno Tomoe,” you tell her quietly, “Although I know full well that she may be spiteful enough to refuse any request on general principle.”

You could go on, but you suddenly realise how defensive you must sound. Ariel just shakes her head softly, waving away your excuses before turning to look out the train window. She's silent for a long while, the impish amusement slipping from her face to be replaced by a more wistful smile. “I wish I could be an oracle,” she says softly after a long silence, “It doesn't look very fun, but at least I'd be able to make myself useful.”

These words hang in the air, unanswered, for a long while.

-

“Master Pale, Miss Teilhard, welcome back! It's been some time!” Alex announces as he greets you in the entrance hall, “Just the two of you?”

“The others were detained elsewhere. Urgent business,” you explain vaguely, “But I'm sure it won't be for too long. Really though, Alex, you've got a lot of explaining to do – every time we came back here, you were away on some sort of business. It must've been something particularly important to keep you away for so long.”

Alex's smile falters slightly. “By my reckoning, you were gone for far longer than I was,” he points out, “But, yes, I was visiting an old friend of your father. Trying to visit him, rather. I had no end of obstacles and frustrations thrown in my path, and eventually I had to admit defeat.”

“I don't quite understand.”

“This friend, Master Teufel, is in the care of House Silvera,” Alex pauses, “A hospital of theirs. They have quite strict limits on who can see their... guests. Evidently, I didn't meet their standards. Well, that's a subject for another time – I'll just get irritated all over again if I start talking about it now.”

>If you have time, I'd like to talk about my father instead
>No, I'm curious now. What happened with this Master Teufel?
>We'll leave that for another time. Any other business I should attend to?
>Let's talk... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6088835
>We'll leave that for another time. Any other business I should attend to?
We need a bit of a break before dealing with our next House of Horrors
>>
“We'll leave that for another time, then,” you decide, with no small amount of relief. Anything that involves a friend of your father AND a hospital is likely to be a particularly grim piece of work. After everything you've been through, you'd prefer to leave that for another day. “Any other business I should attend to?” you ask as an afterthought, “I expected to have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Not as much as you might think,” Alex answers, gesturing for you to follow him inside, “There were a few messages sent to the estate. I'll just get them for you. Take a seat, make yourself at home.”

At Alex's urging, you settle into one of the many chairs around the long dining table and wait. It's hard to imagine an occasion where all the chairs would be required, a dinner party or such, but at least you've got your pick of the bunch. Alex returns a few moments later, dropping a pair of telegrams down before you. The first one is from Cato Silvera, a name that causes you to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“I apologise for the unsolicited message,” Cato's note reads, “After our brief conversation in the cathedral, I thought to ask if you might consider meeting up again for a more informal discussion. I found you to be a most interesting person, and would enjoy an opportunity to talk some more. Should you wish to contact me, I can be reached at-”

“That guy,” Ariel mutters, reading over your shoulder, “Ugh, why does he have to sound so nice and polite?”

“Possibly because he's nice and polite?”

“Makes my skin crawl,” she complains, “What's this other one?”

“That one only arrived a few days ago,” Alex says, a hint of distaste in his voice, “I've not read it, of course, but I did see who sent it.”

“I couldn't help but notice that you've not yet accepted my kind invitation,” the second message reads, “Given that you've recently found yourself without an oracle, or you're about to find yourself without an oracle, you should stop playing so hard to get. Besides, my family would simply love to meet you.”

Juno Tomoe.

You fiddle with the telegram for a moment, folding the flimsy slip of paper in your hands. “Nothing else?” you ask, glancing up at Alex.

“A few routine matters, all perfectly mundane. Invoices for groceries and such. I've taken care of those,” the older man answers, “If I'm being honest, it feels just like when your father was here. He'd forget all about things like that, and I'd have to go cleaning up after him. I almost feel glad to be falling back into the same old routines.”

“I suppose it'll keep you busy,” you muse, looking back at the messages and wondering if you should follow up on either of them.

>You'll leave them for now. You don't need any more distractions
>Maybe it's time to accept Juno's invitation and pay her a visit
>Cato's message is a curious one. You'll see what he's got to discuss
>Other
>>
>>6088835
>No, I'm curious now. What happened with this Master Teufel?
>>
>>6088869
>Maybe it's time to accept Juno's invitation and pay her a visit
>>
>>6088869
>Maybe it's time to accept Juno's invitation and pay her a visit
>>
>>6088869
>Maybe it's time to accept Juno's invitation and pay her a visit
She did demonstrate her own oracle skills with that letter, impressive.

Also Cato Silvera is just House Silvera, we might as well have listened to Alex on Teufel for that one.
>>
>>6088705
>“They tried selling a train that didn't move at all, but nobody bought it,” you remark, “I can't imagine why.”
This might be one of Isambard's best jokes yet

>>6088771
>Just as she's bringing a lit match up to her new cigarette, Elle lets out a rasping cough and the Choirmaster hesitates. Taking the cigarette from her dry lips, she slips it back into the silver case instead.
I love this barest hint of care in this old bitch
>>
>>6088869
>Maybe it's time to accept Juno's invitation and pay her a visit
Does she know her grandfather is in the Demesne?
>>
Looking back down at Juno's message, you read it back and scowl. It's no great mystery as to how she knows about Elle's departure, but that doesn't make it any less intrusive. Not only that, but you can just imagine the mocking tone as if Juno was reading her words aloud. There's a part of you that wants to refuse her invitation again, just out of spite, and yet...

“I suppose we might as well see why she's so keen,” you sigh, holding up Juno's message, “I'll send her a message, see if that invitation is still open.”

Alex doesn't exactly approve of the decision, judging by the sour expression on his face, but you don't let that deter you. Moving through to the small office, you clumsily bash out a reply on the telegraphy station and fire it away. As you sit back to wait, Ariel slips into the seat opposite you with a wry smile on her face.

“I know, I know,” you mutter, “You don't need to say it.”

“Who, me?” she replies, raising an eyebrow, “I wasn't going to say anything. I certainly wasn't going to comment on how quickly you changed your tune.”

“It's a simple matter of politeness-” you begin, only to be interrupted by a chime as Juno's response arrives. Tearing the flimsy paper strip free, you read the short, short message. “Sending a carriage,” you read, “Don't go wandering off.”

“That was quick,” Ariel muses, looking over the brief message, “What, was she just sitting by the machine waiting for your reply?”

“I'm just that irresistible,” you remark, rising from your chair and moving back to the dining room. As you glance down at Cato's message a thought occurs to you. “Alex, doesn't this seem like a strange coincidence to you?” you ask, “You go asking House Silvera about this Teufel, and then a representative of House Silvera comes asking after me.”

Alex wanders through from the kitchen, a frown on his face. “It does seem a little odd, now that you mention it,” he admits, “But these things do happen. I'm not sure what connection this Master Cato might have with the hospital, besides the family link. House Silvera has a great many hospitals in their land, especially... specialist ones.”

Something about the way he says that strikes an ill note with you. “What... kind of hospital are we talking about?” you ask carefully.

“A very secure one,” Alex replies with equal caution, “One that cares for very specific nervous conditions.”

“Oh,” you pause, “An asylum.”

“Yes, Isambard. An asylum,” he says with a wince, “There aren't many places in Agoria with the means to care for men who are very sick in such a way, and I fear that Master Teufel is one of those men. What I don't know is how he came to be this way. That's what I had been hoping to find out. But as I said-”

“They wouldn't let you see him.”

“Exactly,” Alex sighs, “I tried everything that I could think of, but House Silvera regulations can be as unyielding as a fortress wall.”

[1]
>>
>>6088935

“There is one thing we might try, however,” Alex muses, “The Teufel family are sworn to House Pale. Master Teufel was one of your father's vassals, which means – technically speaking – he's one of YOUR vassals. The wardens could turn away an old friend, but they might not have so much luck with a noble master such as yourself.”

“Hm,” you murmur, considering the idea. It feels an awful lot like throwing your weight around. You're not opposed to the idea, but it's rather uncouth.

“Tell you what,” Alex continues, “I can get back in touch with the hospital and see if you'd have permission to visit in my stead. No sense in running off up north if they're just going to turn you away too, right?”

You nod slowly. “And this Master Teufel...” you wonder, “Is there any special reason why House Silvera might want to keep him hidden away?”

“If so, they weren't particularly keen to tell me,” the older man points out, “But, I wouldn't think so. Anders... Master Teufel was a fighter, a soldier. If you'll excuse me for being blunt, there was never anything particularly special about him. He had a good sword arm, but a lot of people can claim that. That's nothing remarkable in this day and age.”

Still. Another one of your father's old contacts – like Master Dunblane. It's a lead worth following up on when you've got the chance, provided you can get access to him.

“See what the hospital says,” you order, nodding back towards the telegraphy station, “And keep an eye out for a carriage arriving. I'm going to take a bath.”

“Good idea,” Alex says, his voice carefully neutral, “I think that's a very good idea.”

>I'm going to pause here for today. I'll be continuing tomorrow, starting at the same approximate time
>Thank you for following along today!
>>
>>6088945
Thank you for running, QM! Top tier quest, glad to see a Thread 2.
>>
>>6088945
Thanks for running!

Woah, Monday too.
>>
>>6088945
>“Good idea,” Alex says, his voice carefully neutral, “I think that's a very good idea.”
they smell like the grave, don't they?
>>
>>6089343
At least it added to their testimony to the King, right?
>>
>>6089343
Would you really want to strip off and lather up in the spooky mountain manor?
>>
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The Tomoe carriage is painted black, because of course it is. There's something eerie about seeing the empty black carriage gliding up towards the estate, the door swinging open as if beckoning you inside. Juno, you must assume, was terribly busy elsewhere – too busy to come and meet you in person. Ariel walks out with you, eyeing up the carriage as if it might turn around and attack you.

“You, uh, you want me to stay here?” she asks, making a tiny nervous adjustment to her cap.

“Do you WANT to stay here?”

Ariel gives the question serious consideration, then shakes her head. “You know how we tried not to leave Jan alone with Eleanora?” she remarks after a moment.

“Of course, but what's that got to do with-” you pause, giving the silver-haired girl a glare, “Oh very funny. Just get in the damn carriage if you're coming.”

-

The Tomoe lands aren't especially far from your own territory, as the crow flies, but your carriage has to take a long detour around what were formerly the Phalaris lands. Now a vast swamp stretching out across the land like an open wound, the Mire of Phalaris is almost impassible to all but the most determined traveller. The skies darken as you approach the Tomoe lands, heavy clouds lit by the occasional flash of lightning. It's said that a land grows to resembles its masters. Comparing the stormy skies above to the violent, tempestuous Tomoe, you can well believe that.

Finally you see Yomi, the ancient Tomoe city, approaching on the horizon. A crooked hive of black spires, it's a city that Eleanora Martense would approve of – a city with HISTORY. Razed and ruined countless times over its long and bloody history, Yomi has been built back up time and time again. You've heard horror stories about the city, layer upon layer of ancient streets hidden beneath the surface. That's another thing that Eleanora might like.

Hopefully you won't need to find out if there's any truth to the rumours.

-

The carriage skirts around Yomi proper, leading up to a bizarre manor on the outermost edge of the city – a manor built like some heathen pyramid, squat and flat at the bottom but narrowing to stab up towards the sky. Climbing out of the carriage and gazing up at the open door, you look around for any guards or... anyone at all. You hadn't been expecting a massive welcoming party, but you were expecting SOMETHING.

“Should we just... go in?” Ariel wonders, looking around in confusion, “I know we were invited and all, but I still feel like a trespasser.”

“Well, technically I'm the one who was invited. You're still trespassing,” you tease, “But don't worry, I'll vouch for you.”

“Oh great, that's really reassuring,” she mutters, “I'm sure the lynch mob will really stop and listen to you when they come for me.”

“We don't have lynch mobs here,” Juno calls out, emerging from atop the front steps, “We just shoot intruders, like normal civilised people.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6089492

“Welcome to Boleskine House, by the way,” Juno continues as she leads you inside, “And no, before you ask, I don't know what the name means either. It's old. Very old.”

“I'm sure,” you agree, looking around at the entrance hall. You hadn't really known what to expect, but the Tomoe manor is surprisingly luxurious – thick red carpets muffle the sound of your footsteps, while the ornate furnishings gleam with the oily black sheen of polished ebony. The front hall is quite the museum, although it takes you a moment to realise that the strange tools on display are obscure implements of torture.

“You'll forgive me for being suspicion, Miss Tomoe,” you continue, “But I have to ask your reasons for inviting me here. I'm sure this is more than just a social call.”

“Even if I said that you were wrong, and that I had no ulterior motive, you wouldn't believe me,” Juno counters, “So yes, I confess. Bring you here is key to everything, to the culmination of a grand prophecy generations in the making. It all begins now!”

With the words of her dire pronouncement echoing through the entrance hall, you give Juno a dubious look. “I don't actually believe that either,” you answer eventually, “So I have to assume that the answer is somewhere between the two.”

“I'd congratulate you on your perception, but I made that far too easy for you,” Juno remarks, “Hardly a challenge at all, in fact. I'd be more impressed if you somehow managed to reach the wrong conclusion.”

“You don't like to answer a straight question, do you?” Ariel snipes, scowling at Juno.

“Where would be the fun in that?” the redhead answers with a shrug, “But fine. I wanted to ask you about the Demesne. Simple enough for you?”

Ariel glances aside to you, an uneasy glint in her eyes. You don't reply immediately, waiting until Juno leads you into a smaller drawing room. “What do you want to know?” you ask as you sit on the plush couch, “I should warn you, I'm hardly the expert.”

“I just want to know what you've seen. What it's like inside,” Juno explains, hesitating for a moment before adding, “I'll see it myself one day, but I'd prefer not to go in blind.”

“What do you mean, you'll see it yourself?”

“The very first time I received guidance from the Emanations, they told me that I would see the Demesne with my own eyes. They didn't say why, or when, or anything else,” she recalls, “Honestly. People say that we Tomoe are fickle, but the Emanations are far worse.”

You smirk a little, wondering what Elle might say to that.

“Okay, I see how it is. Nothing comes for free,” Juno says when you don't immediately reply, “How about this? I'll answer one question for you. It can be anything, just don't make it something boring.”

>Ask about Kalthos, her mysterious ancestor
>Ask about her, the Triumph of the Tomoe
>Ask about yourself, what her real interest is
>Ask... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6089493
>Ask about Kalthos, her mysterious ancestor
Would Eleanora really like Yomi if it’s been razed and rebuilt countless times, or would she complain that nothing of the original city is even left? She’d definitely like the ancient streets though, since they’re old and underground.
>>
>>6089493
>Ask about your father, what was he searching for.
>>
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“You'll answer one question,” you says slowly, “Will you actually answer it honestly though?”

“I will,” Juno confirms, giving you a coy smile, “And, as a show of good faith, I won't even count that as your one question. Just be more careful with your words next time, will you?”

You'll admit, you walked straight into that one. “I'd like to ask you about my father,” you decide after a moment, “Do you know what he was searching for?”

“Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?” Juno raises an eyebrow, “Let me see... I believe he was trying to get to the bottom of the Demesne.”

“I know that already,” you point out, trying not to sigh, “What I want to know is why, what lies at the bottom of the Demesne?”

Juno spreads her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “How should I know?” she says with a laugh, “I was really hoping you'd be able to tell me that. I'll tell you what, though. You go ahead and march down to the bottom of the Demesne, then come back and tell me what you see. Deal?”

You just glare at Juno, holding your tongue until she relents with a sigh. “Okay, fine. Since I couldn't really answer that one, we'll strike it off as well,” she concedes, “It's only fair.”

“I didn't know you meant the meaning of the word,” Ariel mutters to herself.

“Well, maybe you'll be able to answer this one. It relates to the Demesne too, so I'm sure you'll find it interesting,” you begin, “I met an old man in the Demesne, a man who claimed to be a member of your family. He gave his name as Kalthos Tomoe, although that's not his real name. I was wondering if you might know anything about him.”

A curious light enters Juno's eyes. “I don't, but I think we might be able to find out. First of all, we need to get a name. A real name,” she explains, leaping to her feet, “Follow me.”

-

Through corridors that drip with dark luxury and nightmarish artwork, Juno leads you through to a large hallway lined with tall portraits. Haughty faces sneer down from countless oil paintings, their costumes growing more and more archaic as you pass backwards through the generations. There's a similar look about the men, with hawkish features and slick black hair, while the women all share an ethereal beauty. Then you spot a picture of a bearded sage, stopping dead in your tracks before it.

Though the Kalthos you know has degraded somewhat since this portrait was made, you recognise the evil glint in the eyes – a glint that the artist captured perfectly. “This is it,” you announce, “This is him.”

“Ymir Tomoe,” Juno reads, squinting at the brass plate screwed to the base of the portrait, “Wait. You said you met this man?”

“I said that, yes. I'm glad to see you were listening.”

“It can't be,” she murmurs, gesturing to the dates listed on the plate, “According to this, he'd be over one hundred and fifty years old.”

[1]
>>
>>6089511

You stoop down to look at the plate. It lists the name and a date of birth, but no date of death – and, true enough, the date of birth matches Juno's claim. “Well,” you say carefully, “He's looking good for his age. I wonder what his secret is.”

“Good diet and clean living, obviously,” Juno sneers, “Come on. Now that we know who we're looking for, we can check the archives for more information. Damn you Bard, you've actually got me curious now.”

“Don't-” you begin, but she's already hurrying away.

-

“Ymir Tomoe. Famous thinking and philosopher,” Juno reads, scowling down at the weighty tome opened before you, “He can't be that famous if I've never heard of him. It says here that he mostly wrote essays on the nature of Calamity. Ugh.”

“Ugh?” you repeat.

“Why do we allow ourselves to become stereotypes? If a Teilhard writes, they write about war. If a Silvera writes, they write about faith,” the red-haired girl complains, “When did we become so predictable?”

“Save the complaints for later, what else can you tell me about Kalthos... Ymir?” you press, leaning closer to read over Juno's shoulder, “How come he's in the Demesne?”

Pushing you away with an irritated gesture, Juno reads through the book for a moment more. “Right. We need another book,” she announces, looking up and pointing at Ariel, “You, Teilhard, go and fetch it for me. We're looking for Annals of Tomoe, Volume Five. It should be over by the north wall, up on one of the high shelves.”

“The... high shelves,” Ariel repeats, frowning at Juno.

“Oh, I'm sure there's a ladder around here somewhere,” Juno says vaguely, “Now go!”

With one last dark look, Ariel turns and storms off deeper into the archives. You watch her go, then sit next to Juno with a weary sigh. “You just sent her looking for a non-existent book,” you mutter, “Didn't you?”

“No, it's a real book,” Juno replies with a cool smile, “But there are only four volumes.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you're a horrible person?”

“Once or twice,” she shrugs, “But what else was I supposed to do? She was following you about like a puppy dog. Anyway, it says here that Ymir – Kalthos, whatever – was once a rising star, destined to be the new head of the family, before he went into some kind of self-imposed exile. It doesn't say why, but I can make a guess. My family, for the most part, hasn't been concerned with the Demesne. There's no point, it's like picking a fight with the ocean. We've always focussed our attention on mortal affairs – kings, governments, whatever.”

“But Kalthos, presumably, had other ideas,” you agree, “And he chose exile in the Demesne to pursue a different path.”

“I would assume so,” Juno says, leaning back in her chair to study the high ceiling in thought, “And now my path is leading me to the Demesne too, as is yours...”

[2/3]
>>
>>6089521

Juno seems on the verge of saying something else, but the stomping sound of muffled footsteps interrupts her. “Can't find your damn book,” Ariel announces, giving Juno a vile glare, “I hope it wasn't important.”

“We'll have to manage without it,” Juno replies, giving the pale girl a sweet smile, “Since you're on your feet, do you think you could go and check for another one? It's called “The Arrival of Calamity”. Little slim volume, it should be on the lower shelves this time.”

“I'm finally realise why you people get purged so often,” Ariel complains, turning and marching back into the archives.

“Don't worry, that's a real book this time,” Juno whispers to you, “It's one of the books that Ymir Tomoe wrote. His masterpiece, apparently, although I suspect that it's terribly tedious. I thought you might appreciate a loan of it. A little something to help you try and understand the old devil. It's just gathering dust around here anyway.”

After waiting a moment to check that she's being sincere, you give Juno a nod of thanks.

“Now,” she continues, giving you a teasing smile, “I believe we had a deal...”

“I know,” you reply, “I'm not going to go back on my word. I should warn you, though, I can only tell you so much. I've not seen much of the Demesne myself.”

Juno waves away your warnings with a dismissive gesture, sitting back and waiting.

>Give her the objective truth of what little you've seen
>Warn her about the dangers of the Demesne, based on what Cato has told yourselves
>Focus on the rumours about what may or may not lie at the bottom of the Demesne
>Other
>>
>>6089527
>Give her the objective truth of what little you've seen
But bring up Cato's info too. If those "puppets" are commonplace in there, then such beasts as Cato alluded to must also exist. The tenet to enter without arms is either foolhardy or has merit, if being unarmed alters how the Demesne reacts to people inside it
>>
>>6089527
>Warn her about the dangers of the Demesne, based on what Cato has told yourselves
It's one spooky place
>>
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“It's a very strange place,” you begin, trying to think objectively about everything you've seen so far, “When you first enter, you don't immediately notice that anything has changed. It looks no different to the rest of the old palace. But that impression doesn't last. The longer you stay in the Demesne, the more you notice how strange it truly is. The corridors stretch on for what seems like an eternity, turning back on themselves in impossible ways. All the while, you're descending.”

“If the first layer of the Demesne is almost normal, the second layer is where I really felt as if I was... somewhere else,” you continue, “There are things living in the Demesne, if “living” is really a suitable term for it. Kalthos called them “Denizens” - inhuman puppets, mindless things imitating human behaviour. They didn't seem to notice me, but I never felt especially safe around them either.”

“Scared of a few little puppets?” Juno asks, her lips twisting in a mocking smirk.

“I'm more scared of what else might be there. I've spoken with another man, a man who has explored far more than I have. He spoke of a monster deep within the Demesne, a beast that blocked his passage,” you warn, “When I visited, they asked that I go unarmed. There's a taboo about spilling blood in there. I still don't know if I was wise or not to obey their ask. Perhaps the Denizens ignored me because I went unarmed, or perhaps not.”

As your voice fades out, Juno closes her eyes to savour to image forming in her mind. Her smile changes, softens, and seems to spread through her whole face. Finally, she opens her eyes. “Thank you, Isambard,” she murmurs, “When the day comes that I get to see the Demesne, I wonder if you'll be there to see it with me?”

“You're the oracle here, Miss Tomoe,” you counter, “You tell me.”

-

“Hey!” a shrill voice calls out from the entrance to the archives. A short moment later, Ariel appears with a strange looking girl with dark hair beside her. “I found this one sneaking about stealing books,” the dark haired girl remarks, “What do we do with her?”

“Leave her be, Jac. Actually, leave us all be,” Juno sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I thought I told you that I didn't want to be disturbed today.”

“Yeah, but it's getting late. Father says that dinner is almost ready,” the girl explains, narrowing her eyes in suspicion, “He says that your “guest” is welcome too.”

Juno grimaces, waving away the girl with a curt gesture. She leaves, giggling softly to herself, and you turn to Juno with a questioning look. “Don't ask,” she mutters, “Just a cousin. A very irritating cousin who doesn't know how to mind her own business. Though, I'll admit, I hadn't realised how late it was getting. Are you hungry? I hate to subject you to a dinner with my awful family, but I'll never hear the end of it if you don't attend.”

“I suppose I'll have to endure it, then.”

[1]
>>
>>6089527
>>Give her the objective truth of what little you've seen
>>
>>6089546

You'll admit to feeling vaguely uneasy about the prospect of dinner, after your grim experiences at the Iron Keep, but the early signs are promising. Sitting in a random seat at the long, beautifully decorated dining table, you're soon confronted with a dish of delicate soup and a platter of thinly sliced fish. No sooner have you finished the starter then your plate is whisked away, and the main dish is brought out – a great hunk of roasted boar, glistening with sauce and laid out on a slab of silver.

“I hope you like boar,” Juno mutters to you, eyeing the meat with disdain, “We eat far too much of it.”

“Master Pale, Miss Teilhard!” a jovial voice cries out, “Welcome to Boleskine House, I hope that Juno has made you feel welcome. Ah, the meat looks delightful – I hunted it myself just this morning!”

“Master Janus Tomoe,” a servant calls, somewhat belatedly. The head of the Tomoe family isn't quite what you had been expecting. A slim, tall man with dark hair and a pointed beard, he looks like a modern gentleman – a little flamboyant, a little urbane. You had been expecting someone a little more... intense.

With a gesture from Master Tomoe, you take a slice of the roast boar and start eating. It's delicious, of course, and perfectly matched with a deep red wine. “I adore hunting boar,” Master Tomoe muses, “The thrill of it. Life or death. I use a spear, as our ancestors once did, and there's really nothing like it. Have you ever hunted boar, Master Pale?”

“I rarely find the time for hunting these days,” you reply with a grim smile. Beside you, Juno glares at her untouched meal. Is she... embarrassed?

“We really must make time for a hunt together,” the older man decides, “That's the best way to get the measure of a man. You know, I met your father that way.”

You look up from your plate, suddenly unsure if Master Tomoe is being sincere.

“Yes, it was... perhaps a few years after you must've been born. Roughly, of course, roughly. He was good. Fearless, but rather crude in his methods. I still remember it – he caught a boar with his spear and drove it to the ground, but it was just a glancing blow. Before the beast could rise, he set upon it with his sword and hacked the thing to pieces,” Master Tomoe pauses to take a sip of wine, “Glorious. Magnificent, really.”

“That does... sound like something he'd do,” you sigh, pushing the meat on your plate about with your fork. Suddenly, you've lost your appetite.

“Father,” Juno says sternly, a tone of warning in her voice.

“Oh hush!” Master Tomoe laughs, “I'm sure that our guest doesn't mind a little rough talk at dinner. I'm sure he has his own share of tales to tell.”

>Give him a boast of your own. He hunts boar, but you've hunted monsters
>Change the subject. It's not proper to talk of such things over dinner
>Press for more answers. Did he really know your father?
>Other
>>
>>6089573
>Press for more answers. Did he really know your father?
We gotta save our monster hunting stories to exchange for Juno's oracle work, we can't give them away for free here.
>>
>>6089583
+1. But also...

>>6089573
>I've hunted worse than boars... At the Iron Keep. And this is hardly the roughest dinner I've eatebm If you want to know more than that, though, I'd like to know everything you know about my late father.
This could work, too
>>
>>6089583
>>6089588
+1 both
>>
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“I may have a few stories to tell,” you say carefully, giving Master Tomoe a faint hint of a smile, “I've hunted things worse than any boar, and this talk won't turn my stomach. This is far from the roughest meal I've ever had. I could tell you, but... Well, Juno and I played a little game earlier today. She told me what I wanted to know, and I told her what she wanted to know.”

“An even trade,” Master Tomoe agrees, his eyes glinting with amusement, “I'll admit, Master Pale, that you've got my attention. Do go on.”

“Don't play his games,” Juno whispers angrily to you, kicking you lightly under the table.

“I'd like to know everything you know about my late father,” you press, ignoring Juno's warnings, “And in return, I'll share a tale of my own.”

Master Tomoe leans back in his chair and lights a long cigarette. “Your father... Your father was a man who stood at the edge of greatness, but couldn't commit. That was the impression I always got from him. He had seen things, done things, that no other man had. But he shied away from them, and that – I suspect – is what destroyed him,” he recalls, “Really, he should have been a Tomoe.”

“That's all very vague,” you point out, “You could be talking about anyone.”

“No. I could only be talking about one man,” Master Tomoe shakes his head, “Ultimately, your father was still a man who lived by society's rules and morals. He flirted with Calamity, but in the end he was afraid to fully embrace it. A shame, really. But I can see that you've started on the same path that he has. I wonder if you'll be bolder than he was.”

Slowly, you take a sip of wine. Master Tomoe's voice has grown louder, more exuberant with each word he speaks, until his face positively glows.

“Well, I'll consider you a work in progress for now,” Master Tomoe concludes, snuffing out his cigarette with a quick flick of his wrist, “Now, about your tale...”

Pushing your disquiet aside, you adopt a suitable ghoulish expression and begin your tale. “This story is about a certain remote manor in the mountains. In the spirit of gentlemanly behaviour, I shall leave it unnamed,” you start, “This manor belonged to a certain family...”

-

Master Tomoe listens to your story with a fascinated expression, one corner of his mouth curled up into a loveless smile. Juno feigns boredom, toying with her silver cutlery, but you can tell that she's listening intently. When you describe the battle beneath the Iron Keep, her hands clench white knuckle tight. By the time you're finished, her shoulders are tense.

“A most impressive tale,” Master Tomoe breathes, “Tell me one thing, Master Pale. These creatures that you hunted... does it bother you, to think that they were once men?”

“I didn't see them as men,” you answer, shaking your head, “I just saw them as beasts.”

Master Tomoe's smile deepens.

[1]
>>
>>6089603
Oh no he's hot
>>
>>6089603
You thought this was the Juno route, this is actually the Janus route!
>>
>>6089603

“Come with me,” Master Tomoe announces, rising to his feet, “Excuse us, Miss Teilhard. There's something I'd like to discuss with Master Pale in private. Juno, could you keep our guest amused for a moment?”

Juno rolls her eyes, while Ariel tries her best to smile. It's strange, seeing her so silent, but you can well understand. Given her history with the Tomoe, Ariel might not have much to say that's suitable for polite company. “Go ahead,” she says to you eventually, “I'll be right here.”

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Master Tomoe leads you from the dining room and down a narrow corridor. A silence descends over the older man as he leads you up a spiral staircase, pausing at a sealed door. “This is a very special place for our family, a very secret place,” he warns, “Very few people outside the family get to see inside.”

“I'll be discrete,” you promise, wondering just where he's going with this. Nowhere too strange, you hope.

Throwing open the door, Master Tomoe gestures towards an ornate shrine – a tarnished skull sitting upon a black velvet pillow at its centre. With an odd feeling of reverence, you approach and kneel down before the skull. It's old, so terribly old, and has an air of tragedy surrounding it. Idly, you wonder what an oracle might feel from being in this secret place.

“This is the skull of Lucianus of Silvera, the Summer King,” Master Tomoe murmurs, “The man who would lead Agoria into a thousand year golden age, until our blades cut him down. The greatest crime in the history of our great Kingdom, isn't that what they call it?”

“A golden age...” he continues, “I wonder. Would there be a place for men like us in such a thing?”

“We'll never know now, will we?” you remark, a hard edge in your hushed voice.

Master Tomoe smirks to himself, but says nothing for a moment. Reaching out, he gently strokes the skull. “If you truly intend to follow in your father's footsteps, then we may be able to help each other. You're looking for certain... items, yes?” he says quietly, “I have a certain piece in my collection, if you're willing to make a fair trade.”

An errand for a Tomoe – hardly the most appealing prospect.

“A certain agent of ours has gone missing. He was doing certain work – which, in the spirit of gentlemanly behaviour, I shall leave unnamed – in Teilhard territory,” Master Tomoe explains, “I would dearly like to find out what happened to him.”

“If the Teilhard family have got him, I doubt I'd be able to pull off a rescue,” you point out.

“I'm not asking you to,” the older man purrs, “If he's gotten himself caught, or killed, so be it. An issue of proficiency on his behalf. But I'd like to know for sure. Would you be willing to... investigate?”

>Yes, I think that could be arranged
>Unfortunately, I'm not currently looking for new errands
>Other
>>
>>6089603
>“I didn't see them as men,” you answer, shaking your head, “I just saw them as beasts.”
They looked like monsters to you?
Are we in Silent Hill or Bloodborne? Make up your mind QM!
>>
>>6089623
How hilariously can we play this up? Finally the one thing we know that the Tomoe do not. If we troll the patriarch with Hauberk's death, he could get even later on. But wouldn't it be worth it to see the look on his face? How's that for Calamity?
>>
>>6089623
>Yes, I think that could be arranged

>>6089631
I don't think it's Hauberk, we already told Juno about him and she would have passed it on.
>>
>>6089623
>Oh, Hauberk? I captured him and he bashed his own skull in to avoid questioning. Doubt it will make as good a trophy as Lucianus here.
>Now, about that trade...

Throw the man off with a blunt, direct answer. Caalamity Clan doesn't seem to be used to that, and Jun-Jun told us not to faff about playing games.
>>
You hold your tongue for a long moment, wondering if Master Tomoe is trying to talk you into some kind of trap. You have to assume that he's talking about Hauberk, either that or he's shockingly poor at keeping track of his agents. Whether it's a trap or some kind of game, you're not just going to play along nicely. “It's not Hauberk, is it?” you ask boldly, “Because he's definitely not going to be coming back. As I recall, he bashed his own brains out against the wall of a Teilhard dungeon. I assume he didn't want them to get a nice little trophy like Lucianus here.”

Throwing his head back, Master Tomoe lets out a deep laugh. It feels utterly wrong to laugh so hard in a sacred place like this, but you suppose that's the point.

“No no, I'm aware of what happened to Hauberk – although I didn't know the exact details. Fascinating!” Master Tomoe says with real enthusiasm, real vigour, “You see, Master Pale, since you're already so familiar with our operations in the Teilhard lands, I thought that you'd be the best person for the job.”

That may be the strangest compliment you've ever received. “Very well then. This OTHER agent of yours,” you say carefully, “Does he have a name?”

“Armin Leigh,” Master Tomoe answers, “Another one of your victims, by chance?”

“I've not had the pleasure,” you reply, “Just to be absolutely clear, you're not asking me to free him, help him complete his mission, or do anything like that. Correct?”

“Correct. Absolutely correct,” the older man confirms, “I just want to know what happened to him.”

With a final thought, you shrug. “I can ask some questions, see if anything comes up,” you decide, “But I can't promise anything. You know how it is.”

“Of course, of course,” Master Tomoe gives you a grin, “I must say, you're a very reasonable young man. When I heard that my Juno was taken with you, I quite assumed the worst. But this meeting has been a most pleasant surprise.”

It's certainly not been the worst manor you've visited lately, but that's a very low bar to clear.

>I'm going to take a pause here for today. Current plan will be to resume on Saturday
>Thanks for playing today!
>>
>>6089646
Thanks for running!

>When I heard that my Juno was taken with you
JUNO ROUTE CONFIRMED
Evil woman connoisseurs, our time has come.
>>
>>6089648
Just because a woman wants you, doesn't mean you need to take her up on it. She's still third on my list, after Elle and (if I can ever figure out her age) Ariel.

>>6089646
Thanks for running!
>>
>>6089751
>(if I can ever figure out her age)

I tend to leaves ages fairly vague, but I've imagined most fo the characters to be youngish - usually around early to mid twenties. I feel like Ariel might be on the younger side of that, maybe nineteen or twenty
>>
>>6089974
Acceptable age to enter the competition for Prime Waifu.
>>
>>6089977
The waifu wars are going to be such a mess. There's too many to choose.
>>
explain the concept of cataclysm, what does it mean when people say it.
>>
>>6090130
If you mean Calamity, it's a force/power that opposes the natural order - kind of a harmonious ideal of how to live. Depending on who you believe, Calamity is either an evil, corrupting force or a manifestation of freedom and human will.

If you meant something completely different, then I'm a fool and you might need to clarify.
>>
>>6089648
>JUNO ROUTE CONFIRMED
Best route confirmed…?
>>
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>>6090116
>>6091726
For your convenience, I have prepared a helpful infographic.
This may be the most cursed thing I have ever created.
>>
>>6092504
Kek, based.
>>
>>6092504
BAHAHAHA where's Eleanora route
>>
>>6092504
Thank you, this is extremely helpful and will inform all my decisions going forward
>The disclaimer
Now you're just being redundant
>>
>>6092504
kek
Ariel is best girl (possibly male)
>>
>>6092504
>no harem path

Absolute filth
>>
>>6092504
>no harem path
Absolutely based
>no Gratia on the waifu chart
You fucking nigger
>>
>>6092504
I'm awaiting milf option.
>>
>>6092541
Locked bc we're not cousins w/ her
>>6092504
This is based keep cooking
>>
>>6092504
where twincest route
>>
>>6092773
>>6092776
>>6092926

For reasons of sanity, I decided to only include major characters that we've met in-story. There's always room for a version 2.0 further down the line, of course
>>
>>6093305
You WILL include Gratia after we finally meet her on-screen. The Pale family DEMANDS it
>>
>>6093311
Yeah, but down that road leads cannibalistic molemen.
>>
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Feeling slightly dazed from your discussion with Master Tomoe, you return to the dining room and slump down into one of the empty seats. Snatching up your unfinished wine, you empty the glass in a few gulps.

“I know that look. He showed you the skull, didn't he?” Juno groans, “He's so full of shit... you know, it's probably not even real.”

“I don't know,” you argue, “It looked pretty real to me.”

“Well, yes, it's a real skull,” she admits with an irritated scowl, “But I highly doubt that it belongs to the Summer King of whoever he's claiming now. It's probably just some pig farmer from a particularly grim hamlet somewhere.”

“You don't know whose skull it is,” you point out, grinning slightly to yourself, “So it could, potentially, be the Summer King's skull.”

“I can't believe you're taking HIS side,” Juno complains, looking across the table to Ariel, “Can YOU believe this?”

“Sorry, I'm obviously still playing catch up here,” Ariel says, looking between you and Juno, “Did you just say that he's got the Summer King's skull upstairs?”

“It's not-” Juno snarls, her hands clenched into fists, but your laugh downs out anything else she has to say.

-

With dinner over and done with, you withdraw back to the archives – to discuss Master Tomoe's proposal. You leave a few things out, mostly his last few words about Juno, but you cover all the important points. You know fully well that Ariel won't like it and she doesn't disappoint you.

“So let me get this straight,” Ariel says, grimacing softly to herself, “You're working for the Tomoe now?”

“I'm not working for him,” you explain, “I'm just carrying out a little bit of an investigation. In all likelihood, I'll just be bringing him some bad news. Not much work, but the reward could be well worth it. You know how important this is to me.”

“I know, I know,” the pale girl concedes, throwing her hands up in the air, “But sometimes, I look at myself and wonder what I'm doing with my life.”

“You know, Miss Teilhard” Juno purrs, “I sometimes get the feeling that you don't like my family very much.”

“That's funny,” Ariel counters, “Because I sometimes get the feeling that you don't like your family very much either.”

A sudden tension stiffens the air, silence descending as you wait for Juno's retort – either an outburst of laughter, you're guessing, or a frightful display of violence. But in the end, it's neither. Juno simply glances away and studies the rows of books with a cold aloofness. “This man that we're looking for,” she says, her voice hard, “What was his name again?”

“Armin Leigh,” you remind her. She knows his name perfectly well, of course, but the question gives her a nice neat way of bringing the conversation back towards matters of business.

[1/2]
>>
>>6093498

With a nod, Juno takes a book down from the shelf and opens it to reveal a map of Agoria. “Armin Leigh,” she repeats, pointing to the map, “Assigned here, Albershot Lodge. If we're looking for him, I'd suggest starting there.”

“Do you know what sort of mischief he was supposed to be getting up to?” you ask, “Nothing too nefarious, I hope.”

“Infiltration. His job was to meet up with the locals and ingratiate himself. A fairly standard mission, which is another way of saying frightfully boring,” Juno waves the subject away with a callous gesture, “Even if we don't anything special planned, it's always useful to have a few embedded assets. Call it an investment.”

“This is all very interesting,” Ariel muses, “I'm sure King Albrecht would love to know about this.”

“By all means, tell him, although I'd be very surprised if he doesn't already know,” the red-haired girl replies, not rising to the bait, “Does it bother you, knowing how far our reach extends? Knowing that anyone you talk with, anyone you confide in, might be one of our people?”

Ariel's face doesn't waver, her mouth set in a tiny smile. Beneath the table, however, you can see her fists clenched so tight that her hands tremble. “I think you're bluffing,” she says eventually, “You'd love nothing more than to see us fall into paranoia and suspicion.”

“Also true,” Juno agrees, shrugging slightly, “Maybe I really was bluffing. Who knows? Who cares? It's all rather tiresome, if I'm honest. Perhaps we should stick to our mission?”

An awkward silence descends, broken only when you clear your throat. “Quite so,” you say, “Ariel. Do you think Siegfried House might know about our missing friend?”

“I don't know. Maybe,” Ariel tilts her head to the side as she thinks, “But I'm not really keen to go asking questions. They might ask why we're asking, or how we know about him, and then things just get messy. I'd prefer to tell as few lies as possible, especially to my own damn family.”

“I see your point,” you reply, “So you'd just go straight to Aldershot Lodge?”

“Sure, I guess,” she answers with a shrug, “Or just go away for a few days, then tell Master Tomoe we found his boy dead in a ditch somewhere. What's he going to do, go our and check for himself?”

You glance aside to Juno, who has a secretive little smile on her face. “While that does sound amusing, maybe you shouldn't say that right in front of Master Tomoe's daughter,” you point out, “Just a suggestion.”

“Oh don't worry, I'd back you up,” Juno remarks with a smirk, “As you say, it sounds rather funny. I wonder, though. Are you really that dishonest?”

Maybe, but you'd like to think that you have higher standards of behaviour than a Tomoe.

>We'll go straight to Aldershot Lodge, ask around there
>Let's go to Siegfried House first, check with the Teilhard family
>I like this “dead in a ditch” plan, actually
>Other
>>
>>6093500
>Let's go to Siegfried House first, check with the Teilhard family
No need for lies... Well, not excatly. Tell them we're on a mission to find a Tomoe spy. If they ask, yes, we visted the Tomoe first, as part of a mission for the King. It is, most emphatically, not a mission in support of the Tomoe. However, just as that accursed house is allowed to exist, sometimes unfortunate circumstances require our working with them.
>>
>>6093503
+1
It should be expected by now that Isambard Pale has a floating "WILL WORK FOR LESSONS" hanging over his head
>>
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“I think we should go to Siegfried House first,” you decide, “Right now, we don't know much about this Albershot Lodge. I'd prefer to know what kind of place we're walking into at the very least.”

“I guess,” Ariel concedes, “I'll be honest, I've never even heard of it.”

“That's because it's where they carry out all their secret tortures and executions,” Juno replies, letting out a curt laugh, “I'm kidding. I don't actually know what it's like either, so I suppose it'll be a nice surprise.”

“I don't like surprises, nice or not,” you insist firmly, “And that's why we're going to do our research first.”

This isn't a debate.

-

A tense mood hangs over the carriage as it rattles towards your destination. Despite her laudable attempts to hide it, you can tell that Ariel is nervous. While that's understandable enough, you can sense a faint unease coming from Juno as well. Maybe it's just the awkward silence that's getting to her – it's certainly starting to grate on your nerves. In search of a way to pass the time, you take out the book Juno gave you and start to read.

You open the book carefully, holding it with all the caution of a man clutching a poisonous snake. As for the text itself, the writing is dense and difficult to read, often wandering from one subject to another or spinning off on strange diversions. A discourse on the nature of Calamity, Kalthos has collated a number of myths, legends and theories, grouping them into three general categories – the idea that Calamity originated from the Godhead itself, that Calamity originated within mankind before passing to the Godhead, and the suggesting that Calamity originated from outside somehow.

To this last point, he cites an old folk tail about a great white serpent god – the serpent came into the world and taught men how to do evil, and so Calamity was born. Kalthos is vague as to what the serpent might have been, his explanation wavering between an allegory for human will to the manifestation of some divine will.

“If the Godhead is capable of sending an avatar into our world,” Kalthos writes, citing the Nicean Prophecies, “Could the same not be true for other gods, gods that may be sympathetic to mankind?”

You go back to that passage time and time again, reading those terribly suggestive words until they're engraved onto your memory. It's exactly the kind of wild pagan delusion that the church has tried so hard to stamp out, so you shouldn't be surprised to find it in a book penned by a Tomoe. Yet, here you can sense something that goes beyond the petty rebellions so common to the Tomoe. Something else, something far older.

“Get your head out of that book,” Ariel whispers, leaning over and gently poking you on the arm, “We're almost there.”

[1]
>>
>>6093533

There's something pleasant about coming back to Siegfried House, with its carefully maintained balance between luxury and martial pride. It has all the comforts that a young gentleman might want, without being uncouth about them. You can only imagine that your own family estate was like this once, back in the heights of your family's fortunes. Now those golden years are lost, while the Teilhard family are still enjoying their peak.

To your surprise, that thought sends a thrill of anger cutting through you. Shaking off the feeling, you hastily put Kalthos' book away as the carriage grinds to a halt.

“Well then,” Juno says lightly, “Shall I stay here? Maybe hide out of sight while you go about your righteous duty?”

Just as you're about to answer that, a pair of guards open the carriage doors and move to help you dismount. When they see Juno, though, they freeze in place.

“I think it's a little late for that,” you sigh.

-

Davidian Teilhard paces the length of his office, his brow furrowed with deep thought. Eventually, he stops and turns to face you. “I respect you, Master Pale, and for that I'm willing to hear you out,” he says sharply, “Why, exactly, have you come to my home with a whore of the Tomoe?”

You wonder what Juno would say to that, if she wasn't safely locked away in another room. Probably nothing suitable for polite company.

“Thanks to that Tomoe, ahem, woman, I've learned of another one of their agents operating in your territory,” you explain, “Miss Tomoe approached us on behalf of her family, with a request for our assistance in recovering this agent. I accepted their proposal, only because it would allow us to find this man. I have no intention of bringing him back to his masters.”

“And why would they approach you, in particular, for this?” Master Teilhard asks, although you can already see signs of him lowering his guard.

“Their own agents are in disarray after the Hauberk affair, but they know that we are on good terms,” you continue, the excuses coming easily to your tongue, “They assumed that I would be able to secure your assistance and recover their agent.”

Master Teilhard considers this. “I wonder,” he muses, “Bringing the Tomoe girl here-”

“That wasn't part of their plan,” you confirm, offering him a humourless smile, “I don't think they'll be asking for my help any time in the future.”

With a final nod, Master Teilhard sits down behind his desk and lets out a sigh. “I haven't heard any reports of trouble from Albershot Lodge, certainly nothing to indicate that they've apprehended a suspicious person,” he says, “Albershot is a very low priority outpost – they only send a message if something unusual has occurred. I've not had any messages, so I presume that all is well.”

Or they were wiped out.

[2/3]
>>
>>6093552

“What kind of place is Albershot Lodge?” Ariel asks, “I've never heard of it.”

“It's a hunting camp, primarily, set deep in a stretch of woods known for excellent game. We occasionally visit there with guests on special occasions – I spent a week there just before my wedding, as I recall. It's something of a luxury, and one that we rarely get to enjoy,” Master Teilhard explains, a faint note of regret creeping into his voice, “It's far back from the border, and quite isolated, so it only has a small caretaker staff.”

“I know what you're going to say,” he continues, holding up a hand to silence you, “But this is nothing like Fort Venger. These men are not old soldiers hungry for glory. They're more like... hermit monks.”

“I don't understand.”

“Master Reinhold is an old soldier, yes. He fought hard during the last Lliogor migration, and has little taste for further fighting. Watching over Albershot Lodge allows him to serve a purpose, whilst still pursuing the Solitude that he seeks. The rest of his men are the same,” Master Teilhard says quietly, “The Tomoe would have little chance of inciting such men to revolt.”

The mention of Solitude causes your stomach to lurch uneasily, but you don't get the chance to say anything before a knock at the door rings out. At Master Teilhard's hail, a uniformed soldier enters. “We've spoken with the prisoner,” he announces, “She claims to have recruited Master Pale in an attempt to recover a missing agent of theirs. She assumed he would be sympathetic to their cause, and hoped he would be able to learn the agent's location from you.”

Beside you, Ariel's shoulders slump slightly as a wave of relief washes over her.

“I see. You're dismissed,” Master Teilhard orders, giving you a faint smile, “Either you've done an excellent job at getting your stories straight, or you're telling the truth. In this case, I choose to believe the latter. Go to Albershot Lodge if you wish, Master Pale, but I would ask that you deliver this agent, should you find him, into my care.”

“Naturally,” you agree, “So we're free to go?”

“With my blessing,” the older man says, “You can even take the Tomoe girl with you. Not much of a blessing, however. Was there anything else?”

>Nothing else. We'll be on our way
>Is there anything else at Albershot that the Tomoe might be interested in?
>Are there any other sites nearby that this agent may have been seeking?
>I have some other questions... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6093560
>I've got a rousing tale of heroism to tell, but I'll leave that to Daniel when next he returns. It doesn't involve a Tomoe, for once.
>>
>>6093560
>Is there anything else at Albershot that the Tomoe might be interested in?
>>
>>6093572
>>6093577
+1 both in that order
Keep him hooked so he's eager to hear the cool story (which Daniel helped with)
>>
>>6093552
>You can only imagine that your own family estate was like this once, back in the heights of your family's fortunes. Now those golden years are lost, while the Teilhard family are still enjoying their peak.
>To your surprise, that thought sends a thrill of anger cutting through you.
But he forgets that now he's the sole Pale heir to the estate and the noble house itself, he can work to MAKE new golden years of his own. They might not be able to come close to what his ancestors once had, but who says they have to be?
>>
>>6093560
OP I find it very funny that Isambard is quickly becoming very used to all these "find this missing person" or "get me this X thing back" sidequest-esque ventures all these noble families are making him do. Eventually he's going to be so good at this that all the noble families will know him well for it and go to him with any weird or mysterious tasks, and soon they will all have no choice but to be indebted to him.
>>
“There is something, although it's better saved for another time,” you mention, thinking back to your dalliances at the Iron Keep, “A rousing tale of heroism, if such things interest you. The next we're all together, and Daniel is here to tell his side of the story, I'll be sure to tell you. It doesn't involve the Tomoe, which might sweeten the deal.”

Master Teilhard laughs. “Is this your humble attempt at boasting, Master Pale? I dare say that you must be quite proud of yourself if you want us all to hear your tale,” he says, looking aside to your companion, “Ariel, be honest with me now. Is your friend exaggerating?”

“I'm not sure if I'd call it a “rousing tale of heroism”, but it's certainly a story,” Ariel remarks, giving you a wry smile, “I don't know how much of it you'll believe, but I can confirm that it's true – at least, the bits that make me look good are true.”

“Very well. Consider me interested,” the old soldier decides, leaning back in his chair in a smirk, “But I feel as if that wasn't your only point to make.”


“Naturally, there's no fooling you,” you remark, “I wondered if there was anything else we should be aware of. Anything else at Albershot, aside from the people, that the Tomoe would be interested in?”

“The deer, perhaps?” Master Teilhard answers with a humourless laugh, “I hear that Master Tomoe is quite the hunter himself.”

“I'm not sure if deer are really his sport of choice.”

Master Teilhard waves away your retort with a wave of his hand. “I won't pretend to understand how the Tomoe think, or why they do the things they do,” he states curtly, “However, I understand that Albershot is old – the current lodge was built atop a previous site, something far older. There's hardly anything left of it now, but perhaps even that might be of some interest to them.”

“Perhaps so,” you agree with a thoughtful nod, “Thank you, Master Teilhard.”

“Oh, Ariel,” Master Teilhard asks as you're about to leave, “That rifle. May I?”

Ariel hesitates for a moment, then hands across the rifle. Master Teilhard takes it, weighing it in his hands before raising it to his shoulder and peering through the telescopic sight. With a soft grunt, he lowers the rifle again to take a closer look. “Handmade, hand fitted,” he remarks, lightly tapping the sight, “I can get you something factory made that'll be more precise.”

“Thank you, sir, but there's no need for that,” Ariel answers, her voice soft, “I prefer this one.”

Master Teilhard raises an eyebrow at this. “Suit yourself,” he says as he passes the rifle back, before giving you a hint of a smirk, “Just don't stand too close to anything she's trying to shoot, Master Pale.”

A master of strategy, as expected of House Teilhard.

[1]
>>
>>6093597
He might be the patriarch and needs to keep a hardass grim exterior and all, but he's still a Teilhard and he's still Dan's dad. The bro gene still flows strong in him no matter how hard he tries to suppress it in his daily life now. Surely the old man will get only cooler as time goes on and he knows Bard better.
>>
>>6093597

Escorted back out to your waiting carriage, you climb in and set off towards Albershot. Juno says little as the carriage rattles away from Siegfried House, content to peer out the window with hard, cold eyes. There's nothing to suggest that the Teilhards were anything other than courteous with her, but the diversion seems to have left her irritated.

“Maybe I missed something,” Ariel says lightly, “But when did we take the time to get our stories straight?”

“We didn't,” you answer.

“We didn't,” Juno says at the exact same moment.

“You mean you were just...” Ariel hesitates, her hands flapping in the air as she tries to gesture where words fail her, “Just making it up as you went along? Both of you?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“And it WORKED?”

“Apparently so,” Juno says with a yawn, “You see, men like Davidian Teilhard are particularly easy to fool because they believe what they want to believe. They happily swallow lies that confirm their biases and prejudices, and ignore anything that contradicts with those biases. Davidian Teilhard has tasted treachery, which, paradoxically, makes him more eager to believe those he sees as trustworthy.”

“That's an awful lot of words just to say that you think he's an idiot,” Ariel points out, scowling at Juno, “I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult my family straight to my face, thanks.”

“I'm not saying he's stupid,” the red-haired girl stresses, “It's perfectly normal human behaviour. Whether you consider that stupid or not is your business.”

“I'm not optimistic enough to ask you to stop arguing,” you interrupt, “But can we at least save the arguments for later?”

-

With the treeline rising up before you like a fortress wall, you disembark the carriage and look around for a trail. Eventually you spot the faded remnants of a dirt path cutting into the forest, although it looks like it hasn't been used in years. You'll have to proceed on foot from here, but the idea doesn't sit easily with you. A long walk is no particular hardship, but these woods look especially dense and foreboding.

“No use complaining about it,” you tell yourself with a sigh, “The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be finished.”

“Did they teach you that platitude at Coral House?” Juno teases, accepting your hand down from the carriage with an air of mocking gratitude.

“No, Coral House taught me how to hand insolent women over to House Teilhard,” you reply with a frown, “Now are you going to keep insulting me, or are we going to continue with this mission?”

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Juno makes a tiny adjustment to the short sword at her hip and marches off into the forest. You follow and, within a few minutes of walking, the outside world seems to have vanished completely – but for a few glimpses of the setting sun through the canopy above, you might have fully left the world behind.

[2/3]
>>
>>6093618

You're walking for about an hour before the path widens out to reveal the lodge itself. There's not much to look at – a few storage sheds surrounding a larger building like an oversized log cabin. You don't see any sign of the older site that Master Teilhard mentioned, but you suppose that must be long buried now. What bothers you is how silent, how still, the whole place is.

“Remind you of anything?” Ariel whispers to you, slowly popping open the holster and touching her revolver.

“No,” you murmur, “The Iron Keep had been left abandoned – mostly abandoned – for a long, long time. This feels different. This feels new.”

Gesturing for her to keep silent after this, and listening carefully, you approach the ajar front door and lightly push it open. The inside of the lodge is dark, but even through the gloom you can see that nobody has been here for a few days. There's a hearth, but only cold ashes lie within. A few plates are left scattered on the table, some still bearing the dried remains of a meal. “Hello?” you call out at last, when your nerves can no longer bear the silence.

A long silence greets you, and then a dull thud. Then another, and another – a slow, rhythmic beat. Drawing your own revolver, you creep through the lodge and follow the source of the sound. You pass a few empty bedrooms, reminding yourself to search through them later, before you open a perfectly normal door to find a staircase of white stone leading down into the darkness.

With your pocket lantern lighting the way, you descend the white stairs into a short corridor, a mixture of ancient white stone and newer masonry. A metal door has been placed in one empty doorway, and it is this door that someone, some THING, is beating against. Approaching, you draw back a metal cover and move to peer through the viewing window before a pale, sweaty face slams against the other side of the door.

“Please...” the young man rasped, the words ripped painfully from his parched throat, “Please, let me out.”

“In a minute,” you tell him, “Are you Armin Leigh?”

For a moment, the man looks as if he wants to nod and shake his head at the same time. He just hesitates, frozen in place as he tries to figure out which answer will give him his freedom.

-

Later, as the young man gulps water from a tin cup, you study him with Juno and Ariel. He looks thin and hungry, and you have to assume that he's been locked up without food and water for quite some time. Now that he's had a chance to wet his throat, though, there's a sly light in his eyes that you don't much like.

“I'll let you handle this one,” Juno whispers, “If he sees me, the poor boy might die of fright.”

You remember Hauberk's violent suicide all too well. How, then, to handle the young man?

>Keep as silent as possible, let him speak
>Try and win his trust. He probably appreciates a friendly face
>Push him hard. If he doesn't help you, he can go back in his cell
>Other
>>
>>6093643
>Push him hard
Finally got past captcha, it’s been killing me today
>>
“Leave him to me,” you murmur, “I'll see what he knows.”

“Try to leave him alive and relatively intact,” Juno urges coyly, “For now, at least.”

Giving her a sarcastic scowl, you approach the young man and sit down opposite him. He freezes, peering at you from across the rim of his cup. He looks younger than you first thought, with a look in his eyes that reminds you of a startled animal – the look of a beast calculating the danger, weighing up fight and flight.

“Armin Leigh,” you begin, “You ARE Armin Leigh, aren't you?”

“I'm hungry,” he replies, a faltering little laugh escaping him, “That's what I am.”

“Well, Master Hungry, you're not being very cooperative. If you're not willing to help us out, then we've got no further use for you,” you counter, fixing the young man with a cold stare, “We could just put you back in that cell and go about our business. I'm sure there was a very good reason why you were in there, and so-”

“W-wait!” he yelps, fumbling with the empty cup and nearly dropping it, “How do you know... I mean, what does it matter who I am?”

“Because I'm looking for Master Leigh. If you're not him, then I have no use for you,” you answer, “And, again, I'd have no reason not to lock you back up again.”

Fidgeting in his seat, the young man hangs his head low. “Yes. I'm Leigh,” he whispers, “Happy now? Can I have something to eat now?”

“Maybe. That depends on how cooperative you are. We're making progress, but there's still a long way to go,” you lean back in your chair, eager to be away from the almost feral look in his eyes, “Now, Master Leigh, I was led to believe that this lodge had a small garrison of soldiers. Yet, you're the only person I found here. Care to explain?”

“I don't know what happened to them,” he whines, his dirty hair flying as he shakes his head, “I was locked up, remember? They brought me food and water for a few days, and then... nothing.”

“There's a lot that you're not telling us,” you points out, gesturing for Ariel to come and lend a helping hand in the kitchen, “I understand. It must be hard to talk on an empty stomach.”

With pathetic eagerness, Leigh nods.

-

With the smell of slightly burnt food filling the lodge, you turn away from the frankly gruesome sight of Leigh devouring the meal. You realise that he was locked up without food for a few days, of course, but does he really have to be so unmannered?

When the plate is empty, Leigh lets out a low whimper. “There was a woman,” he says at last, his voice soft, “Not long after they caught me. I never saw her, but I overheard some of the men talking about her.”

“A woman,” you repeat.

“Yes, a woman,” Leigh shivers, hugging himself, “I don't know, I think... I think she was hurt. I heard one of the soldiers talking about sending for a doctor. But I don't think they ever did. Or if they did, the doctor never arrived.”

[1]
>>
>>6093668

“Let's take a step back,” you continue, “Why were you, Armin Leigh, caught in the first place? What were you doing here?”

“I... I was just paid to look around, okay?” Leigh answers nervously, “Scout out the woods a little, get the lay of the land. I didn't think I was doing anything wrong, but then I walked into this clearing here and all of a sudden this old man was pointing a gun at me! They marched me down into that basement, put me in that cell and...”

“And that's when the woman showed up,” you murmur, “Did you see her at all while you were, ah, scouting out the woods?”

Leigh shakes his head. “I never saw anyone. But, I mean, this forest is dense, right? If she wanted to hide...” he shudders, “After she showed up, things got weird. The other men, the soldiers, were scared. I mean, even locked up in that cell I could tell they were scared. I think... I think they forgot I was here after a while, because they'd come down into the basement whenever they wanted to have a private conversation.”

“Some of the men, they wanted to leave with the woman – bring her back to town, get her to a doctor. Others, they said they couldn't leave their post. Those ones, I don't think they trusted her. And then one of the men, I think... I think he wanted to keep the woman here,” Leigh hesitates, covering his mouth as if the food he just ate was sickening him, “I don't think his intentions were... honourable.”

“And the one day, they were all just... gone,” you muse, “Excuse me, Master Leigh. I just need to discuss this with my colleagues.”

With a weak nod, Leigh slumps back in his chair as a wave of fatigue strikes him. Retreating into the darkened hallway, you glance between Juno and Ariel. “Well?” you whisper, “What do we think?”

“I think we've got our man, we should leave as soon as possible,” Juno replies sharply, “Whatever happened here, it's been and gone. We shouldn't allow it to delay us.”

“If we leave now, we'll be trekking through that damn forest all night,” Ariel warns, “Even with a lantern, I'm not convinced we can follow the trail. If we get lost...”

“Stay the night, then?” Juno snaps, her lips twisting with irritation, “Well, why not? We can make a holiday out of it, maybe try and do a little bit of hunting while we're here!”

“Enough, both of you,” you interrupt, “Knock it off.”

>Ariel is right. We can't risk getting lost in the forest. Tomorrow morning, we leave
>Juno is right. I don't want to stay here a second longer than necessary. We leave immediately
>You're both wrong. I'm not leaving until I've figured out what happened here
>Let me ask Leigh some questions... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6093691
>Ariel is right. We can't risk getting lost in the forest. Tomorrow morning, we leave
We can make a little holiday of it
Good idea, Juno
>>
>>6093724
+1 but we stay on our guard and never leave alone. That's how they get you
>>
There should be arms around too. Getting Leigh armed to help us out could be of benefit. I doubt he'll betray us after we tell him that this is Juno Tomoe right here and that we're here to recover him alive. We're his ticket out of here
>>
“That's a good idea, actually. We SHOULD make a holiday out of it!” you tell Juno, a corrosive sarcasm dripping from your words, “It's been so long since I had some time off, and now we've got this whole place to ourselves!”

Juno waits with her arms folded, scowling at you. “Are you done?” she asks at last, “Quite finished?”

“No, I've still got some more left in me, but I'll keep that for later,” you answer, “Look, Ariel is right. If we hurry out now and end up lost in the woods, it's not going to help anyone. In fact, it'll be the exact opposite of helpful. Leigh has been here all alone for days, and he's okay. He's... alive, at least. We're spending one night here, one single night, and then we're leaving in the morning.”

“Can you say that again?” Ariel asks, “That first part. I didn't quite hear it.”

“Which part?”

“The part where you said “Ariel is right”. I think you should say that more often,” the pale girl explains, giving Juno a pointed look, “Because it's true.”

Juno looks between you and Ariel, then throws her hands up in a dramatic shrug. “Suit yourselves!” she snaps, “I rather suspect that it won't be as easy as you say, but I'm obviously outvoted here. But just so you know, I'm an early riser and I'll be sure to wake you both up too. I hope you're prepared for that.”

With that last announcement, Juno turns and marches off into the lodge. Ariel watches her leave, a wry smirk forming on one corner of her mouth. “She's cute when she's angry,” she whispers, “But I bet you're the one who'll have to deal with her temper.”

“I'll survive, somehow,” you sigh, “I wonder why she's getting so upset about this.”

“Shit, how should I know?” Ariel shrugs, “Two people agreed on something, so she felt a familial duty to disagree. But I don't know, she's the oracle here – maybe she's got a bad feeling about all this.”

Considering the strange, abandoned nature of the lodge, it would be stranger if she wasn't getting a bad feeling about it. “Maybe we should take some precautions,” you suggest carefully, “Stay armed, for a start, and nobody goes off alone.”

“Is this your cunning way of trying to share a bedroom?” Ariel shakes her head, “Sorry Isambard, but there are rules against that sort of thing. Even in the face of unknown danger, social norms still have to be upheld.”

“You could still share a room with Juno-”

“I think I'd rather risk the midnight stroll home.”

>It's getting a little late, so I'm going to pause here for today. I'll be continuing this tomorrow
>Thanks for playing along today!
>>
>>6093749
Thanks for running! Make sure Ariel is between us and Juno so she gets woken first.
>>
>>6093589
Good long-game.Supporting the notion.

>>6093745
+1 to this, too. Just don't specify who we're taking him alive TO.

>>6093749
We should ask Juno about her oracle-senses,a and how tingly they may or may not be. Or maybe she recognizes what is happening here from family lore? Either way, she's antsy to GTFO.

Thanks for running, QM!
>>
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Night falls slowly, the last traces of the sun gradually fading from the sky as you go about the lodge lighting as many lanterns as possible. Even as you're lighting them, you recognise that there's something foolish, something childish, about your insistence on having so much light. You couldn't even really say why you're doing it, but nobody stops you or complains about it, so you carry on regardless.

As you're lighting the lanterns, you take a look through the rest of the lodge for any sign of what happened to the garrison. Though the lodge itself is decorated with a certain understated luxury, the individual bedrooms are remarkably austere – there's not much to search through. A few rifles, borderline antiques, are left in a rack near Leigh's cell, but there's no indication that any of the weapons are missing or were fired in anger.

There's only one room that really draws your gaze – a heavier door on the upper floor with a serious lock on it. A brass plaque screwed into the door carries the name “Reinhold”, which you recall from Master Teilhard's briefing. The leader – former leader – of this place, you assume. Aside from Leigh's cell, it's the only room you've seen so far with a proper lock on it. Studying it, you wonder just how much grovelling it'll take for Juno to try and work her magic on the lock.

However much it is, it'll be too much.

-

You're not sure what wakes you, the opening and closing of a door or the creak of a floorboard. Whatever it is, you're awake in an instant. Sitting up in bed, you feel a sudden disquiet that drives you to hastily don your boots and coat. Grabbing a lantern, you creep out into the hallway and glance about. One of the bedroom doors, Leigh's room, is slightly ajar, and when you peer inside you see the empty, unmade bed.

Hoping that Leigh has simply gotten up for a midnight snack, you head downstairs and look around the lodge. It's only when you look out the window that you see any sign of life, a faint lantern glow shining from within the dense forest outside. Muttering a curse, you leave the lodge and hurry towards the treeline. There, you pause, frozen at the threshold.

Shaking off your fear, you plunge into the trees and make your way towards the faint light. Thick bushes claw at your clothes as you duck under low branches and stumble over fallen logs. Somewhere far off in the distance, a chorus of night owls shriek out their terrible cries as you press deeper and deeper into the forest until, finally, you find the fallen lantern. A few paces away, slumped at the base of a great tree, Leigh stares into empty space with wide, fearful eyes.

“I heard her. I HEARD her,” Leigh whispers, his voice trembling, “She was... singing.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6094402

“We have to go back. We have to find her...” Leigh mumbles as you drag him back towards the lodge, “She's still out there somewhere...”

“We're not doing anything until morning,” you grunt, pausing as the young man tries to struggle free from your grasp, “And even then, we're heading straight home. There are a lot of people looking for you, Master Leigh. I'd hate to disappoint them.”

Leigh lets out a low moan of dismay, but soon abandons his feeble attempts at wriggling free. Emerging from the treeline, you see that you're not the only one who's awake – framed against the lights burning within the lodge is a tall figure standing in the doorway. Juno watches you with a faint amusement as you drag Leigh up to the lodge, not even offering to lend a hand. When Leigh raises his sagging head and sees her, his eyes are first muddled with confusion before widening with fear.

“Well well,” she begins, “Taking the dog for a walk?”

“Go and get some rest. We've got a lot of walking to do in the morning,” you tell Leigh, tactfully ignoring Juno's jibe, “I know you said that you were an early riser, Miss Tomoe, but this is a little much.”

Rolling her eyes, Juno gestures towards a pair of seats. “Okay, fine. Let's talk,” you continue, sitting down opposite her, “You know something about what's going on here, don't you? That's why you're so keen to get out of here.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in my powers of prediction,” Juno sneers, “But I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. I don't know what's going on here. I know that SOMETHING is going on here, but I'd say that's fairly obvious – even to you.”

“We... like to think that we live in a rational, logical world,” she continues, after a moment of silence, “A world which follows certain rules. But it's not like that. Look beneath the surface, look to the isolated, forgotten parts of the world, and you see something else. Something far older than the “rules” we so desperately cling to, something that exists outside the natural order. We can push them far to the periphery, but we can never be truly rid of them.”

You think of the ancient white stone beneath the lodge, the remnants of some long distant survival. “And that's what we're dealing with here?” you wonder aloud, “Some... thing from outside?”

“We're not “dealing” with it,” Juno says sharply, “Because we're leaving here at first light.”

>Of course. That's what I said, wasn't it?
>In the morning. Until then, there's a door I'd like your help with
>Things must be serious if you're this scared
>This “woman” Leigh keeps talking about. What do you think?
>I think... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6094404
>Things must be serious if you're this scared
>This “woman” Leigh keeps talking about. What do you think?
I suspect this mystery woman's some sort of entity who's lured the men into the woods one by one and eaten them. I suggest we say this casually and gauge Juno's reaction.
>>
>>6094416
+1
But even so that speculation doesn't really hold up. If she killed all the men one by one, then that means there would have to be a few with their wits about them who tried to escape. They might have died in the wilderness or on the way to the main road... but we found no bodies or evidence.
>>
“I understand,” you reply, giving Juno a humourless smirk, “Things must be serious if you're this scared.”

“I'm not scared!” Juno snaps, “I'm-”

Silence, then, as she cuts her words short.

“I'm all too aware of how dangerous these things can be,” she continues after a moment, her voice low and cold, “Not dangerous like a sword or a bullet, or even like a wild beast. These things, these outsiders, are insidious – they fascinate, as much as they repulse. They draw men in with the promise of great things, only to destroy them. Men like your father. Maybe men like yourself.”

The mention of your father causes your blood to run cold, although your face remains an impassive mask. “You should be a writer,” you jeer, “You certainly have a fine turn of phrase.”

“Oh yes, of course. Dismiss my perfectly sensible advice. By all means, go ahead.” Juno spits, “You ass.”

With a slight tilt of your head, you offer her a faint gesture of concession. “So is that what happened here, do you think?” you ask, “This “woman” that Leigh mentioned. You think she was drawing these men in and... what, devouring them?”

“I wouldn't go quite that far,” the red-haired girl says slowly, as if she can't decide if you're being serious or not, “At least, not in a literal sense. But from what Leigh said, this woman had a very pronounced effect on these men. They took her in, cared for her... and obsessed over her. She would have had a great deal of power over them.”

“So, if you're asking me for advice, I'll tell you this,” Juno concludes, “If you happen to see a mysterious woman out in the woods, please resist your urges to do anything foolish. I know it's hard, but do try. For me?”

“I'll try my best,” you answer.

“Thank you. And I'll do the same.”

-

When morning comes, you wake with a pounding headache. It's hardly surprising, given your restless night, but that doesn't make it any easier. A dull pressure builds behind your eyes, while your heartbeat pulses in your ears. It's so loud that it takes you a moment to realise that there's someone knocking at your door. Hauling yourself upright and making a cursory effort at dressing yourself, you open the door a crack and find yourself confronted with Juno's reddened, bloodshot eyes.

“Finally,” she mutters, “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

You glance around with an exasperated sigh, gesturing at the first signs of sunrise peeking through the window. If this is what she considers a late start, you have to wonder if she slept at all last night. Not much, by the look of her. Gathering up the last of your things, you move to the next door over and knock heavily. Eventually, Leigh opens the door and shuffles out like a man walking to the gallows.

“I don't want to go,” he mumbles.

“That's too bad,” Juno tells him, “Because we're leaving.”

[1]
>>
>>6094429

Leigh is still muttering to himself as you wake Ariel, who actually looks as if she's had a decent night's sleep. “Wow,” she remarks, looking between you and Juno, “You both look awful. If I was a more suspicious person, I might start wondering a few things.”

“You mean, did we spend the whole night rutting like wild beasts?” Juno asks, giving Ariel a mocking glare, “Unfortunately not. This dismal little lodge is hardly the sort of place to put either of us in the mood.”

“Uh...” Ariel pauses, a slight blush creeping through her cheeks, “I'm sorry I said anything.”

“So you should be,” Juno snarls, brushing past the shorter girl and heading for the stairs.

-

The forest is deathly silent as you set out along the path towards your waiting carriage. The silence here reminds you of the dusty lands surrounding the old palace, with their unbroken stillness. It's nothing at all like how a healthy forest should sound, alive with birdsong and the hum of insects. Your progress is slower than when you first arrived, both because of Leigh slowing you down and a general caution.

You're all armed with rifles taken from the lodge, save for Ariel who brought her own, but you're not sure if you'd trust Leigh to shoot straight. At the very least, he might raise the alarm by getting a shot off before being horribly murdered.

Your headache grows worse as you walk, an atonal hum echoing through your ears. Too much time shooting, you think to yourself, especially in close quarters like the tunnels beneath the Iron Keep. Your bitter thoughts are abruptly interrupted as Juno stumbles in front of you, nearly falling before you manage to catch her. “What's wrong?” you ask sharply as you help her back up.

“Nothing's wrong,” she replies, one hand clumsily feeling for her face, “I just caught my foot on something. That's all.” You glance back at the trail behind you, but you don't see anything that might have tripped her. “Let's just keep moving,” Juno continues, her voice muffled by the droning sound pulsing through your ears, “We should be close. We've been walking for long enough.”

Nodding a reply, you stay close by as Juno forges off ahead. Then the forest trail widens up before you, and you come to a sudden halt. Before you stands Albershot Lodge, looming impossibly before you.

“This is...” you whisper, “This isn't possible. We never strayed from the path, never lost our way. It's almost a straight path out of the forest! So how-”

A faltering giggle interrupts you. “Can't you hear it?” Leigh laughs, then sobs, “She's singing to us.”

With a sudden furious motion, Juno grabs Leigh's collar and slams him back into a nearby tree. “You bastard!” she spits, drawing back a hand to strike him, “What did you do?”

>Help Juno. Leigh must be responsible for this
>Sop Juno. She's got the wrong man
>Do nothing. Let things play out
>Other
>>
>>6094438
>Seems it's too late with the suspicious woman thing. I suppose this is why you're not too fond of your father?
>Hey Ariel, how do you feel about burning the whole forest down?
>Don't stop Juno, but ask her if she'd prefer to get the door and see if the sanest person in the lodge kept a journal.
>>
>>6094420
Unless she has some sort of hypnotic hold, as Juno posits and as Leigh seemed to demonstrate.

>>6094438
...Which makes this droning sound worry me. I don't think it's tinnitus.
>Stop Juno. She's got the wrong man.
>Panic a little
The droning is her song! Did Juno hear it, too? Did Ariel? Everyone, back to back, guns out!
>>
>>6094446
+1
>>
>>6094438
>Stop Juno. She's got the wrong man
>Investigate Reinhold's room
Might be better to at least knock him out for now but I doubt he'd know anything and killing him would probably be a waste. And I think we basically did already search the place except for that room since it was locked.
>>
>>6094450
Can we do the Reinhold room check too? We can still be back to back in the main lodge
>>
You stare, frozen in place as Juno slaps Leigh across the face. When she readies her next blow, though, a clenched fist aimed directly for his stomach, you lurch into motion and catch her arm before she can throw the punch. Juno turns savagely, and for a moment you feel her strength warring against your own. Then her eyes clear, at least somewhat, and the strength seeps from her arm.

“That's enough,” you tell her quietly, even as your heart pounds in your chest, “You've got the wrong man.”

“Very likely,” she concedes, “Although we wouldn't be here if not for him, which makes him equally guilty in my eyes. I'm not saying he deserves death, but a little beating should-”

“Look, just... forget Leigh for a moment,” you interrupt, “I think you were right, before. This woman, if it's really a woman that we're dealing with, is the one behind this. Tell me. What do you hear?”

“I hear a lot of annoying noise,” Juno says, her eyes fixing on yours, “But aside from that, a... a sound. Like countless conversations being held just at the very edge of my senses.”

You pause, focusing on the drone. Now that you're paying attention to it, it does remind you, in a way, of conversation. It has a very faint rise and fall to it, so gentle that it blends together into a monotone hum if you don't focus on it. If you concentrated hard enough, you think, you might be able to make out some of the words. They sound like-

“Isambard!” Ariel snaps, punching you on the arm. The slight pain is enough to bring you back to your senses, looking round to the pale girl. “This isn't the time for daydreaming,” she scolds, nodding to Juno, “Didn't you hear her question?”

“Of course I heard it,” you lie, “Just... give me a reminder?”

“I was asking what your point was,” Juno says tersely, “You seem to think that this noise, this hum, obviously means something. What?”

Swallowing heavily, you look around to Leigh. He sits slumped at the base of the tree, listening with a mingled expression of terror and awe.

“It's her song,” you murmur, “I think it's her song.”

-

With a sudden burst of energy, you retreat back into the lodge. Once everyone is inside, even through Juno needed to drag Leigh along with her, you slam the door shut and lock it. You're even less sure of what you're defending against, but you're not willing to take any chances. “Juno, there's a locked door upstairs,” you announce, flapping a hand at the stairs, “Master Reinhold's private chambers, I think. I want that door open. He might have kept a journal, or... or something.”

“I'll take a look,” she replies firmly, turning and marching up the stairs. Her immediate agreement gives you pause, and the argument you had been preparing for dies on your lips.

“Right. What next?” you mutter to yourself, sitting down at the main table with Ariel, “A plan. We need to come up with a plan.”

[1]
>>
>>6094461

“Ariel,” you begin, “I need to check. What do you hear?”

Ariel closes her eyes and concentrates for a moment, then shakes her head. “Not much,” she answers, “A very slight buzz, like there's an insect circling me. It's annoying, but it's not a big deal.”

“And back there, when we were leaving the forest. What do you remember?”

“We were walking along like normal. We'd been walking for about an hour, I guess, when I felt a little dizzy. I mean, I'm not really the hiking type, you know?” she gives you a weary shrug, “Then Miss Tomoe took her stumble, and you helped her up. The next thing I know, we walked out into the clearing and saw the lodge again.”

Leaning back, you ponder these words for a moment. “How do you feel about arson?” you ask carefully, “Specifically, burning down a troublesome forest?”

“I'm... not sure if that's a good idea,” Ariel answers, her mouth twisting into a grimace, “Fire has a nasty habit of spreading, you know.”

“Don't worry, that's just a last resort option,” you assure her, glancing aside to where Leigh lies sprawled out on the floor, “Keep an eye on him, will you? I'm going to check on Juno.”

Ariel nods silently, placing her revolver on the table for easy access. Climbing the stairs, you see Juno crouched down motionless before Reinhold's door. Even when the floorboards creak underfoot as you approach her, she doesn't turn around. When you're finally close enough to touch, you gently place a hand on her shoulder. She tenses up suddenly, looking around with a flash of guilt in her eyes.

“Don't sneak up on me like that,” she hisses, “I was concentrating. Planning my attack. This is a tricky lock.”

“I see,” you reply, glancing aside at her untouched set of tools. With a scowl, Juno selects a tool at random and angrily stabs at the lock. “I think I understand something now,” you continue, sitting down and leaning back against the wall, “That talk about outsiders drawing men in and destroying them... you're worried that you're father might be one of those men too, right?”

“You're projecting,” Juno mutters, swapping to another tool, “...But he was interested in this place for a reason, and I don't think it's the hunting. Now just... hush up for a minute. I think I've-”

With a solid, satisfying clunk, the lock opens.

-

The first thing that you see when you open the door is the tall portrait. It depicts a man in military uniform, one sleeve hanging empty. His face is worn and solemn, painted with a rueful look in his eye. Quite impressive skill. “I'm assuming this is Master Reinhold,” you muse, “Now I see why he had to give up fighting.”

“It was just a minor wound, until the infection took hold,” Juno whispers, “They took his sword arm to save his life. The choice was more of an agony than the surgery.”

Oracle tricks again.

[2/3]
>>
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>>6094502

Master Reinhold's quarters are only slightly less austere than the rest of the bedrooms. The large portrait is an obvious luxury, but aside from that everything else is just slightly... nicer than everything else you've seen. The writing desk in the corner seems well-used, and you immediately start searching through the drawers. After a moment, you find a slim journal and quickly flick through the pages.

The first entry you read describes Leigh's arrival and immediate capture. But Leigh is soon forgotten when the woman enters the scene. Reinhold mentions putting her in a room, but you searched each one – there were no signs of blood, no soiled sheets or stained bandages. It doesn't make sense.

“What's this about a great tree?” Juno wonders, reading over your shoulder. Moving back, she starts to search through the other drawers until she comes up with a simple, hand-drawn map. It's hardly a precise instrument, but it gives a few landmarks – such as they are – scattered throughout the forest, a particularly large tree amongst them.

“So this woman was leading the men to this great tree, to fulfil some kind of “promise”, whatever that means,” you muse, “The tree is clearly important, but... are you listening?”

“What? Yes!” Juno insists, her gaze snapping back into focus, “We'd better check on Leigh, don't you think?”

-

When you return downstairs, you find Ariel holding Leigh at gunpoint. The young man sits opposite her, sweat beading on his forehead as he tries not to move. “He kept pacing around,” Ariel explains, noticing your dubious look, “It was annoying. So I sat him in that chair and told him that I'd blow his brains out if he moved a muscle.”

“Listen...” Leigh whispers, “She's talking to us...”

“And he keeps saying that,” Ariel adds with a scowl, “I hope you've got a plan, or at least some good news.”

>There's a great tree at the centre of all this. We need to go there
>We need to get out of here. We'll try the path again and again until it works
>Give me a minute alone. Maybe I can learn something from this song
>I've got a plan... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6094525
>There isn't a mortar here or anything is there? I would so love to shoot this great tree from a distance.
>Do we have anything that can plug up our ears? Maybe if we can't hear anything we won't be affected by whatever is keeping us here.
>I'm not entirely joking on the arson. We could set ONE tree on fire and try to move away from the burning smell.
>>
>>6094525
Bleeding wound, hm? The pic in >>6093533 seems relevant.

>We need to get out of here. We'll try the path again and again until it works
>>
>>6094525
First order of business
>Tie up Leigh
>>6094534
Having canon would be based as fuck.
>Do we have anything that can plug up our ears
Soma bandages and candle wax should do it something they should have.
>I'm not entirely joking on the arson.

I mean just have Leigh lead us to the tree shoot the women and burn down the tree.
>>
>>6094534
>>6094544
+1
>>
What is going on with Juno? She's been weird this entire time
>“Stay the night, then?” Juno snaps, her lips twisting with irritation
>Juno waits with her arms folded, scowling at you.
>“We're not “dealing” with it,” Juno says sharply
>“I'm not scared!” Juno snaps
>Juno spits, “You ass.”
>find yourself confronted with Juno's reddened, bloodshot eyes.
>Juno asks, giving Ariel a mocking glare
>Your bitter thoughts are abruptly interrupted as Juno stumbles in front of you, nearly falling
>one hand clumsily feeling for her face, “I just caught my foot on something. That's all.”
>Juno slaps Leigh across the face. When she readies her next blow, though, a clenched fist aimed directly for his stomach
>you feel her strength warring against your own. Then her eyes clear
>tenses up suddenly, looking around with a flash of guilt in her eyes.
>glancing aside at her untouched set of tools. With a scowl, Juno selects a tool at random and angrily stabs at the lock
>“What? Yes!” Juno insists, her gaze snapping back into focus
Extremely out of character and too aggressive even for her. She's clearly being affected by whatever is causing this mindfuck effect in the entire area. I'm curious why Ariel seems the one person completely null to this effect. Even Isambard is feeling what's happening, but not her
>>
>>6094551
>Extremely out of character and too aggressive even for her. She's clearly being affected by whatever is causing this mindfuck effect in the entire area.

Or she is on her period.
>>
>>6094525
>Give me a minute alone, maybe I can learn something from the song
>>
>>6094525
>>6094534
>>6094544
+1

>>6094551
The real plot twist is that Ariel really is a girl all along which is why she's barely affected by the siren's song while Juno on the other hand...
The part where she randomly trips does seem to be when the looping or whatever keeps us trapped occurs though.
>>
“We need to get out of here,” you state firmly, jabbing a finger at the table, “As soon as possible.”

“We tried that already,” Ariel points out, “It didn't work out so well.”

“Then we'll try it again and again, as many times as it takes, until it finally works,” you snarl, “There has to be a way. We'll stop our ears to block out the song, and light a tree on fire to use it as a signal. This... monster in woman's skin is trying to draw us to the great tree, but I'm not going to play along with her game. Short of blasting the damn thing with a cannon, I don't want to go anywhere near that tree.”

“The tree?” Leigh murmurs, “I've seen a tree, seen it in my dreams. She takes my hands and leads me to the tree. Beneath the spreading branches, we join our bodies and-”

“That's quite enough from you,” Ariel interrupts mildly, “Nobody's interested in your intimate fantasies.”

“It's not like that!” Leigh insists, rising from his chair, “Don't make such vile-”

But his words are cut off sharply as Juno grabs him by the throat and throws him back down into the chair so hard that he knocks it sprawling and lands hard. Leaping to his feet with a sudden desperate anger burning in his eyes, Leigh lunges for Ariel's revolver. Just as his hand closes around the gun's grip, you seize his wrist and floor him with a punch. For the second time in as many seconds, Leigh is sent tumbling to the ground. This time, though, he doesn't rise.

“Find some rope, something we can use to tie his wrists... and gag him,” you order, kneeling down beside the groaning man, “I think it's time he went back in his cell.”

-

Leigh struggles a little as you carry him back down to the cell, but he's too weak to do anything more than irritate you. Dumping him down on the bed and closing the cell door behind you, you lean back against the wall and close your eyes for a moment. With the other girls upstairs, you finally have a rare moment of peace and quiet. A sense of calm, of contentment, washes over you. Out in the embrace of the forest, away from the world of men, you could find a true form of acceptance. You need only-

“Isambard!” Ariel snaps, her voice jolting you from your delusions, “Knock it off!”

“You knock it off,” you snarl back, “I was just resting my eyes for a second. I've barely slept a wink!”

“A second? I was calling you for almost ten minutes,” she says, fear flashing through her eyes, “Isambard, please, we need to go. Now. Before this gets any worse. I found some candle wax we can use to stop up our ears. Hopefully that'll be enough, but we need to GO.”

“I know that, I know,” you mutter, rubbing your aching temples, “I just...”

“Don't,” Ariel interrupts, “It doesn't matter. No more talking, just get moving.”

[1]
>>
>>6094566

Even with the thick clots of wax filling your ears, you can still FEEL the song tugging at you. You might not be able to hear the hum, but your bones ache with it. Swallowing down a wave of nausea, you give Ariel a firm nod and set out from the lodge. Picking a relatively isolated tree, something that shouldn't spread too easily to the rest of the forest, you set it aflame and wait until a column of black smoke rises into the sky. Even through the dense canopy of leaves and branches, you should be able to guide your way with it.

“Maybe this isn't such a good idea,” Juno says suddenly, glancing back at the lodge. At least, that's what you think she says – with your ears plugged, you're reduced to reading her lips.

Simply shaking your head, you grab her hand and pull her forwards a few paces. That snaps her back to reality. Snatching her hand away from you, she angrily marches off ahead. Together, keeping up that furious pace, you plunge into the forest and – you hope – to safety.

Only pausing very occasionally, and then just to glance back for the telltale sign of black smoke, you press forwards. But it's not long before the plan starts to go awry. Each time you look back, the trees around you seem to have grown larger and larger, more crooked as if they're trying to block out the sky. When you look back, you find that the path has vanished beneath your feet.

“Just go!” Ariel shouts, mouthing the words and tugging at your sleeve. You nod, grabbing Juno by the arm and dragging her onwards. Your march descends into a chaotic rout as you flee blindly through the forest, a curse forming on your lips as you burst from the treeline once more only to find yourself staring up at the lodge.

“Again!” you snap, wheeling around and charging into the forest. You run this time, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead. Even then, you see strange things in the peripherals of your vision – flashes of white flesh, almost luminous in the eerie lighting. Even with your ears stopped, you can hear a whispering voice and the terrible offers it proposes to you. “Ignore them,” you pant, “Ignore them, ignore them, ignore-”

“Brother?”

The word stops you in your tracks, cutting through any logic or reason. You freeze, casting a wild eye into the forest before your will returns. Grimacing, casting aside all sentiment, you set off running once more – and once more, you find yourself returning to the lodge. Anger boils up within you as you stare up at the cursed building, the whole damn cursed forest. Beside you, Juno stares in defeated dismay while Ariel gasps for breath. She looks to be on the verge of collapse, her frail body pushed to the limits.

“Again!”

[2/3]
>>
>>6094576

Time loses all meaning, all sense and reason. Your world becomes a mindless whirlwind of running, of trees flashing past and tall columns of black smoke. This time the smoke is everywhere, impossible pillars of black smoke rising up around you, ahead of you, so close that you think you might run into a blazing tree at any minute. Yet, you never do – just as you never seem to get any closer to finding an exit.

At one point, you don't know exactly when, you claw the wax from your ears. It doesn't seem to matter – the song is already inside you like a poison, gnawing your bones and choking your veins. With your ears unblocked, you hear a thin cry from behind you as Ariel collapses down to her knees.

“Ariel!” you call, stopping dead in your tracks. Retreating back to her, you drop low. “Ariel, are you okay?” you ask in a rush, taking the slender girl's hands and squeezing them. She shudders, her whole body trembling from the exertion, and shakes her head. Too fatigued for words, all she can do is shake her head over and over again.

“We were never going to get out of here,” Juno says slowly, her voice low and exhausted, “We're lost.”

“Shut up. Knock it off,” you snap, giving her a glare, “I never thought you'd be the type to give up.”

But Juno doesn't reply to this, simply turning on her feel and sluggishly walking back the way you came. In a matter of seconds, the forest has swallowed her up. Yet, as she leaves – as she surrenders herself to the forest – you hear a change. The song fades, loosening its grip on you even as it tightens around Juno.

“Isambard...” Ariel whispers, clinging tightly to you, “I think... I think we have a chance.”

But at what cost?

>Juno has given you this chance. You're not going to waste it
>You can't leave Juno behind. You've got to go after her
>Other
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>>6094577
>>Other
>Allow yourself and Ariel some time to rest then go after Juno.

Going there without least affected person would be retarded.
>>
>>6094551
>>6094561
Is Ariel unaffected? She pulled a gun on a man for pacing. Granted, he's a Tomoe spy, but even so...

>>6094583
+1
>>
>>6094577
>You can’t leave Juno behind, go after her
>>
>>6094577
>You can't leave Juno behind. You've got to go after her
>>6094583
If we wait at all she's lost.
>>
You stare into the trees for what seems like an eternity, as if Juno might emerge with a happy smile on her face at any moment. Slumping down beside Ariel, you feel a wave of dismay, of hopelessness, creeping through you. Maybe the game was rigged from the start. Maybe you were doomed from the moment you set foot in this forest. It's just like Juno said – something old and terrible has revealed itself here, and you're all just so many flies for it to destroy.

“Isambard?” Ariel whispers, her voice more level now, “Can you... stand? Can you walk?”

“I think so,” you reply, the words seeming to come from somewhere very far off. Slowly, painfully, you rise to your feet and offer Ariel your hand. She takes it gratefully, heaving herself upright. As she stands, she pauses and tilts her head to the side as if listening. “Hey now, hey,” you whisper, taking her gently by the chin and turning her face back towards yours, “Don't listen. I need you to focus.”

That's right. She may have a striking resistance to whatever this... song truly is, but she's not immune. What it can't achieve by insidious means, it could achieve through brute strength – battering down her will until there's nothing left of her to resist it.

“I have to go now,” you tell her, looking back into the trees, “I have to go.”

“Yes, we need to... wait. Hold on, wait!” Ariel yelps, “You mean go AFTER her?”

With a numb, unfeeling nod, you set off after Juno's trail. Ariel hesitates for a moment before hurrying after you, cursing and complaining under her breath.

-

You only seem to be walking for a few minutes before you see a particularly large tree rising up above the rest of the canopy. The tree sits atop a slight rise in the ground, the soil swelling up like a pregnant body, while a few chunks of white stone protrude from the ground. You barely notice your body move as you circle the tree, spotting Juno standing in a daze by a broken stone column.

“You came,” the red-haired girl says slowly, her voice hushed, “I didn't think you would.”

“I'm here now,” you murmur, “What now?”

Juno doesn't answer this straight away, running her hands across the strange letters carved into the white stone column. “This pillar has been erected on account of the marriage seen beneath the shade,” she translates, before pointing to a dark, dank opening in the tree's branches, “We have to go now. There's a promise that we have to fulfil.”

You stare into the black abyss beneath the tree, the scent of rot and decay seeping out from within.

>There's no way that I'm going in there. You're insane
>You go in if you want, but I'm not setting one foot in that place
>Let's go back to the lodge and talk this over. None of this makes sense
>>
It's some boring "come get yourself killed and become one with the flesh pile like an idiot so the stupid tree can use you as nutrient" plot isn't it?
>>
>>6094610
Do we have ways to make a fire on us?
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>>6094610
>Purge it with fire!
>>
>>6094631
>>6094633
Why would you want to do that? That seems like a very extreme reaction.
We do have our pocket lantern and oil which could potentially allow us to start a fire
>>
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“We have to go now,” you agree, nodding at the beautiful logic of her words, “There's a promise that we have to fulfil.”

“What?” Ariel yelps, grabbing your arm, “Isambard, please-”

Gently, you take her hand and push it away from your arm. Then, gesturing for Juno to lead the way, you crouch low and crawl into the dark opening. The scent of soil assaults you, but you ignore it. For what awaits you below, a few bad smells and a bit of discomfort are a small price to pay. Roots and loose rocks tug at your clothing, and Juno's boots occasionally catch your blind, groping hands, but you persist nonetheless.

Eventually, the passage widens up enough that you can first raise your head, then stand completely. The tunnel has opened up into an impossible cavern, a great yawning hollow beneath the surface. Leaning against a row of rocky spikes, you peer down into the pool of water below you. Though you can't see the source, a pale blue light glows from the water with the occasional passing shadow to darken it.

Smiling softly, Juno takes your hand and leads you down to the pool below. Your world contracts until the surface of the water is all you know. Like Lake Hali back at the Pale estate, the water seems bottomless – an abyss that reaches out forever. A ripple spreads out across the surface of the water, and then SHE emerges.

Long silver hair, heavy with water, first, and then a pair of piercing silver eyes. Delicate features and soft curves are revealed as the woman slowly emerges from the pool. You haven't seen that face for ten years, yet it's so immediately familiar that it strikes a dagger through your heart. She reaches out a hand, gently brushing her fingers against your cheek. Her touch is cold and somehow rough, but you cherish it nonetheless.

“You...” Juno murmurs, and just for a moment you see a strange double image – a mess of gold curls clashing with the straight silver hair. Then the fake image is gone, and HER face returns. HER lips part to form the words to a terrible promise, and she leans closer, closer still, until.

The gunshot is violently loud in the narrow confines of the cavern, knocking the woman back into the pool with a crash of water. A cry escapes your lips as you reach for her, but then you freeze. The impossibility of this whole situation finally cuts through the haze – how could Gratia be HERE?

“Isambard, look out!” a tense shouts, the words echoing down to you. Looking up and around, you see Ariel braced against the high rocks by the tunnel entrance, her rifle raised to her shoulder. “Look out!” she repeats, gesturing frantically for you to move. A stench of wet decay washes over you as you turn back, just in time to see the woman once more.

Only this time, she's not a woman.

[1/2]
>>
>>6094670

There's something terribly unfinished about the creature rising up from its pool of stagnant water – perhaps the mismatched arms, two on one side of its body, a single arm on the other, or perhaps the ragged ribbons of flesh streaming from the back of its head. Even the flesh seems crudely sculpted, pallid and pulsating like a giant maggot.

Ariel fires again, her bullet punching into the monstrosity's torso with no noticeable impact. A thin stream of pale blood seeps from the wound for a moment before the flesh closes up once more. Her second shot hits higher, catching the monster in the head and causing its rise to falter. That buys you enough time to pull Juno to her feet and back away from the pool's edge.

“Go!” you shout, dragging Juno back up the rocky slope. Ariel's rifle sings again and again as you retreat, each shot stalling the monster a little less than the one before. When you reach the top, you slap Ariel on the arm and point to the tunnel entrance. Hastily slinging her rifle, she scrambles into the passage and starts crawling. Juno follows, while you fumble with your pocket lantern. Fire, you think desperately, fire kills everything.

A wet crash rings out from below, and you look back to see the monster dragging itself from the pool. It's lower half is ill-suited to such movement, but a primal rage drives it onwards regardless.

You don't stick around long enough to see how far it can crawl. Clawing blindly at the damp soil, you pull yourself up through the tunnel. Inch by agonising inch, you drag your way towards the hazy sunlight above. As the exit approaches, strong arms reach down to take your hand and pull you free. Shaking off Juno's grip, you immediately turn and start emptying your supply of lantern oil onto the great tree. Ariel realises your plan and starts adding her own oil.

One lit match, and the whole tree is ablaze. Even when you stop up your ears, the monster screams inside your head for a very, very long time.

>I'm going to pause here. Next time I'll be able to run is Saturday and Sunday this week. I'll probably aim to get some extra days in the following week, but that needs confirmation
>Thanks for playing along today!
>>
>>6094673
Thanks for running!
Did you just give up trying to generate a more anatomically normal siren, or did you see three arms and immediately think "this is it"?
>>
>>6094673
It all came together in the end. Thanks for the run.
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>>6094670
>“You...” Juno murmurs, and just for a moment you see a strange double image – a mess of gold curls clashing with the straight silver hair
Who has gold curly hair that Juno cares about?
>>
Ariel MVP of this mission. Whatever she (he?) is and whatever the sexual preferences are, it was enough to give resistance to that siren's song. What could be that "the marriage seen beneath the shade"? And why is a flesh siren creature suddenly out and killing people here? For how long was that hole in a great tree there alongside the weird cavern with an abyss lake? How did the group stationed here at the Lodge not know about this place? What could have caused the siren to start pulling and killing people like this when they weren't doing so far earlier and this is clearly a recent happening?
>>
>>6094673
Thanks for running!
Fire confirmed super based

>>6094769
Maybe she doesn’t have a super close loved one for the creature to impersonate
>>
>>6094673
Holy shit. Good writing!

>>6094753
Nobody we know yet, I don't think.

>>6094769
Good point re: preferences. maybe that blonde girl was Juno's lover? She's been acting like she's into our boy, bard, but she may be bi. She's been sort of aggressively/threateningly flirty at Elle before, as I recall.
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>>6094769
>why is a flesh siren creature suddenly out and killing people here?

I think we’ve been too dismissive of Leigh here

The creature only stirred after he arrived…and he came from the woods.

I wouldn’t put it past him to have woken the creature deliberately, but been foiled in his escape plan by its influence
>>
>>6094952
Or he really is some random schmuck, and the Tomoe triggered the incident by getting anyone to be close enough to the creature to get its notice.
>>
>>6094687
My original idea was a mermaid with elements of some weird deep sea fish, the really gross predatory ones. Most of the other images I rolled were too inhuman, but that one hit different
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>>6094673
Teilhardchads saving us yet again.
Thanks for the run.

There's no way Janus sent us on this task without having some idea of the dangers, assuming that he didn't intentionally send Leigh in to make the siren active. At this point an irritating old man that gives us poison manages to be better company than the rest of his family solely because he doesn't send us on fetch quests or to death traps with no info.
>>
>>6095155
We should tell him that when we see him again. Being thanked a second time and for that reason might make him laugh to death
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>>6095176
Kalthos was prepared for many dangers to his life, but comedy was not one of them.
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>>6095155
We owe Ariel at least a fancy dinner.
>>
>>6095332
Imagine if the entire Tomoe family she hatrs thanks her at dinner for heroically saving Juno's life while she's baffled the entire time.
But realistically the dinner will be at the main Teilhard residence. Old man Davy's gonna freak when he finds out about the assimilating ancient flesh siren in an abyss pool under a great tree, who just randomly awoke and decided to mindfuck lure and consume the entire garrison of Albershot Lodge.
>>
>>6095332
She can have a coupon for one (1) deep-dicking.
>>
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The tree burns with a violence far in excess of the paltry amount of oil that you poured on it, as if the ancient wood had been yearning for a chance to blaze away. Heedless of the terrible waves of heat rolling off it, you sit just a short distance away from the burning tree and stare into the raging flames. Were the monster to emerge from the conflagration and attack, you would have no defence against it – you're too tired to fight, too tired to even move a muscle.

It's only when the trees collapses in on itself, burnt away to nothing but an empty shell, that you start to feel a faint strength creeping back into your limbs. The silence that descends is crushing, almost as oppressive as the monster's constant, insidious song.

“...How embarrassing,” Juno says eventually, her lips curling with contempt, “All my grand talk about how dangerous, how destructive, these THINGS are, and I'm the first one who falls victim to it.”

“Don't... blame yourself,” Ariel replies slowly, her voice low and weary, “You're an oracle. You're probably more sensitive to these things, or something like that.”

You never expected to hear HER trying to cheer up a Tomoe, but a lot of strange things have been happening to you lately.

“Oh yes, that would be convenient, wouldn't it?” Juno sneers, “A nice convenient excuse that waves away any suggestion of personal responsibility. Shall we say that it was all part of the natural order, too?”

“Save the self-pity for later,” you chide, painfully heaving yourself to your feet, “We're going back to the lodge.”

“The lodge?” Ariel groans, “Why?”

“Because it has a bed, that's why,” you snap, giving her a sharp glare.

“Leigh too,” Juno murmurs to herself.

“I'm not sure if I'd consider that a point in favour, but yes, Leigh too,” you sigh, “I think we all need a chance to rest and recover. The danger has passed, so one more day won't change anything. If you have any objections, you're welcome to walk home by yourself.”

Ariel gives the matter some serious consideration, or at least pretends to, before tilting her head. “Perhaps not,” she decides.

-

“How are we even going to explain this to Master Teilhard?” Ariel muses as you finally arrive back at the silent lodge, “I don't even know how to explain it to myself. That woman-”

“There never was a woman,” you interrupt, “It was that thing, that creature. It was just showing those men what they wanted to see. These men were all deeply faithful, and they saw a wounded woman – a figure from the Nicean Prophecies. And I saw... I saw Gratia.”

“Hm,” Ariel murmurs, nodding to herself before turning to Juno, “And you?”

“That's none of your business, actually,” Juno answers sharply.

“But... a woman?” the pale girl presses, undeterred by Juno's vicious glare, “I mean, I'm not-”

“Yes,” Juno says curtly, “A woman.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6099244

Leaving the two girls to seethe, you descend down to the basement to check on Leigh. The young man is lying so still in his cell when you arrive that you almost wonder if he's dead. It's only when you roll him over to look at his face that you see a tremor run through him. His eyes flutter open, rolling around in drunken, unfocused circles before finally settling on your face.

“What happened?” he murmurs as you remove his gag, “It's so... quiet.”

“No more singing, Leigh,” you answer grimly, “We saw to that.”

Leigh's eyes go wide, his mouth opening in a silent gasp of shock.

“Now let's be honest with each other,” you continue in a low tone, gently closing the cell door behind you, “What did you REALLY do here?”

In the silence that follows, Leigh's lips flap as he tries to find the words. “I just... moved a few rocks,” he says at last, his voice choked and strangled, “That's all I did, I... how could I have known-”

Before he can finish that sentence, you rise abruptly to your feet and stalk out of his cell, slamming the heavy door behind you. Had you stayed in that cell for a moment longer, you're not sure what you would have done.

-

When you wake up early that next morning, Juno is gone. Stumbling out of the lodge, you find one of the supply sheds, a rickety little hut filled with spare tools, open and ajar. Even before you've closed the door, you know where she's gone. Delaying just long enough for Ariel to drag herself out of bed, you set off for the remains of the great tree. There, you find Juno digging at the charred ground.

“Juno!” you shout, lunging forwards to grab her arm, “What are you doing?”

“There's something still down there,” she replies, giving you a determined scowl, “I won't leave the job half-finished.”

As Juno shakes off your grip and goes back to digging, you look at the arduous task before her. The whole mound seems to have collapsed with the death of the tree, as if its deep roots were the only thing holding it together. Beneath the top layer of soil and ashes, you can see jagged lumps of rock forming a craggy barrier.

“Something down there,” you repeat slowly, “Something alive?”

“That all depends on how you define “alive”, doesn't it?” Juno shoots back, “I'm not willing to leave it to chance.”

“Come on, this is too much work for one person. For two, even,” you argue, “Master Teilhard can send some of his men to help us.”

“He can't know about this!” the red-haired girl snarls, “Nobody can. We have to wipe out the last traces of that thing, then bury it. Bury it for good this time.”

>You're not being rational. We need help to clear this debris, like it or not
>If you're that certain, then fine. Just let me help you
>It's already buried, Juno. Let it stay that way
>Other
>>
>>6099245
>It’s already buried, let it stay that way
At least until your dad sends another guy to move some rocks. It’ll be someone else’s problem then.
>>
>>6099245
"Do we even have the tools to be able to kill it? Ariel shot the thing I don't know how many times, and it still tried to pursue us. We can't kill it alone because the moment we open the path to it the entire area will be bathed in that 'song' again. Then we're back to how we were before. Any ideas how to get out that situation once more, o esteemed oracle?"
>>
>>6099245
>“That's all I did, I... how could I have known-”
lmao never trust a Calamity

>Unless you have a pack of mining explosives, I don't think our guns will be able to bury those rocks for good.
>>
“And how, exactly, are you proposing to kill that thing?” you ask, gesturing down to the pile of earth and broken rocks, “Because I'd say we've tried just about everything already. Ariel put countless shots into it, and they barely slowed it down. We burned it, then crushed it under all this weight. If that wasn't enough, I'm struggling to see else we can do.”

“I'm willing to try anything,” Juno insists stubbornly, “I'm a very creative person, you know.”

“I'm sure you are. Only, once that creature is loose and starts singing its song once more, how much fight are you going to have left in you then?” you press, reaching out and taking hold of the shovel. Juno's grip tightens on it, but you can see her will wavering. “I hate to labour the point, oracle,” you add with a sharp edge to your tone, “But surely you must've seen that problem already?”

Juno's lips twist into a sneer, but you can see that the hot flush of anger is passing. A new realisation dawns, both of the possible consequences and of the magnitude of the task. Slowly, she loosens her grip on the shovel and allows you to take it from her hands.

“It's already buried,” you tell her gently, softening your tone now that the battle is won, “Let it stay that way.”

With a final sigh, Juno lets her shoulders sag as the wave of fatigue crashes over her. For a moment, it seems as if she might faint completely but, after taking a second to gather her strength, Juno straightens back up again. “I suppose it would be a lot of hard work for very little gain,” she decides in a haughty tone, “Someone else can do it, if they so desperately want to. We'll leave the damn thing buried.”

“What a good idea,” you remark, fighting the urge to roll your eyes, “Why didn't I think of that?”

-

Leigh says little as you lead him back to the carriage, his fearful eyes occasionally flicking across to Juno. She doesn't even deign to look at him, her gaze fixed straight ahead as you follow the path through the woods. Even though the creature's song has long since fallen silent, and there's no sign of anything else out of the ordinary, you don't quite allow yourself to relax until the carriage is close enough to touch.

“Where... are we going?” Leigh asks, breaking his long silence.

“Siegfried House,” Juno answers, before you can say anything, “I rather imagine that Master Teilhard will be very happy to have you as his guest.”

A low moan escapes the young man as he looks around him, searching about for any chance of an escape. But, with no miracle sweeping down to save him, he meekly accepts his fate.

“Good man,” you tell him, pushing him up into the carriage, “Nobody wants to make this any more difficult than it needs to be. I've already had more than enough hard work to last me a lifetime.”

“Weren't we supposed to be making a holiday of this?” Ariel asks ruefully.

[1]
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>>6099261
>“Weren't we supposed to be making a holiday of this?” Ariel asks ruefully.
We can take a break from running odd jobs later, we're not even halfway through the Lessons yet. The Martense not having any in the Iron Keep was a huge letdown but we did find out a lot from it
>>
>>6099244
>“But... a woman?” the pale girl presses, undeterred by Juno's vicious glare, “I mean, I'm not-”
>“Yes,” Juno says curtly, “A woman.”
Nice writing here. It doubles both as confirmation Juno is a raging lesbian for that mystery blonde girl with the curls, and also that Ariel is a guy and not a girl
>>
>>6099261

“We're going to have to get our stories straight,” Juno says softly as the carriage rumbles over the unpaved road, “I rather suspect that Master Teilhard will want us questioned separately when we return, and this time I'd rather not leave it to improvisation. It's not that I don't trust you, of course.”

“Really?” you remark, not even trying to hide your doubt.

“Well, not really,” she concedes, “But don't take it personally. It's hard to change the habit of a lifetime. But we're getting distracted now, aren't we?”

“We were supposed to be getting our stories straight,” you remind her, “I assume that you'd prefer not to tell Master Teilhard about that... creature. You're worried that if he knows about it, he might be tempted to try and dig it up too.”

Ariel shakes her head. “He wouldn't do something so foolish,” she insists, “If we explain how dangerous it is, he can make sure that it's properly sealed away – even if it means building a castle on top of it.”

“A particularly charming display of optimism,” Juno sneers, “Unfortunately, I suspect that you're the only one who believes that.”

“The problem is, if we try and pretend that this never happened, we need some way of explaining away the missing garrison,” you point out, “If we can't give Master Teilhard a convincing answer, he'll definitely feel the need to come here and start digging around. You're creating the exact same problem that you're trying to solve.”

“Just do what everyone else does and blame it on the Tomoe,” the red-haired girl suggests with a mocking shrug, “Agents of House Tomoe descended upon the lodge and kidnapped the men for some nefarious purpose. We can even say that HE led them there.”

Leigh pales as Juno points an accusing finger at him, excuses and pleas spluttering from his lips until you silence him with a gesture.

“That's a pretty weak excuse,” you tell her, frowning in disapproval.

“But he'll believe it nonetheless,” she replies cynically, “Because it fits perfectly into his view of the world. Trust me, I know his kind all too well.”

You'd say that you trust her, but it's hard to change the habit of a lifetime.

>I know it's hard for you to believe, but sometime honesty IS the best policy
>If you're sure that this excuse of yours will work, then we'll go with it
>I've got an idea of what to tell Master Teilhard... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6099276
>I know it's hard for you to believe, but sometime honesty IS the best policy
It's not that I want to lessen my guy Isambard's edge. It's more of an "After my experiences at the Iron Keep, I have less faith in building castles on top of ancient evils and expecting them not to be unearthed some vague time into the future." excuse. Yeah let's go with that
>>
>>6099276
>I've got an idea of what to tell Master Teilhard... (Write in)
>We tell them about the woman and the tree as they are. There's too much evidence to refute, and the journal is plenty credibility to the statement.
>But we had the brilliant idea to set fire to the tree as soon as we saw it. Judging from Sir Leigh's testimony, it might not have been enough, so planting some explosives is strongly advised to get rid of anything hiding in the roots.
>They don't have to know about the creature per se, but knowing that there's some hallucinations in play will at least make sure that if anyone dies, they know from what.
>>
>>6099278
I don't like covering up ancient evils with luxurious opulence or forbidding architecture. One of them almost bodyjacked one of my close associates and tried to force him into ravishing his deranged cousin with me in the room with them. That's not something I would be able to live down, especially seeing as I would not have much longer to live afterward.

>>6099280
Why not tell him about the ancient flesh siren that pulled and absorbed the entire lodge population?
Should we bring up how the heroic Ariel Teilhard resisted the illusions enough to fire at the beast to free us and help us escape?
>>
>>6099283
One, because it's a really hard thing to believe.

Two, because it will delay the final solution of "blow this thing up so we can go home and sleep in peace at night"
>>
>>6099276
>Tell the truth
>>
>>6099286
>really hard thing to believe
Can we simply
>take Teilhard dad to tree
>remove rock
>song plays
>put rock back
>"do you believe us now?"
>>
>>6099292
This is the second ancient horror Isambard has had to content with. Ariel has been there for both and she can vouch for us.
>>
>>6099292
I mean we can, but half the cast would say "this is totally not gonna end well"

and I'm not sure if Isambard can be assed to bother for that.
>>
>>6099276
>I know it's hard for you to believe, but sometime honesty IS the best policy
If we do lie, it should be easy to stop him from investigating considering this is the second time he lost contact with someone and still didn't think much of it to investigate. But in the end, it's not our problem.
>>
“I know it's hard for you to believe, Miss Tomoe, but sometimes honesty IS the best policy,” you decide, “If nothing else, there's too much evidence to refute it. Master Reinhold's journal alone would be enough to get anyone's suspicions up – and no, before you suggest it, we're not burning the book just to satisfy your desire for secrecy.”

“Why not?” Juno replies with a smirk, “Suddenly you have a problem with solving all your problems with fire?”

“I'm very specific about which of my problems can be set on fire, thank you very much,” you point out, giving her a scowl, “A fact which you should probably be thankful for.”

“What does he mean?” Leigh whispers to Ariel.

“Don't worry about it,” Ariel whispers back, “The adults are fighting, just leave them to it.”

Juno leans back in her seat and shrugs. “It doesn't really matter what I think,” she says casually, “I could tell Master Teilhard one thing, you could tell him another thing, and he'd believe you regardless. The privileges of being from a respectable family, I suppose.”

The idea of the Pales being a respectable family brings a bitter smile to your face. “As for your suggestion,” you continue, turning to Ariel, “I don't think there's a need to go that far. I'm not keen on the idea of hiding some ancient evil beneath an opulent castle, after everything that happened with the Iron Keep.”

“Well, I don't actually think he'd go that far,” Ariel replies with a weary smile, “But our family does own this land, so I'm sure we can come up with some way of keeping anyone else from stumbling across this place. It's already remote enough, that alone should be a big help in that regard. If these things want to fester in the forgotten corners of the world, let them – just so long as they STAY there.”

-

You arrive back at Siegfried House under a heavy cloud. Even the guards that greet you seem sullen and quiet, guiding you inside the sprawling estate with barely a handful of words. To your surprise, they make no attempt at separating Juno from the rest of you, and you're allowed to enter Master Teilhard's office as a group.

Master Teilhard gestures to a number of seats, giving Leigh a firm scowl. “It's bad news, then,” he begins, skipping any of the usual formalities.

“...Yes. Unfortunately so,” you reply, thrown off by the direct question, “The garrison has been lost. The lodge itself may no longer be safe.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Master Teilhard's fingers move to stroke the long scar on his cheek as he weighs your words. After what feels like a very long silence, he gestures for you to continue.

“Much of what I have to say may be hard to believe,” you warn, “But it's the truth – Ariel can confirm it, as the most reliable witness among us.”

“It's true,” Juno adds, her words causing you to glance around in surprise, “Not only that, but Miss Teilhard may very well have saved our lives.”

[1]
>>
>>6099310

“When we arrived at Albershot Lodge, it was deserted, abandoned,” you begin, “The garrison was nowhere to be seen. The only person we found was Master Leigh, who had been apprehended earlier and locked up in the basement. Leigh claimed, at the time, that a woman had also been brought to the lodge. In Master Reinhold's quarters, I found a journal which confirmed this. The journal also showed that the “woman” was having a disturbing influence on the men of the garrison.”

“There was something buried near the lodge, something very strange and ancient,” you continue, “This “woman” was nothing more than a projection of this creature, bait that it used to lure the garrison to their deaths. It almost did the same to us, if not for Ariel resisting the creature's influence. As it is, we managed to escape – we burned the creature, and buried it beneath a layer of rock. It's contained, but it may not be entirely deceased.”

When you put it like that, you really do sound insane. Master Teilhard considers your words for a long while, his eyes closed tight. He looks like a man suffering from a terrible headache. “This creature, this dangerous creature, has been under our feet for generations,” he says at last, “Yet NONE of our oracles knew anything of it. How could this be?”

“It was... is... a kind of being that exists outside of the natural order,” Juno answers, “And so, the Emanations can have no knowledge of it.”

“Perhaps, perhaps...” the old soldier murmurs, “I shall have to consult them about this, of course. For now, Master Pale, you said that the lodge is no longer safe.”

“Yes. Though the creature is buried deep, its influence may be able to spread if anyone disturbs the burial site,” you answer, “It may be best to seal the entire region off, prevent anyone from wandering in.”

Having said your piece, you fall silent and wait for Master Teilhard's answer. He says nothing for a moment, his finger rhythmically tapping against the desk. “Master Pale, Ariel,” he says at last, “Please excuse us for a moment.”

You hesitate, glancing aside at Juno and Leigh, then hastily nod and follow Ariel out of the office. She points to a low couch opposite the office door, and you both sit. “What do you think?” you murmur, “Going well so far?”

“Not bad,” Ariel replies, stifling a yawn, “Could use more about how great I was, though.”

“I'll be sure to emphasise that point,” you promise. Ariel nods, taking off her cap and running a hand through her wavy hair. Silence descends as you wait, the minutes stretching out as Ariel's breathes grow slower and deeper. Her body grows limp as sleep reaches out to claim her, her head dipping to rest lightly on your shoulder.

With a low sigh, you sit back to wait for Master Teilhard to finish his interrogation. You only hope that Juno isn't telling him anything too... inconvenient.

[2/3]
>>
>>6099320

Ariel jolts awake as the office door opens, flinching back away from you as she realises how she had been sleeping. Frantically brushing her hair back into place, she shoves her cap on just as Juno peers out from the office. She looks between the two of you, her face betraying exactly nothing. “You can come back now,” she says, although a hint of a smile flashes through her eyes as she adds, “Sorry for interrupting your nap.”

“Sorry,” Ariel whispers to you as you enter the office. You shake your head slightly, waving away her apology.

“Master Pale. I apologise for keeping you waiting for so long – I had many questions that I wanted to ask Master Leigh,” the old soldier begins, nodding to Leigh. The young man stares directly ahead, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his name was mentioned. “First order of business,” Master Teilhard continues, “I can't promise that I believe your story in its entirety, but I can see no reason why you would fabricate such a claim either.”

“I wouldn't do a thing like that,” you assure him, “Frankly, Master Teilhard, I'm not that imaginative.”

“I will send a party to investigate the lodge itself, for confirmation, but they will be under strict orders to disturb nothing,” he adds, “Assuming that everything matches your account, I will presume that you are truthful.”

“That's fair,” you reply, although the idea still leaves a hint of unease, “And if your party doesn't return at all, I hope that you'll also presume that I was telling the truth.”

Master Teilhard lets out a hard, humourless laugh. “Very well, but it shouldn't come to that,” he remarks, “Second of all is Master Leigh himself. I have decided to be merciful – I believe that he is as much of a victim as anyone else in this sorry state of affairs. As House Tomoe may wish repercussions upon him, I intend to take him under my protection. I'm sure we can find some use for him. What do you say?”

>It's your place to decide, Master Teilhard. Not mine
>I fear that you may be too willing to trust him. He is still a Tomoe agent
>It's an excellent idea. One day, he may need to testify against his former masters
>Other
>>
>>6099328
>An excellent idea. We may need his testimony someday
>>
>>6099328
>Frankly sir, the less you tell me about that the better. Master Tomoe will no doubt try to needle his fate out of me.
>>
“Keeping him around is a good idea. We may need him to testify against his former masters one day,” you decide, “Although the less you tell me, the better. There may come a day when Master Tomoe tries to wring the truth out of me. I can't tell him what I don't know.”

“That is true,” Master Teilhard concedes, “I had been considering sending Leigh to work under one of my associates, a man who shall now remain unnamed. He will be hard to find, I assure you.”

“Excellent,” you reply, slapping Leigh on the shoulder, “Hopefully they won't work you too hard. And no digging, perhaps.”

As Leigh lets out a nervous little laugh, you turn to leave. “Oh, Ariel?” Master Teilhard adds, “I realise that your parents may not have the chance, or the inclination, to tell you this, but... you've done the Teilhard family proud. You've done ME proud.”

“Y-yes sir!” Ariel yelps, her eyes widening with surprise. Lost for words, she turns and scurries from the office. Giving Master Teilhard a nod of thanks, you follow her out.


-

“You backed us up,” you tell Juno, as you walk out to the carriage with her, “I didn't think you would.”

“Well, as I said, it really would've been pointless to try and change Master Teilhard's mind,” she replies, waving your words away with a dismissive gesture, “I rarely enjoy wasting my time on a lost cause. I thought that if I agreed with you instead, it might sow some doubt in his mind. Alas, he wasn't to be swayed. You can't blame a girl for trying, though.”

“I can, actually,” you sigh, “Does it ever get tiring?”

“What?”

“Having to be so contrary all the time.”

Juno considers this for a moment. “Yes, actually,” she admits, “But I have a reputation to consider. Imagine if you were happy and cheerful all the time – people would look at you as if you had committed some great crime against your own history. It would be like... like a Teilhard that was skinny and weak. No offence, Miss Teilhard.”

“Some taken,” Ariel retorts, although there's a hint of a smile on her face. After Master Teilhard's words, it would take something truly horrendous to put her in a bad mood. “So, we're going back to your place now, I assume,” she adds, nodding to Juno, “I believe we're owed a reward... assuming your father holds up his end of the bargain.”

“He will,” she promises, “You may not believe it, but my father places great value in sticking to his word. It's just that he doesn't give his word very often.”

“I'm not sure if he actually gave me his word here,” you admit, “We certainly didn't sign a contract – not that I'd easily sign anything he put in front of me.”

“Clever,” Juno remarks, “I would say the exact same thing in your position.”

[1]
>>
>>6099367

It's late when the carriage finally arrives at Yomi, far too late for any kind of formal meeting with Master Tomoe. The ancient city looks particularly sinister by night, with the leering towers framed against a vast full moon. The moon looks different here, compared with at the Pale Estate – the colour is different, as if the Tomoe's corruption had even managed to stain the moon itself.

Rooms are arranged for the night, and Ariel quickly retires for some sleep. You linger a little longer in the hall, held in rapture by the moonlight. You don't hear Juno creeping up behind you, only glancing around when she taps you on the arm. “What do you think of our city?” she asks softly, looking out the window, “The moonlight changes it.”

“It's a secret that hides many secrets,” you muse, “So many that even the moonlight can't reveal them all.”

Juno laughs, delighted by your words. “I hated it so much as a child,” she admits, “I felt as if I was living within some vast decaying corpse. I thought that anywhere else in the world would be better than this... and then I left home. Then I realised that wherever I went, it was all just more of the same – just better at hiding the truth.”

“At times, I felt very much the same.”

“Ah, but it wasn't all bad,” Juno murmurs, “Because you weren't alone. However grim, however dire, life seemed, it was tolerable because you weren't alone.”

She's right, of course. The outside world never mattered when you were young – you had your own private world, a world shared with Gratia alone. The stories you told each other, the secrets you kept!

Juno had her secrets, you're sure, but did she have anyone to share them with?

“Get some rest,” Juno tells you, sensing the question before you have a chance to answer it, “You'll want to be up bright and early tomorrow, of course, and then go on your way.”

>It's a little early, but I'm going to pause here for today. I'll be continuing this tomorrow, maybe a short session again, but I've got time booked for a four day run next week
>Thank you for playing along today!
>>
>>6099385
Thanks for running!

Juno had some mysterious gold haired girl, didn't she?
>>
>>6099385
Good session. I wonder which noble family is next on the list. The Silvera in pursuit of the contact in the asylum?
>>
>>6099385
Thanks for running!

>>6099275
>also that Ariel is a guy and not a girl
Not so sure of that. It could easily have been "I mean, I'm not implying anything," or "I'm not judging," or even "I'm just saying, I wasn't affected, and it seems like everyone else who was affected was a man." I think Ariel's resistance proves, if anything, that she isn't into chicks.
>>
Contrary to your expectations, the guest rooms at Boleskine House are surprisingly plain and modest. There are no signs of the macabre art or ghoulish decorations that seem so common to the rest of the manor, just a comfortable bed and austere furnishings. Frankly, you're surprised that there were any guest rooms at all – you can't imagine that they get used very often.

Despite the thunder rumbling outside your window you sleep well, and without dreams. Washing and dressing, you brush back the slate grey curtain and peer out across the city. By the first light of day, you really understand how Juno could have come to hate her home city. Darkened by a shower of overnight rain, the buildings have an oily sheen that highlights every ugliness and deformity. Features that seemed mysterious and suggestive by moonlight are now stark and unlovely, while a malodorous air greets you when you open the window.

A knock at the door jolts you from your thoughts. Hastily closing the window, you open the door and wave Juno inside. She glances outside the window and gives you a sarcastic smile, as if sensing your thoughts. “We're going to have to get our stories straight,” she begins.

“Hang on,” you interrupt, “We've had this conversation already, haven't we?”

“We did things your way with Master Teilhard,” Juno explains, “But this time, we're doing things my way.”

You pause, studying her expression for any clue as to her intentions. She reveals nothing, save for a knowing smile. “That really depends on what “your way” involves, doesn't it?” you answer carefully, “I'm not going to just give you a blank cheque to say whatever you wish.”

“Father sent us to find out what happened to Leigh. I'm going to tell him that the Teilhard family have him, and will probably have him hanged,” she explains with a shrug, “That's it.”

“You don't think he might be curious about... everything else?”

“I'm sure he will,” Juno smirks, “Which is why I won't tell him a thing. As far as he needs to know, it was a perfectly normal forest with perfectly normal soldiers doing perfectly normal duties.”

“He won't believe that,” you point out, even though the thought brings a faint smile to your lips.

“Of course not. But he can't do anything about it,” the red-haired girl agrees smugly, “If your Teilhard friend secures the forest like he's supposed to, father won't be able to send any more people in to go digging around. He'll just have to write this off as a lost cause and move on to the next heinous scheme for you to foil.”

You don't think you'll ever understand this family. If anything, they seem to make your own family drama seem quaint and trivial by comparison.

You're not sure how to feel about that.

[1/2]
>>
>>6099892

“Master Tomoe will be with you in just a moment,” the black-garbed servant announces, “Please excuse the delay.”

“You guys go on ahead,” Ariel whispers as the servant withdraws, “I'll, uh, wait here. That guy creeps me out.”

“Understandable,” Juno replies smoothly, falling silent as the office door swings open. Taking that as your cue to enter, you cautiously proceed inside and take a seat.

Master Tomoe sits behind his desk, casually leaning back in his chair and giving you a lazy wave of greeting. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the sheet covering his desk, the objects hidden beneath reminding you of how this all began – with the last few dregs of your inheritance laid out before you. Swallowing back your sudden unease, you meet Master Tomoe's gaze and speak. “We have some information regarding Master Leigh,” you begin, “We believe that he was apprehended by House Teilhard and held on suspicion of being a Tomoe spy.”

“Which, as you know, typically leads to a swift execution,” Juno adds, her tone perfectly cold, “You really ought to remember that before sending so many hapless agents into their territory.”

“Ah, how I pity the Teilhard family hangman,” Master Tomoe sighs, “He must be the busiest man in all the kingdom. Well, no matter. Master Pale, you've held up your side of the bargain – it's time for me to do the same. I've picked a few objects from my collection. Please, take a look.”

Drawing back the sheet, Master Tomoe reveals a pair of small wooden boxes. Opening the first, he reveals a small ivory badge. “This belonged to a rather dogmatic fellow who paid us an unannounced visit. I believe he was trying to kill me, actually,” he remarks, smiling as if fond of the memory, “Fortunately Juno was home at the time, so I didn't have to get my own hands dirty.”

You glance aside at Juno, but she says nothing. Her mouth is tight, lips set in a hard line of disapproval.

“And this,” Master Tomoe continues, opening the second box to reveal a long dagger, “I got this from a band of rogue Galseans who had been harassing travellers around Yomi. Such a shame that we couldn't settle matters peacefully, but... well, you know how it is.”

“As I recall, you didn't make any attempt at settling matters peacefully,” Juno points out, “You hunted them down like wild beasts.”

“Only because I knew such men would never surrender,” he counters, “But what use if there in bringing up the past now? Have a look, Master Pale. See what appeals to you.”

>Serpent Hunter Badge [+1 Purity, +1 Prowess]
>Black Athame [+1 Prowess, +1 Calamity]
>Keep them. I'd rather have you owe me the favour
>Other
>>
>>6099893
>Black Athame
Calamitymaxxing
>>
>>6099893
>Black Athame [+1 Prowess, +1 Calamity]
The Galseans might see us as legit if they see us with this. Following Father's cred
>>
File: BlackAthame.png (504 KB, 1000x500)
504 KB
504 KB PNG
Examining both treasures carefully, you reach out towards the dagger before pausing, glancing up at Master Tomoe. He nods, offering the blade out to you with a courteous gesture. Picking it up and turning it over in your hands, you wonder just how old the blade might be – and, perhaps more importantly, how much bloodshed it might have seen.

“It suits you,” Master Tomoe remarks, “Unfortunately, I don't have a sword to match. But, that blade you have already seems to suit you well enough. Rushing water is a symbol of purification, you know. I wonder why your father chose to have THAT engraved on the blade.”

“I won't get the chance to ask him, will I?” you reply, placing the dagger back in its case, “Yes, this will suit me fine.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, Master Pale,” the older man murmurs, sliding the box towards you, “Oh, and one other thing. By chance, did you learn anything... else while searching for poor Master Leigh?”

You look up at Master Tomoe, at the dark gleam of his eyes. “No, nothing else,” you answer simply, “Was there something else we were supposed to find?”

There's no hiding the flash of irritation that passes through Master Tomoe's eyes, but it vanishes as soon as it arrives. “No, of course not,” he lies, “If there had been something else, I would have mentioned it wouldn't I?”

“Naturally,” Juno says, her words dripping with venom.

-

Juno is silent as you leave her father's office, allowing a deep scowl to creep into the blank mask of her face. “So,” you ask quietly, “Was that true?”

“Highly doubtful,” she replies with a sneer, “Was WHAT true?”

“That someone tried to assassinate your father,” you clarify, “That you stopped them.”

“Oh,” Juno grimaces, “Yes, actually. That part IS true. Here, look.” Pausing here, she glances down the corridor to see if there are any servants wandering by. Satisfied that the coast is clear, she moves aside the neck of her gown to reveal the top of her breast. The sight of her bare flesh causes the breath to catch in your throat, but your eyes are drawn to the long scar across her collarbone instead.

“This was a good few years back. I was just a girl really, recently returned from the Choir. And this man, this virtuous paladin, didn't hesitate to try and cut me down,” she murmurs, “He was a fool. He should have stopped to make sure that I was dead.”

These words hang in the air as you hear soft footsteps approaching from around the corner. Juno hastily puts her gown back in order before Ariel rounds the corning, giving you both a funny look. “Why do you two look so...” she pauses, thinking to herself, “So suspicious?”

“Well, it's only natural for ME to look suspicious,” Juno explains, “And I'm afraid that I must be rubbing off on poor Master Pale. I think they call that “guilt by association”, these days.”

[1]
>>
>>6099912

Together, the three of you take a slow wander through Boleskine House. You've got no particular direction in mind, and you doubt that Juno does either, but you follow her nonetheless. You pass through the portrait hall where you once saw the painting of Kalthos, or Ymir as he is known here. Looking at the poised, aristocratic faces gazing out at you from the picture frames, it's hard to imagine them wallowing in sin and corruption as much as the stories would claim. Quite naturally, the Tomoe have chosen to portray themselves as noble warriors, a courageous resistance against... what, exactly? The same society that has allowed them to exist?

“What do you plan on doing now?” Juno asks as you're leaving the portrait hall.

“I suppose we'll return to the estate before we do anything else. Even if my responsibilities are limited to checking the mail every now and then, I still need to do them. I'm still the head of the family, after all,” you explain with a sigh, “After that, it really depends. Follow up on some leads for the investigation, perhaps. Maybe check the Demesne again – I think I should be able to pass into the next layer now. Of course, I'll have to see if my oracle is back in action.”

“You won't have long to wait,” Juno says, her eyes losing their focus as the Emanations whisper into her mind, “No, not long at all. But I don't think there's any need to rush back either.”

“That's good, then,” Ariel remarks, “I wonder how Elle got on. Whatever she was doing, I can't imagine it was very fun. I imagine oracle training is very boring.”

“Absolutely so,” the red-haired girl recalls, “You have to spend a very long time alone with your thoughts. Most people can't handle that, and the people who find it easy tend not to have very many thoughts at all. You can't listen to the Emanations until you know yourself – I wonder if that's little Elspeth's problem.”

That makes sense. Introspection has always been deeply rooted in the Insight, and your family was once known for their oracles. Perhaps one day, you'll be known as such again.

“Well, either way,” Juno concludes with a dismissive gesture, “I suppose you'll be heading off soon. There isn't really anything else keeping you here, now is there?”

>It seems that way. Thank you for your help, Miss Tomoe, and farewell
>I'd like to see a little more of Yomi while we're here. Perhaps you could be our guide?
>There was something else... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6099921
I’d like to see a little more of Yomi before we leave. Perhaps you could be our guide?
How do the Tomoe live
>>
>>6099921
Here's the moment. If anyone wants to make a move on Juno, ya gotta shoot your shot.

>Would it be possible to visit your armory? Considering the amount of trouble you may or may not get into, I find it curious you don't carry more....esoteric arms. Or just bigger guns.
What kinda dakka do the Tomoe have
>>
>>6099921
>>I'd like to see a little more of Yomi while we're here. Perhaps you could be our guide?
>>
>>6099933
+1

>>6099921
>>
“I'd like to see a little more of Yomi while we're here,” you remark, “Perhaps you could be our guide?”

“See more of Yomi?” Juno raises a mocking eyebrow, feigning surprise, “Why would you want to do that?”

“I'm curious to see more of how the Tomoe live,” you explain, giving her a shrug, “Is that really so hard to understand?”

Juno laughs softly. “Yes, actually,” she replies, “But if you insist, I think I can find a little time in my exceedingly busy schedule. Where would you like to start?”

“You guys can go on without me,” Ariel says, “I'll, uh, I'll go back to the library or something. You don't keep any cursed books in there, right?”

“I expect they keep those locked away,” you tell the pale girl quietly, looking back to Juno, “Why don't we start with the rest of the manor? Do you have an armoury here? I'm curious about what kind of weapons your family uses.”

“On second thoughts, I might join you for a bit,” Ariel adds, speaking up before Juno even has a chance to answer.

-

The private arsenal of House Tomoe is divided up into two distinct sections. The first section is for the common folk, simple weapons to be passed out when the need arises – although you shudder to think what that need might be. Simple spears and military rifles, all older models, are lined up in great racks that cover both walls. You recognise the work of House Phalaris machines, but without the lost family's mark.

“We acquired some tooling from House Phalaris before the fall,” Juno explains, “The original tools have long since worn out, of course, but we were able to replicate the mechanism well enough. Not a perfect copy, but sufficient for our needs.”

Ariel takes out one of the rifles and aims down the sights. “This one shoots low,” she points out, “I wager most of the others are off in some way.”

“They're only handed out to peasants. So long as they can hit the broad side of a barn, they'll be good enough,” Juno remarks, taking the rifle from Ariel and putting it back on the racks, “These are boring. Shall we see something more interesting?”

By “more interesting”, Juno means the weapons of the aristocracy. A wild mix of swords and spears, all handmade with curious designs, each weapon seems to tell a story. You spot a number of heavy hunting spears, no doubt used by Master Tomoe himself, as well as Juno's golden spear sealed away within a glass case.

“I don't recognise the style,” Ariel remarks, peering through the glass, “Is it old?”

“Very,” Juno answers with a solemn nod, “Our family has held this spear for generations. One day, it will taste the blood of a god.”

A silence descends, broken only by Ariel's nervous attempt at a laugh.

“Or that's what the prophecies say,” Juno adds with a dismissive gesture, “But who listens to those silly old things anyway?”

[1]
>>
>>6099951

Leaving Ariel to study the arsenal for some more – which seems remarkably trusting, you will admit – you leave Boleskine House and set off for the city of Yomi itself. Before leaving, Juno dons a heavy black cloak and pulls the hood low over her face. Safely anonymous within the pool of black shadow, she seems to relax slightly – there's more of a lightness in her step, an effortless sense of life and motion.

“I should warn you, there's really not much to see here,” she says as you walk into the squalid streets, carefully avoiding the worst of the puddles, “But maybe it's not about the city, hmm?”

“I have no ulterior motives,” you state calmly, “None whatsoever.”

“Hm,” Juno murmurs, “Well, if you say that then I have no choice but to believe you.”

Even though she falls silent after this, you can tell that she's smiling. Not a smirk or a sneer, but a genuine smile. The smile lingers as you pause outside a slightly more conventional looking building, spotting familiar statues inside. “Is this a church?” you ask, peering through the ajar door, “It is! A real church to the Godhead!”

“You sound surprised,” Juno teases, pushing the door open and guiding you inside. You spot all the usual statues – the blank monolith representing the Godhead, and all the haughty figures representing the Emanations – as well as a new addition. The new statue shows a scheming, conniving figure, their gender ambiguous. A representation of Calamity, you assume, placed in the company of their fellow Emanations.

“I am surprised,” you admit after a moment, “I thought that if you had any churches at all, they'd be-”

“Pagan monstrosities where we sacrifice infants?” she suggests, “That's downstairs. We don't want to scare the tourists, now do we?”

She's joking, of course. You think.

-

Leading you upstairs, Juno takes you to a large open window looking out across the city. There's a good view of the sky here, the dark clouds flashing and flickering with lightning. “I came here a lot as a girl,” Juno muses, her gaze fixed on the sky, “We see omens in the lightning, just as your family sees them in the movement of the stars. There was an older woman who taught me to read them. I called her grandmother, though she wasn't really. I looked up my family tree later, when I got a little older, and she wasn't on it.”

“Family can be more than just blood,” you offer cautiously.

“Maybe,” Juno hesitates for a moment, “I still wonder what happened to her. One day, she just... stopped showing up. I tried asking father, but he claimed not to know anything about her. Though... I'm fairly sure that he was lying. He had no reason to have her killed, aside from petty spite. Perhaps that was all the reason he needed.”

[2/3]
>>
>>6099971
>“I have no ulterior motives,” you state calmly, “None whatsoever.”
I don't know about the anonymous hive-mind, bit I don't. I do think these two, Bard and Juno, make really good friends, but she isn't my waifu pick. Not even top three.
>>
>>6099971

“Sorry,” Juno says a moment later, sounding unusually nervous, “I don't... have a lot of people that I can talk to like this. Anyone, really.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody,” she repeats with a nod, “I mentioned that I spent some time at the Choir, didn't I? It wasn't a very long time – not even a year, I'd guess. I entered under false pretences, but it wasn't long before they found me out. Actually, I think they knew from day one. They were just curious to see why I was there.”

“And... why were you there?” you ask, “It's hard to imagine your father sending you there with honest intentions.”

“I don't know. Sometimes he just... does these things. Maybe it was some tiny part of a vast scheme he was playing, is still playing to this day. Maybe he was just curious too,” Juno shrugs, “I hated it, of course. The lessons bored me, and the other girls avoided me like the plague – all except one. To my surprise, I found that we both had something in common. Her family expected great things from her, as did mine. It wasn't much, but it was enough.”

Clearly, this story isn't going to end in a long and fruitful friendship.

“When my true identity came to light – or rather, when they couldn't hide it any longer – I was thrown out of the Choir. Sent home in disgrace. I understand that the other girl left not long after. Forced out, really. Because of me,” she sneers, “Guilt by association, remember?”

Slowly, you nod. “And this girl-”

“Who shall remain nameless,” Juno interrupts.

“And this girl, who shall remain nameless,” you continue, “She was the one you saw at Albershot?”

“I hope you're not suggesting that there was anything scandalous going on,” Juno says carefully, her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits, “We were friends, yes, but that's all.”

That, in itself, is an answer of sorts. Perhaps Juno reads something in your expression, because she turns away with a sigh. “Whatever. I can't imagine you came out here just to listen to me complain about old times,” she mutters, “Did you?”

>You're putting a lot on my shoulders, Miss Tomoe. We barely know each other
>If you need someone to talk to, a friend, I'm willing to step up
>I want to get to know you better. I want a place in your life
>I... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6099988
>I owe you one. Whatever your motives, you've been a lot more helpful than you give yourself credit for. I can't say I trust you fully, as I'm sure you don't trust me, but if you ever need any help... Or if you need someone to vent about family drama, send me a message.

Essentially,
>If you need someone to talk to, a friend, I'm willing to step up
but more in-line with the sort of guarded, jaded, broody tsundere vibe Bard's been displaying with his other friends.
>>
>>6099988
>It wasn't my initial intention, but I don't mind how things turned out
>>
>>6099988
>>I want to get to know you better. I want a place in your life
>>
>>6099983
I agree with you

>>6099988
backing >>6099994
>>
“Well, it certainly wasn't my original intention, but I shan't complain about how it turned out,” you answer, leaning against the windowsill beside Juno, “Listen, I owe you one. Whatever your motives may be, you've been a lot more helpful than you give yourself credit for.”

“Oh yes, I've been very helpful,” Juno remarks, with a token attempt at scorn, “Nearly getting us all killed at Albershot was a great contribution to the team.”

“It got me one step closer to my father, my sister,” you point out, touching the dagger sheathed at your hip, “Whatever the cost might have been, I'd say it was worth it.”

For a moment it seems like Juno might try to argue the point some more, but then she falls silent and gives you a crooked nod of acceptance.

“My point is, while we may not fully trust one another – on a professional level – I still think we can work together,” you continue, “That means that if you need help, or you just need to unpack your family drama with someone, I'm just a message away. Don't feel the need to do everything by yourself.”

Juno says nothing for a while, her eyes fixed on your face for a long time – so long that you start to feel uncomfortable.

“Everyone else does the same,” you add with a sudden flippant gesture, “For some reason I'm expected to fix everyone's problems, so this is hardly any different. Really.”

“Oh, of course!” Juno agrees, a gleeful smirk creeping across her face, “You work so hard for the good of the kingdom, Master Pale. However would we survive without you?”

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” you remark, feeling the sombre mood lift. With a laugh, Juno pushes back from the window and starts off towards the stairs.

“We really ought to be getting back to the manor,” she decides, “Or else Ariel might start getting all sorts of wild ideas about what we've been getting up to. Even a Teilhard girl can only stare at rifles for so long before losing interest. Shall we go?”

-

Juno takes the scenic route, leading you back to Boleskine House through winding streets and across bustling markets. If it wasn't for the foreboding architecture surrounding you, you could barely tell the difference between Yomi and a city like Castaigne in your own lands. The people look normal, if a little sullen, and they lead normal, uneventful lives. If they notice that you're an outsider here, they don't show it at all. You even stop to do a little shopping, buying a bottle of ink-black wine to take home with you.

“It's been a long time since I just wandered the city streets like this,” Juno remarks as you're approaching Boleskine House, “It's rather less revolting than I remember, actually. I hope you appreciate all the effort that I went to, bringing you out here.”

“Oh, of course,” you reply, matching her insincere politeness, “Thank you for suffering through it. It must've been very tough for you.”

[1]
>>
QM says
>Moloch !!fqcSo3h+it7 (ID: nRXApNvO) 07/06/24(Sat)12:37:24 No.6052851
>Remember: don't trust redheads, don't trust women, and do NOT trust redheaded women
And what do we players do?
>tells the redhead family sucks and that we're there for her
I don't wanna waifu Juno either, but man she's got it rough as it is

>For some reason I'm expected to fix everyone's problems, so this is hardly any different.
The quest protagonist curse/syndrome at work...
>>
>>6100021

Ariel is dozing in the library when you return to Boleskine House. You sit with her for a while, waiting to see if she'll wake up by herself before you leave. If the worst came to the worst, you could just carry her out to the carriage – the waifish girl is hardly a burden. As you sit and wait, you find yourself thinking about Juno. About your relationship, whatever that may be.

A relationship formed from a mutual insincerity, a shared pain. What kind of relationship is that, really? You think about the moment she bared her breast to you, but that just sends your memory reaching even further back, back to... that unspeakable moment.

A low groan escapes from your lips, the noise causing Ariel to stir and raise her head. “That noise...” she murmurs, “Was that your stomach rumbling?”

“It must've been,” you reply quickly, pushing your memories back into the black, bottomless pit within your heart, “I suppose we should get some food for the road.”

“Good idea,” Ariel says with a yawn, “Maybe we can ask Master Tomoe to hunt a boar for us. I'm sure he'd be thrilled.”

“Let's... not.”

>It's early, but that feels like a good place to pause for today. I'll be doing some planning for this week, then back to writing on Friday
>Thanks for playing along today!
>>
>>6100036
Wait, what memory is that...? Hm.

Thanks for running, QM!
>>
>>6100036
Thanks for running!
I’m simping so hard for Juno that Professor Xavier is gonna let me into the X Men
>>
>>6100036
So more than a little suspicious that Juno's friend was Gratia

>>6100049
My guess is something that happened when they were breastfed by mom that is related to the whole twin thing.

Otherwise, the usual secret forbidden incest whatever.
>>
>>6100058
>Juno's friend was Gratia
Gratia isn't blonde, though. When we saw Gratia, she saw someone else.

>My guess is something that happened when they were breastfed by mom that is related to the whole twin thing. Otherwise, the usual secret forbidden incest whatever.
Twincest (or suspicions of such) could explain why dad separated us so aggressively. What IS mom's deal, though...?
>>
>>6100036
Thanks for running.
Arielchads have been eating good recently.
>Her body grows limp as sleep reaches out to claim her, her head dipping to rest lightly on your shoulder.
Even if she doesn't win the Isambardbowl, there'll always be this scene.
It's also satisfying to have pissed Janus off.

>>6100049
With how Bard is, it's probably a memory with Gratia.
>>
>>6100060
where did she say blonde again?
>>
>>6100412
She didn't say it, but we saw a flash of gold hair against THE CREATURE

>>6094670
>“You...” Juno murmurs, and just for a moment you see a strange double image – a mess of gold curls clashing with the straight silver hair.
>>
>>6100412

>>6094670
>“You...” Juno murmurs, and just for a moment you see a strange double image – a mess of gold curls clashing with the straight silver hair. Then the fake image is gone, and HER face returns. HER lips part to form the words to a terrible promise, and she leans closer, closer still, until.
>>
>>6100419
>>6100420
Oh, woops, didn't refresh after I found it.
>>
>>6100419
>>6100420
Interesting. Maybe Juno's mom? Or something related to the golden spear?
>>
>>6100424
She already clarified it was her friend from the oracle academy.

>>6099988
>Slowly, you nod. “And this girl-”
>“Who shall remain nameless,” Juno interrupts.
>“And this girl, who shall remain nameless,” you continue, “She was the one you saw at Albershot?”
>>
>>6100430
I could be barking up completely the wrong tree then.

Still, that's a lot of things to happen at the Choir. Is Elle the same age as Juno?

....hold on, it's not Elle is it?
>>
>>6100436
>is it?
Well, how would they know?
Conservation of Characters, would imply that is a possibility

I guess we need to talk to Elle about her formative years in the academy at some point.
>>
>>6100446
It can't be Elle, surely Juno's run into her already near the beginning of the quest
Plus her hair isn't curly
>>
>>6100436
>>6100446
I'm not surprised if a place for training prophetesses is filled with drama, irrespective of our main cast.

>>6100476
I agree, it would be weird Elle never mentioned, and none of her reactions when they've run into each other hinted (to me) at a preexisting relationship.
>>
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Turning Master Tomoe's dagger over in your hands, you watch as the first rays of sunlight rise up above the forest outside your window. Since returning from Albershot, you can't look at the forest in the same way. When you look into the dense, dark trees, you just wonder what kind of secrets they might be hiding – and there ARE secrets, you're sure of that. Why else would your father have forbidden you from delving into the forest?

The fact that his orders still have a hold over you causes a small coal of frustration to smoulder in your gut. He's dead and gone now, but he's still got a grip on you.

A faint bell chimes from down below, the tiny sound rousing you from your dark thoughts. Ever since returning to the estate, your mood has been low. Being so idle like this, even if it is to get some well-needed rest, doesn't sit well with you. You'll feel better once you get back in action, even if that means putting your life on the line once more.

“It's from Miss Legrasse,” Alex announces, holding up a flimsy telegram as you descend the stairs, “Barring any unexpected delays, she should arrive at the estate by tomorrow.”

“Excellent news,” you remark, “Any other messages?”

“Oh yes, there was one,” the older man nods, “A reply from Saint Samara's Hospital. That was-”

“The madhouse,” you interrupt, the word heavy with implications.

“...Yes, although I don't think they'd appreciate you using that term. They don't seem especially happy about it, but they admit that they have to authority to stop you from seeing Master Teufel,” Alex explains, “If you want to give him a visit, let me know. I can send them a message so they know to expect you.”

You consider it, but shake your head. “Not now,” you tell him, “I'd rather wait for Elle to get back before making any major moves,”

“It certainly won't hurt you to take a day off,” Alex suggests, giving you a concerned look. That's about as close as he's likely to get to giving you orders.

With a non-committal nod, you leave Alex to enjoy the rest of his morning and take a slow wander through the estate. Agnes has been hard at work while you've been away, cleaning up the worst of the dust and cobwebs. The place almost looks presentable now, if not for the countless empty rooms and general lack of furnishings.

You find Ariel in one such room, sitting on the floor with her disassembled rifle laid out before her. Unconcerned by the lack of furnishings, she cleans and polishes the weapon with careful, precise motions. “Oh, hey,” she begins, glancing briefly around at you, “Take a seat, make yourself at home.”

“Very funny,” you reply, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the wall, “You couldn't find anywhere more comfortable?”

“I didn't want to get oil or grime on your nice clean manor,” Ariel explains, gesturing with part of her rifle, “No rugs, no furniture, there's nothing here for me to ruin.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6103178

You sit for a while, silent save for the faint sounds of Ariel's brush scrubbing away. “Elle is likely to get back tomorrow,” you announce after a while, “It'll be back to work after that. Are you ready?”

“That all depends on what we're doing,” Ariel replies, peering down the rifle's barrel, “If we're going to be fighting more inhuman horrors from Outside, I'd say “no”. If we're going for a nice stroll around the lake, well, I think I could just about manage that.”

“The Demesne is high on my list of priorities. I think I should be able to go deeper now. But, of course, nothing is set in stone,” you muse, “Depending on what Elle has to say...”

“We might go chasing off on another wild adventure,” the pale girl says with a soft laugh, “At least we'll have a day off first. We could-”

A low knock at the door interrupts her, and Alex pokes his head in a moment later. “Ah, Isambard. I thought I heard your voice,” he begins, “We just got another message.”

“Another?” you raise an eyebrow, “We are popular today, aren't we?”

“Mm. You might be interested in this, actually. When your father passed, most of his assets were divided up amongst his creditors, yes? Well, one of them is offering to return one of Gideon's possessions to you,” Alex explains, “He's sending it to the postal office in Castaigne, it should probably have arrived by now.”

Something about this feels strange. “Does it say what kind of “possession” he's talking about?” you ask, “And why he's so generously offering to return it?”

“I suspect he hasn't been able to sell it, and he's given up. By returning it, he might hope to gain some minor favour in the future. As for the item itself...” Alex hesitates, his face growing a little pale as he rereads the message, “A piece of armour, formerly used overseas. I didn't realise...”

“What?”

Alex is silent for a moment. “Would you like to take a walk out to Castaigne with me? We could take a look at the armour, and decide what you want to do with it. Plus, it'll give us a chance to talk,” he hesitates again, glancing briefly across to Ariel, “Alone, I mean.”

“Don't mind me,” Ariel says with a shrug, “I can amuse myself while you're gone.”

Suddenly, your lazy day off is seeming very busy indeed.

>I wanted some time alone, maybe take a look into the forest
>Ariel and I were planning to take a walk by the lake
>I've got nothing planned. I can go to Castaigne with you
>I've got plans... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6103179
>I've got nothing planned. I can go to Castaigne with you
This is armor he used in his... colonial days, I take it? I'm very curious which creditor this is coming from.
>>
>>6103179
>I've got nothing planned. I can go to Castaigne with you
Obviously just a pretext for a private talk
>>
>>6103179
"formerly used" armor that can't sell. That's certainly a lot of yellow flags. Might be better off dismantling only the symbolic bits off. Might be something to give to the galseans.

>I've got nothing planned. I can go to Castaigne with you
>>
“When you say “overseas”, do you mean from his colonial work?” you ask carefully, glancing aside to Ariel. Judging by Alex's suggestion to talk alone, he's not keen to start sharing too much information outside the family. Still, he nods a confirmation to your first question. “Interesting,” you murmur, climbing to your feet, “Who is this creditor, exactly?”

“A man named Bayfield – which is not a name that I recognised,” Alex answers, “Not from your father's old social circle, such as it was. I suspect... ah.”

“Go ahead, speak freely,” you urge, gesturing for Alex to continue, “No need to spare my feelings.”

“I suspect that, towards the end, Gideon was borrowing money anywhere he could get it. I couldn't keep track of everyone that he was doing business, and he was careful to hide his tracks,” Alex sighs, “Still, judging by this letter, I'd guess that this Bayfield is a decent enough sort. He seems polite, and I doubt that an unsavoury character would reach out like this.”

Unless he had some kind of ulterior motive, which seems increasingly likely. “Well, I've got nothing planned,” you tell Alex, “I can come to Castaigne with you.”

“Excellent, excellent,” the older man nods, his expression a tainted mixture of relief and dread, “Shall we get a move on, then?”

That's what he says, but what he means is “shall we get this over with?”

-

Despite mentioning that he wished to talk, Alex is stubbornly silent as you set off towards Castaigne. Though the skies are a leaden grey above you, the day is uncommonly dry and calm. Good walking weather, at least. As the silence draws out, you wonder if you should say something first. You wonder if Alex would believe you, if you told him about Albershot. For some reason, you think he might.

“It's probably hard for you to imagine it,” Alex begins suddenly, clumsily spitting out the words, “How bad things were, back then. We had just come through a Lliogor migration, and the nation was in a terrible shape. The treasury was drained, and there was a lot of rebuilding work to be done. King Albrecht had only recently taken the throne, and he was gambling on rumours of mineral wealth in the southern colonies. Why he chose your father to lead the expedition, I still don't know. Why your father accepted the assignment... well, that's another impossible question.”

You hold your tongue, letting Alex say his piece. If you interrupt him now, give him an excuse to get distracted, he might never return to the subject.

“It was nasty work. Ugly work. There was a small camp already set up, and – fortunately for us – they had done the worst job for us,” he continues, “They had, ah, recruited a good number of native workers already. Young men mostly, strong and healthy but often sullen. Left to their own devices, they'd hardly do any work at all.”

[1]
>>
>>6103196

There's something obscene about the way Alex dances around the subject. It would be better, you think, if he just came out and said they were slaves.

“I don't know how he did it, but Gideon was better than anyone else at getting them working. He scared them, I suppose. Either way, the mines flourished under our watch. Soon, we were shipping silver back by the boatload,” Alex smiles a little, despite everything, “Even with the King taking most of it, we would all be rich men by the end of it.”

But not for very long, apparently. How fleeting wealth can be!

“Things settled into a kind of routine after a while. It wasn't pleasant, but we got used to it. The problem was... the natives had their rituals, some barbarian faith. Officially, we were supposed to be stamping it out, but we knew better. It gave them an outlet, something to comfort them. Take that away, they would have been uncontrollable,” he grimaces, “But Gideon was fascinated by it all. He'd sometimes sneak out to watch them, the natives, as they shrieked and danced around their bonfires. They believed...”

A pause.

“I'm no expert, and I don't want to be, but they believed in a world of petty gods and spirits. With the proper rites, men could draw their attention and make contact with these spirits,” Alex explains, “That's what got Gideon interested. He contrasted it, I suppose, with the Godhead. Here were gods that actually answered their prayers.”

“After a while, I started hearing rumours – rumours about a great white devil that joined the natives in their rituals, then led them,” another pause, “Rumours, Isambard. Just rumours.”

“Then what?” you prompt, as Alex lapses into silence once more.

Drawing in a deep breath, Alex takes a moment to answer. “Things got worse,” he says simply, “Gideon got harsher with the natives, setting impossible quotas and then punishing them when they failed. He'd have them lashed, and any who fought back would be beheaded. By the end, I scarcely recognised him. This wasn't the man I knew.”

You nod slowly, swallowing back a wave of nausea.

“Eventually word got back to the King about what we were doing. When the next supply ship came, it had orders for us to cease. Our job was done, they said, the treasury had been sufficiently fattened up,” Alex raises his hands in a vague gesture of futility, “It was all over. We started getting ready to leave, but the natives... when they realised that we were leaving, they flew into a frenzy. We were giving them back their freedom, but they fought to make us stay. It all happened so fast, the whole camp devolving into chaos. I saw natives tearing men apart with their bare hands. It was Gideon who rallied us all, gathering together the men and giving us his order – exterminate the brutes.”

[2/3]
>>
>>6103211
jesus, Gideon. wtf man.
>>
>>6103211

“We followed his order, of course. We followed it to the letter,” Alex murmurs, shuddering at the memory, “Even when their spirit was broken, and the attack was over, he had us hunt the last of the natives down. We shot them down like dogs, then burned the buildings. We erased every last trace of our presence, and then – only then – did we leave.”

“I still remember the look on your father's face as we sailed away from those damned shores. It was the look of a man waking up from a long sleep, a long and terrible nightmare. He looked at me and said something to me. I don't think I'll ever forget his words, or how calm he sounded. He said...” he swallows heavily, tugging at the tight collar of his uniform jacket, “He said “things got out of hand”. That's all.”

A soft, humourless laugh escapes you. Your father always had a talent for understatement.

“You have to understand, things weren't... normal,” Alex insists suddenly, “We were all far from home, surrounded by barbarism. The natives themselves were savage – before we came, they were constantly slaughtering each other in petty, pointless battles. Living in a place like that, it... it gets under your skin. Every day, the comforts of home seem a little further away. It's easy to... to forget yourself.”

“Alex,” you interrupt, holding up a hand to silence him, “Don't defend him.”

Alex falls into an obedient silence, looking away from you and glancing down the path towards Castaigne. You can well understand why he was avoiding this conversation for so long. Looking at him now, you wonder if he feels any better for finally letting the secret out. Does he feel a kind of relief, a sense of closure?

You're not sure if he does.

>Let's go. I don't think I want to talk about this any more
>What happened then? After you returned home, then what?
>Do you know anything more about these... rituals?
>I have so many questions right now... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6103219
>What happened then? After you returned home, then what?
Instantly put it behind them I bet

>“He said “things got out of hand”
One could say he almost lost his cool out there
>>
>>6103219
>Sounds like there's entirely too many gods who would be eager to kill him in strange and mythical circumstances.
>But fortunately or unfortunately, I don't think that was the case. Father was not the only one "getting out of hand", and if such things really called for judgement from the divine, there'd be others before him. Of equal status.

>Do you have any names for the gods they were trying to call?
>>
For a while, you just slowly walk on in silence. Now, you're the one who doesn't want to speak. Just hearing about your father's crimes has left you feeling tainted, unclear – the very blood in your veins poisoned by his legacy. It's not that you ever really saw him as a GOOD man, but you never imagined... this. Any of this.

“What happened then?” you ask at last, forcing yourself to speak, “After you all returned home, then what?”

“Nobody dared speak of it, of course, but it wasn't something that we could just forget about either. Most of us just... went our separate ways. I tried to stay in contact with Gideon for as long as possible, but in the end he pushed me away too. He dismissed all his servants, and spent his days holed up, completely alone, in the estate,” Alex shakes his head, “Dunblane lost himself in academia, Teufel vanished completely until surfacing in the hospital. It's always the same story – we isolated ourselves, doing whatever we could to move on, or we'd die.”

“But something changed,” you point out, “At some point, you got back in touch with my father.”

“Yes. I did,” he nods slowly, “I was told, ordered really, to go to the estate. When I did, I found him there – with two infant children.”

And this is where you enter the scene, as if he had simply found you and Gratia in a disused bedroom.

“It doesn't answer many questions, but I suppose some things make a little more sense now,” you murmur, an eerie calm in your voice, “I can imagine there are entirely too many gods and spirits who would have been eager to kill him after everything he did. Divine retribution would be a nice, easy answer. Yet, I don't think that's the case. Did any of them have names?”

“Them... who?”

“These gods – or spirits, if you prefer – that my father was trying to call up,” you explain, “Did any of them have names?”

“I don't actually know if your father was trying to...” Alex hesitates awkwardly, “As I said, these were only rumours about camp. I never actually saw-”

“Alex!” you snap, silencing the man in an instant.

“I don't... know if this was a name,” he answers slowly, reluctantly, “But after things got... bad. After the lashings, the executions, I sometimes heard the natives mumbling a word. Stryx, or Strix. Something like that. They weren't exactly writing it down.”

“Strix,” you repeat to yourself, getting a feel for the word. It certainly has an evil feeling to it. Just saying the word feels like a crime, as if you might be inviting some terrible fate down upon yourself. Yet also, there's a temptation to say it loud and clear.

“Isambard, I... I would prefer if you don't tell the others about this,” Alex adds, “I worry that they might... react poorly. Your father's crimes are not your crimes, of course, but-”

“Guilt by association,” you finish for him, “I'm quite familiar with the concept.”

“Quite so,” he says glumly.

[1]
>>
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>>6103237

Arriving in Castaigne under a heavy cloud, you head straight for the postal office. After everything that Alex told you, you're not sure if you really want anything else from your father – especially not something from that nightmarish expedition. Still, you've come all this way. The least you can do is take a look at it. Alex talks quietly with the clerk as you listlessly pace from one end of the office to the other, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the empty building.

“He'll just need a moment to find it,” Alex says, looking back over your shoulder, “I'm going to check the social register while I'm here, see if I can find any trace of our Master Bayfield.”

“Go ahead,” you answer, watching as Alex moves to consult the social register – a weighty tome filled with a vast list of names, addresses and business details. It's a good place to start, unless Bayfield is an unusually private man.

“Here we are,” Alex announces, “Bayfield. Looks like a merchant, a dealer in handicrafts and other trinkets. I assume he buys them here, then sells them in the capital or the other big cities. If he did business here, that might explain how Gideon made his acquaintance. He seems innocent enough, I'd wager. Too boring to be involved in-”

Alex falls silent as the long-suffering clerk carries a large parcel up to the desk and deposits it down. Alex sends him away with a few coins, then tears off the brown paper wrapping to reveal a cuirass of gleaming silver. “Very impressive,” you admit, examining the burning art motif set in as decoration, “But... why? This doesn't look like armour to me. It might stop a glancing blow from a dagger, but not much else.”

“It's ceremonial. The Sacred Heart Society, a missionary group, helped fund the expedition. They gave us these as part of that,” Alex explains in a low whisper, “They thought we'd go and spread the good word, enlightening the poor savages, so we needed to make a good first impression.”

“I see,” you murmur, reaching out to touch the polished silver. Before your fingers actually brush against it though, you feel the corrosive sting of Calamity and draw back your hand. “So what do you think?” you ask, “What do you think we should do with it?”

“Get rid of it, frankly,” Alex answers, “I gave mine back to the Society. They seemed glad to get it back – probably to melt it down and turn it into a candlestick or something. I can't imagine they were very proud of their little project. We could pack it right back up now, send it to them today.”

That's certainly one idea, but the cuirass... it looks like it would fit you perfectly.

>You'll keep the cuirass for yourself [+1 Sovereignty, +1 Calamity]
>Send it away. You've got no use for such a thing
>>
>>6103248
>You'll keep the cuirass for yourself [+1 Sovereignty, +1 Calamity]
This cuirass...it was made for me
Also we have enough purity to offset the calamity, right? That's totally how it works?
>>
>>6103251
+1
Where's the fucking Ingenuity gains? We need more time with Jan for Solitude too. But Insight needs to be the highest for muh Pale nobility.
>>
OK. We either balance Calamity alongside all other Emanation scores, or we use Calamity to defy Calamity with our own will.
>>
>>6103248
>Use it as practice. You've managed to pulverize an item of Calamity before, maybe you can do something more artisanal to this piece.
The dagger was meant to cut spirits, right? Well, maybe we can test that. Worst case is we destroy a piece of junk.
>>
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“No, we'll keep it. I'll keep it,” you decide, softly shaking your head. Reaching out once more, you trace a finger down the burning heart emblazoned on the bright silver. Just for a moment, a fleeting fraction of a second, you see the metal stained with dark rivulets of blood. A blink later, and the image is gone once more. The metal is as bright as the light of the full moon.

“Isambard,” Alex warns, “I don't think-”

“I've made my decision, Alex,” you interrupt, “You said it yourself – my father's crimes are not my crimes. I won't have this piece destroyed just because you're getting squeamish.”

Alex studies you carefully, his eyes darkened with sadness, and you feel a sharp pang of regret for your words. As much as you want to apologise, though, you somehow can't form the words.

“Very well,” the older man decides, his face set in a grim mask, “But you're carrying it home, not me.”

-

You ponder your father's deeds as you walk home, the awkward weight of the cuirass preventing your thoughts from wandering very far at all. Your earlier revulsion has somewhat cooled, leaving behind more of a curiosity. When he shed blood and danced in orgiastic rituals, what did he see? What kind of being did he contact, and what did it reveal to him?

It could all have been primitive superstition, you take pains to remind yourself, the natives may not have been any better than the Godhead's faithful – both screaming prayers into a void with no hope of an answer.

But what if they didn't go unanswered?

Strix, Stryx, Strix, Stryx...

You wish you hadn't asked Alex for their name. It's going to be echoing through your mind all day now, and probably all night. You'll hear it in your dreams, assuming you sleep at all. Idly, you wonder if this is what going mad feels like.

Ariel is waiting for you when you return, sitting on the manor's front steps with the scope from her rifle. Slipping the scope back into her pocket, she leaps to her feet and gives you a big wave. “Wow, nice armour,” she remarks as you approach, “Looks heavy though.”

“It's not really, but it's awkward to carry,” you grunt, “Is that you offering to take it off me?”

“Absolutely not,” Ariel laughs, “But I'll get the door for you. That's helpful, right?”

“Close enough.”

Carrying the cuirass inside, you set it down in the hallway and dust off your chafed hands. It would have been easier to just wear the damn thing, but that would have meant stripping off in the middle of the postal office. You weren't quite that desperate. Alex murmurs an excuse and leave you alone with Ariel, her gaze following him out of the room.

“He's in a bad mood,” she notices, “Did you two have an argument or something?”

“Not exactly,” you answer vaguely, “Just a gentlemanly disagreement. You wouldn't really understand.”

“Clearly not,” Ariel remarks, one corner of her mouth twitching up in a smirk.

[1]
>>
>>6103274

Carrying the cuirass up to your bedroom, you set it down before lying back on your bed and letting out a low sigh. With little more than an awkward conversation and a trip to Castaigne, you've secured another step on your path towards finding Gratia. It should feel like a triumph, yet your heart remains hollow. Until you're face to face with her once more, there's nothing to celebrate.

You're not sure exactly when you fall asleep, or exactly how long you're sleeping for, but the sunlight outside your window is rapidly fading when you wake up. Blinking away your confusion, the sheer sense of disorientation, you rise from your bed and straighten up your uniform. It might not do for high society, but it's neat enough for now.

Leaving your bedroom, you listen carefully and hear the sound of voices downstairs – Alex and Ariel, no doubt talking over a late supper. Leaving them to it, you start to wander at random before realising that you're drifting towards the east wing of the estate – Gratia's wing, back when you were separated. Allowing your legs to guide you, you pass down the long corridor until you arrive at an unmarked bedroom – the name carefully scrubbed off the plaque screwed into the wood.

Even when you were together as children, you never entered Gratia's room. You would meet in your bedroom, or any number of the empty rooms littering the estate, but never hers. Even at a young age, you recognised that, as a girl, she had more need of secret places, and secret things, than you did. Fighting a terrible resistance, you reach out to the door handle and-

And you freeze, the faint sound of a carriage cutting through the silence. Drawing your hand back as if scalded, you turn and hurry down the main door just as the carriage pulls to a halt. The door opens, and King Albrecht's faithful shadow steps out. Offering his hand, Sakhalin then reaches up to help Elle disembark.

“Hello!” Elle calls out, giving you a big wave, “We just managed to catch the last train out. I hope we're not too early!”

“It doesn't look early to me,” you remark, looking up at the darkening sky, “But it's certainly better than being late.”

“Master Pale. Perhaps we could finish this conversation inside,” Sakhalin suggests, “I apologise for any inconvenience, but there are some matters I wished to discuss with you. If possible-”

“No, of course. Come in,” you assure him, immediately sensing his request, “I can't promise that they'll be up to King Albrecht's standards, but we have plenty of spare rooms.”

“Thank you, Master Pale. They will suffice,” the dark-skinned man replies, his voice as low and mournful as you remember, “I will have slept in far worse conditions, whatever your rooms are like.”

[2/3]
>>
>>6103280

“We'll have to catch up properly in the morning,” Elle tells you as you lead her inside, “There's, ah, there's a lot that we have to talk about.”

“Hopefully, some of it is good,” you remark.

“Some of it!” she insists, trying to put on a brave face. There's already a cup of tea waiting for her as you enter the dining room, and Elle gratefully snatches it up. Taking a deep sip, then sitting heavily down in the nearest seat, she lets out a soft sigh. “I really shouldn't be so tired, considering I've done nothing but travel all day,” she admits, “But these past few days have been... difficult.”

You smile at this, thinking of Albershot Lodge. However difficult her days have been, yours have been worse.

“Oh! I should give you this before I forget,” Elle says quickly, taking a small envelope from her handbag, “Choirmaster Moreau asked me to pass this on to you.”

Presumably, this isn't one of the mythical “good things” that you have to talk about. Opening the envelope and unfolding the thin sheet of paper, you start to read the neat handwriting.

“Master Pale,” the letter begins, “I hope your recent endeavours have been fruitful, but I shall not waste time on further pleasantries. I am writing to you for two reasons. First. I believe you were advised to avoid associating with House Tomoe, but I will repeat myself for your benefit. I would strongly warn against any further dealings with them – their path leads only to madness, disgrace and death.”

“Secondly,” it continues, “I wished to offer a word of advice regarding Miss Legrasse. Please do not misinterpret her affections – she is attracted to what you represent, not you yourself. I do not mean this as an insult, of course, but a fair warning.”

You stare at the letter for a long moment, fighting the urge to crumple it up into a ball and hurl it at the nearest wall. What you represent... how should you interpret that?

“Something wrong?” Elle asks, fighting a yawn.

>Forget about the letter. It's just a petty mind game. Not worth your time
>You need to get a second opinion about this. Maybe Ariel has an insight
>Perhaps it's best to be direct. Just ask Elle about the letter
>Other
>>
>>6103282
>Forget about the letter. It's just a petty mind game. Not worth your time
She's just jealous! Besides Juno's the bae anyway so it doesn't matter who Elle likes or doesn't like.
>>
>>6103282
>Forget about the letter. It's just a petty mind game. Not worth your time
Elle route is still my preference, sadly.
>>
>>6103282
>You need to get a second opinion about this. Maybe Ariel has an insight
Later. In private.
This little subplot will resplve whether Elle or Ariel is bestgirl.
>>
Looking up at Elle, you neatly fold the letter back up and return it to the envelope. “Nothing much,” you answer quickly, “Just a little warning against associating with the Tomoe. Again.”

“Oh, I see,” Elle murmurs, “It IS good advice, though.”

“And when have I ever listened to good advice?” you counter, giving her a feigned grin. Elle tries to match your smile, only for another yawn to interrupt her. “Really though, it's nothing important. Get a good night's sleep now, and we can talk more tomorrow,” you tell her, “We could even compare stories. You're not the only one who's been working hard, you know.”

“Isambard?” Elle asks as you're leaving, “Don't push yourself too hard, okay? If you push yourself too hard, that's when things get out of hand.”

You freeze in the doorway, your stomach clenching at the sound of your father's old words. “Don't worry,” you mutter, looking out into the corridor beyond, “I know my limits.”

-

Owing to your unplanned nap, you doubt that you'll sleep very much tonight. Instead, you read and reread the letter by the light of a gas lantern, trying to decipher Moreau's meaning. In the end, you decide that it's likely to be nothing more than a game – although you certainly don't find it very amusing. In fact, you'd much prefer it if Moreau just kept out of your business from now on.

Even though sleep might be elusive, you lie back in bed and close your eyes regardless. You can feel a headache brewing, and lying in the cool darkness might dull the pain a little. Even so, you can't quieten your thoughts – there are just too many wild fantasies rushing through your thoughts, from nightmarish visions of your father's dark acts to melancholy thoughts of the Demesne. Though you're lying safely in your bedroom, you still feel as if you were running through the labyrinth – or if the labyrinth was a part of yourself.

“Strix,” you murmur softly to yourself.

Somewhere outside your window, a night owl cries out.

>It's a little bit early, but I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be continuing this tomorrow, starting at the same approximate time
>Thank you for playing today!
>>
>>6103310
Thanks for running!

When do we succumb to the urge to perform dark pagan rituals?
>>
>>6103310
Thanks running running, QM!

>>6103336
Never, Godhead willing. We'll see.
>>
>>6103310
Thanks for running QM.

>>6103336
Never anon - we are not weak like our father.

>>6103286
Juno confirmed as best girl
>>
So I think we've hit the threshold to start feeling symptoms from Calamity, and I doubt that's going to go away.

I'm not quite sure how we're going to get ingenuity, since my best guess is to drag Isambard's reluctant ass to actually study all this industrial tech to make something himself.
>>
>>6103556
So he's going to betray the Pale principles to learn about the technology and manufacturing that took his family's artisan niche from them? And yeah we might as well endure the Calamity. If Juno gives Isambard a blowjob and swallows, does she absorb the Calamity that way too?
>>
>>6103556
It would seem that all the Ingenuity relics have gone to the same place as House Phalaris, the REDACTED
>>
>>6103607
Nah, but it'll work if he makes a baby, since babies ARE calamities.
>>
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Somehow, through skill and dedication, you manage to get some sleep that night. Waking with the sun's first light, you rise from your bed and start to dress with slow, unhurried movements. More than once, you catch yourself glancing aside to the silver cuirass sitting by your bed. With the sunlight flaring off the polished steel, you can well imagine the impact it might have on an uneducated native. A little flashy for your tastes, but it should fit under your uniform jacket easily enough.

You're halfway through buttoning up your shirt when a knock at your door rings out. You open the door, expecting to see Alex with a new message or some other trivial matter, but instead you see Elle waiting. She freezes, eyes dropping low to the sliver of bare flesh visible through your open shirt.

“I'm sorry, I'll come back later!” she yelps as she turns away, only to hesitate before turning back, “No, I can't. I'll lose my nerve if I don't say this now.”

“Well, come in and say your piece,” you tell her, stepping back and holding the door open, “Do you mind if I get dressed while we talk?”

“Um, yes. Please do,” Elle insists, her cheeks flushed a deep red, “I'm... worried. About you.”

Automatically, you glance down at the cuirass sitting by the wall. Saying nothing, you hurriedly finish buttoning up your shirt and look back to Elle. Finally, she's able to meet your eyes again.

“I had a dream about you,” she admits, wincing a little at her own words, “In my dream, you were walking into the web of a great spider. I don't think you realised how much danger you were really in. That spider, it... it thought that it was so clever, but deep down all it wanted to do was eat – to eat and eat until there was nothing left.”

“Now, are we talking about a dream,” you ask carefully, “Or a prophecy?”

“I think the line between them is finer than we think,” Elle answers, “But if it is a prophecy, I don't yet know what it means – what, or who, the “spider” really is.”

It might be easier, you think bitterly, to write up a list of all the people it couldn't be.

“You're putting yourself in danger, Isambard,” Elle says frankly, “I know how important this is to you, and I won't tell you to stop. I... don't have that right. My only involvement here is, well, is you. I mean, um, you and everyone else – I've made so many friends since this all started.”

“And a few enemies, maybe,” you remark.

“I try not to think about that, but-” she pauses, “Now I'm just getting distracted. What I meant to say is, I want you to be careful, very careful, about what you're doing – and why you're doing it.”

“I'll be careful,” you promise, before repeating, “I know my limits.”

“Good,” Elle replies with a soft smile, “You keep doing that, and I'll keep watching your back. If we do that, I'm sure that we'll make it through okay.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6103817

“So,” you ask as you walk downstairs with Elle, “How was it?”

“My, um, training?” Elle winces slightly, “I suppose it wasn't as bad as I had been expecting. I really needed to swallow my pride to go back to the Choir after... everything that happened.”

“I'm sure,” you pause, “What ACTUALLY happened?”

This time, Elle is the one who pauses. “It wasn't really any one single thing. Lots of little things, really. It might take too long to explain,” she says carefully, “I suppose I couldn't really stand all the rules – rules about how we were supposed to behave, rules about who we were supposed to associate with, so many petty, pointless rules... It reached a point where I really had no way of staying there. So, I left.”

“And then you came back.”

“Well, ah, yes. Then I came back,” Elle blushes, “But everyone was really quite nice about it. They didn't even mention, you know, the past.”

Sometimes, you know, it's better to let the past stay buried.

“It helped, I think,” she continues, “I feel a little more focused now. Actually, last night, I heard the Emanations again. They have a message for you. They said “beware the silver bird, but spare its life”. Have you got any idea what it might mean?”

“I haven't seen many silver birds lately,” you admit, “But I'll keep that in mind if I do.”

“Mm, please do. It must be important, whatever it means,” Elle tilts her head to the side, smiling again as she studies your face. Under her scrutiny, you have to fight the urge to look away. “You look different,” she murmurs eventually, “Older, somehow.”

“I suppose I am a few days older than the last time you saw me,” you point out, “I'd be very worried if I looked any younger.”

“Very funny,” Elle says, poking you in the chest before glancing up at a clock hanging in the hall, “Oh, I didn't realise it was so early. We'll have plenty of time before the others get up. Fancy some breakfast?”

-

Later, as the sound of eggs and sausage frying on the stove echoes throughout the silent manor, you sit back and wonder what the day might hold. It's been some time since you last saw Sakhalin, and you can't help but think he's here to deliver some bad news. He's just got that kind of demeanour.

“Eat up before it gets cold,” Elle says, placing a plate down before you. It's simple food, miles away from the kind of delicate meals you'd imagine her eating at the Choir, but exactly the kind of meal you were craving. Elle digs into her meal too, and for a while the only sounds are that of cutlery rattling.

“So...” you begin as you set the empty plate aside. Elle looks up, taking a sip of tea as she waits for you to continue.

>We should get a move on. I'm sure the others will be getting up soon
>Tell me more about the Choir. What was it like there?
>Ever heard of Albershot Lodge? I've got a fine story for you...
>Let's talk... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6103818
>Ever hear of Albershot lodge? I’ve got a crazy story for you…
>>
>>6103818
>silver bird
I think that might be Strix

>Let's rip the bandaid off. I did, in fact, meet with the Tomoe. It was definitely an unpleasant experience, all told, but not ALL bad. Did you ever meet Juno in the Choir? I'm still not sure if you're wary of the Tomoe or her specifically.
>>
>>6103831
+1

>>6103818
No unpleasant drama at inopportune moments, por favor.
>>
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“So, I've got a crazy story for you,” you begin, “Have you ever heard of Albershot Lodge?”

“I can't say that I have,” Elle replies after a moment's thought, “It sounds... nice?”

“I suppose it was, once. We visited there, but... well, I might as well say it straight,” you decide, pressing on with your story, “We were there with Juno. A little spot of Tomoe business that we got dragged into. But if it makes any difference to you, we didn't exactly help them. If anything, it worked out the complete opposite.”

Elle doesn't seem especially displeased to hear that you've been working with Juno, or even particularly surprised. “I think you're telling your story all out of order,” she points out delicately, “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

“Right. That's probably wise. We were sent to Albershot Lodge to look for a missing Tomoe agent, a young man named Leigh. The lodge was abandoned when we got there, save for Leigh himself locked up in the basement. We ended up staying the night, but the next morning we found that we couldn't leave,” you recall, finding some perverse pleasure in recounting your experiences, “Whenever we tried, some force caused us to turn back.”

“There was something buried near the lodge, buried deep under a great tree. It could make you see things, see exactly what you wanted to see,” you continue, “Like me, I saw Gratia.”

“What did Miss Tomoe see?” Elle asks, leaning forwards a little before drawing back, “No, excuse me. I shouldn't ask such things – not about such a private matter.”

“Really? You don't want to know?” you remark, raising an eyebrow, “Well, suit yourself. Whatever she saw, Ariel was able to break the illusion. She wasn't affected nearly as badly as either of us, and managed to shoot the monster. That bought us just enough time to get out, and then we burned it. The tree, the monster, all of it.”

Elle shudders a little as she considers your story. “To think such things could exist in this world!” she whispers, “Ugh...”

“You believe me, then?”

“Why wouldn't I?” she asks, looking you in the eye, “Or rather, why would you lie to me?”

Something about her simple, easy trust strikes you very deeply. “Can I ask you a question?” you ask, “The way you asked about Juno, before... did you know her, in the Choir? At first, I assumed you were just wary about the Tomoe family, but now I'm wondering if it's something about her in particular...”

Elle bites her lip nervously. “I... did meet her,” she admits eventually, “It feels like a very long time ago, of course. But yes, I suppose you could say that we were friends. Or rather, I thought we were friends. But then she left, or was thrown out, and we lost contact. I assumed she forgot all about me after the Choir.”

There's a history here, a painful one. For now, at least, you're content to leave it buried.

[1]
>>
>>6103846
Aw, so our Betty and Veronica (Cheryl Blossom?) really WERE best buddies. Sad... But makes harem end more plausible
>>
>>6103846

Elle seems relieved when you let the matter rest, and you say nothing more on the subject as the others come downstairs and start getting ready for breakfast. After a quick meal, Agnes takes the dirty dishes back through to the kitchen as Sakhalin leads you into a secluded parlour. Crowded together in the little room, you feel strangely conspiratorial. This is the kind of room well suited to whispered schemes and secrets.

“Thank you, Master Pale, for your hospitality,” Sakhalin begins, “But you will excuse me if I move swiftly to business. You may recall a certain matter of missing files, prophecies absent from the Choir archives.”

“I remember,” you reply, “My family's file was cleaned out.”

“It appears that the problem was worse than we first thought. Many families were affected, if to a lesser degree, not just yours. For example, Master Seidel,” Sakhalin says, nodding to Alex, “Forgive me, but your family is not illustrious, yet it was affected all the same.”

“Me?” Alex replies with a nervous laugh, “I never imagined that I'd have much of a file at all.”

“The records suggest there was only a single prophecy associated with your name, and that was among those lost. An example, of course. To illustrate the seriousness of the matter. Considering the scale of the problem, I raised it with the Choirmaster immediately,” the dark-skinned man explains, “Tell me, Master Pale, are you familiar with the Cacophony Affair?”

“A case of mass hysteria, caused by rumours of a group of evil oracles,” you recall, “We touched on it in one of our history classes back at Coral House.”

“As part of the Cacophony Affair, it seems that a great number of prophecies were removed from the archives when their original receivers came under suspicion. Some of them were destroyed by... excessively zealous investigators,” Sakhalin continues, “As such, not all of the prophecies could be returned when their authors were rehabilitated.”

Elle frowns in thought. Everyone does, actually. “That doesn't make sense,” Alex says slowly, “I remember being given that prophecy – it was AFTER the Cacophony Affair was over and done with. There has to be some mistake.”

“Is that so?” Sakhalin murmurs, taking out a small notepad and writing a few words.

“Thank you for telling us this, Sakhalin, but I have to ask,” you mention, “Why let us know?”

“You were the ones to bring this to our attention. I originally wished to tell you that we had found a satisfactory explanation, however...” he pauses, “This no longer seems to be the case. Choirmaster Moreau will have some more questions to answer.”

He'll be lucky if he can get any straight answers out of that old bird.

[2/3]
>>
>>6103866

“In either case, Master Seidel, thank you for providing this information,” Sakhalin says, making another note in his book, “In all likelihood, there will be a simple explanation for this. However, I dislike loose ends such as these. Further investigation will be required. While I am here, Master Pale, I would like to ask you for an update on your investigation into the Demesne.”

“Steady progress,” you answer, “I should be ready to descend further, into the third layer. There are some indications that my father reached the fourth layer, but went no further. At this pace, I should have an opportunity to visit the scene of the crime before too long.”

“I see. Excellent work, Master Pale,” the black man murmurs with a nod, “King Albrecht regrets that he does not have the opportunity to see you in person, but he has been greatly involved with resolving the Martense situation.”

Salvaging something from the remains, he means.

“If I might ask,” Sakhalin adds, “What are your next plans?”

>The Demesne. I don't want to delay any longer now that I'm ready to move deeper
>One of my father's associates is held in a House Silvera hospital. I plan on visiting him
>I'm still looking for further leads. If you hear anything, please let me know
>There were some other questions I had for you... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6103891
>One of my father's associates is held in a House Silvera hospital. I plan on visiting him
>I'm still looking for further leads. If you hear anything, please let me know
Aside from Teufel, we are out of leads now unless Davidian has someone else that suddenly went dark or we work with the Tomoe again. The Demesne isn't going anywhere, and considering what happened to our father and Dunblane, putting off seeing Teufel probably isn't going to end well.
>>
>>6103891
>Is it possible to inquire if, among the previous challengers of the Demense, there were any who held a balance of Attunements?
>>
>>6103916
+1, but also

>>6103891
>One of my father's associates is held in a House Silvera hospital. I plan on visiting him
>>
>>6103856
Gee Isambard Pale! How come the King lets you have TWO oracles as your wives?

>>6103891
Backing >>6103913 and >>6103916
>>
>>6103866
>This is the kind of room well suited to whispered schemes and secrets.
He would know. He did that plenty with Gratia in rooms like these
>>
>>6103913
What of the Galseans? Could they have further leads on Gideon's work and other ventures that might matter? Also when the fuck are we going to get the next Lesson? The Tomoe and Martense didn't have one for us. Could the Silvera asylum have one somewhere?
>>
>I'm sorry for the delay - I was feeling a little sick, so I went for a lie down. I'm back and writing now, looks like we're going to hospital next
>>
>>6103753
Which is more taboo in this society the quest takes place in? Brother-sister twincest within a noble house, or Pale+Tomoe houses entwining (with both Isambard and Juno sharing Elle together)?
>>
“One of my father's associates is being held in a House Silvera hospital,” you tell Sakhalin, “I planned on visiting him before, but now I think it may be best to do that sooner rather than later.”

That draws a few curious looks, and you find yourself regretting your words. Given everything that Alex told you about your father and his associates, you fear that Teufel might suffer a similar fate to poor Dunblane, but how could you explain that in a way that doesn't sound completely insane? You might end up in a cell next to Teufel if you keep this up.

“Well. I hope that you have a safe journey,” Sakhalin says, “The Silvera lands are quite beautiful, I'm told.”

“I might stay behind, if it's all the same with you,” Ariel adds quietly, “Hospitals are... not really my thing.”

You glance aside to her, but give her a nod. “You're a free woman, you can go wherever you choose,” you tell her, “If you want to stay here, that's fine. There's plenty of spare room, if you don't feel like travelling back to Siegfried House.”

The offer was made casually, with no greater weight devoted to it, but Ariel's eyes light up with a soft glow of gratitude. Smiling deeply, she bows her head in a short nod of confirmation.

“Though, unless Teufel is especially talkative, we're running out of leads to follow,” you continue after a moment, looking back to Sakhalin, “If you hear anything, or have any strange errands that might link back to my father, I would appreciate if you share them with us. I'm not above doing petty errands if it will take me closer to the truth.”

“Your willingness to turn your hand to a great many tasks has not gone unnoticed, Master Pale,” Sakhalin answers, with the faintest note of what might be humour, “I will mention this to King Albrecht. Should there be any jobs suitable to your particular set of skills, I will let you know. Was there anything else that I might be able to assist you with?”

“Perhaps. A question,” you mention, tapping a finger against your chin as you think, “Of all my predecessors, the other pioneers who have delved into the Demesne, which Lessons did they seek? Did they try to maintain a balance, or did they focus their efforts in one particular direction?”

Sakhalin thinks deeply on this, even paging back through his notebook. “When he learned that your father died within the Demesne, King Albrecht asked me to look into such matters. I cannot claim to be an expert, but I believe that most favoured a single Lesson – Purity,” he recalls, “The church has always placed a special importance on the Demesne. It could be that this is why the followers of Purity have been the majority.”

“However, I noted one exception,” Sakhalin adds after a moment, “One pioneer who favoured the Emanation of Ingenuity – Yulia, last head of House Phalaris.”

[1]
>>
>>6103945

This announcement is met with a curious silence. Any mention of the doomed and lost Phalaris is always prone to kill the conversation, but this time is especially bad. “I wasn't aware that House Phalaris had any interest in the Demesne,” Elle says eventually, “I always presumed that they scorned things like that. Factories and machines, the work of mankind, was the focus of their attention, not matters of the unknowable.”

“Yes, that was their norm. But Miss Phalaris, it seems, was the outlier. Given the fate of House Phalaris, their connection with the Demesne – frail and distant though it may be – has been mostly struck from the history books,” Sakhalin explains in a low voice, “But the same can be said for so many things related to the Phalaris.”

Another awkward pause, as you all nod and murmur something appropriately solemn.

“Right, well, I'd better sent a message off to the hospital,” Alex announces, clapping his hands together in an attempt to banish the low mood, “They don't like unexpected guests up there. Take it from someone who knows.”

“And I'll keep an eye on any incoming messages,” Ariel adds, “If anything looks promising, I'll see what else I can dig up.”

“Right then, that sounds like we've got a plan,” you decide, “Sakhalin, thank you. It was good seeing you again, but for now-”

“Of course, Master Pale,” the dark-skinned man interrupts gently, “You have a trip to prepare for.”

-

Not that there's much preparation that you need to do. Throwing a change of clothes and a few books into your bag, you glance back to the polished cuirass. After dithering for a moment, you quickly strip off your jacket and awkwardly don the lightweight armour. It doesn't hinder you much once it's on, and it vanishes completely once you pull your jacket back on over it. You shudder to imagine how your father felt wearing it in the sweltering southern climate, however.

“You're sure about this, then?” Elle asks quietly, looking up from her own satchel.

“I'm sure,” you reply, banishing all doubt and hesitation from your voice, “Gratia... I can't explain it, but I have faith that she's safe... for now. But I can't say the same about Master Teufel. He's locked up in a hospital, yes, but Master Dunblane was in a locked room too. Look at what happened to him.”

“I'd rather not think about that,” the oracle admits, “Not so soon after eating breakfast.”

“Exactly. I'd rather avoid another messy death if possible,” you pause, “Or, at the very least, make sure I hear what Teufel has to say before he dies.”

>Sorry for another early finish, but I'm pausing here – I need to do some forward planning before picking up tomorrow
>Thank you for reading!
>>
>>6103953
Thanks for running!
Super busy today so the early finish suits me perfectly
Sucks for everyone else though
>>
>>6103960
>Sucks for everyone else though
I was also busy, and really, Moloch updates pretty fast on days he runs, so we get a week's worth of /qst/ content in a couplr days, easy.
>>
It Might also be worth mentioning the recent letter from the Choirmaster to Sakhalin.

Since we're working on the King's behalf. We really shouldn't be being threatened and it's an indication that they actively hamstringing the investigation or at least trying to "shape" the outcome, or order of events.


It also serves as potentially yet more leverage to be applied to get them to stay out of our way, or at least forced to lean on the scales more carefully, since they've tipped their hand that they "are" interested in what we are doing, even if they won't actually help, even though it is well within their capabilities. And the Files not being found was far too obvious.
>>
>>6104330
so get an official statement from the king on how he feels about Calamity? I feel like that's not going to be an offhand remark after all the Calamitous things the crown has tacitly approved
>>
>>6104358
Its more so that we can gauge, though his actions the level of support / cover that he and / or his agents are willing to provide us, from the Church. He has already facilitated expedience with other related matters, and since we're on the hook for this its in his interest to at least protect his existing investment(s) into this investigation.

Our goal at least at this point is to recover Gratia from the demesne (She probably managed to get in there without detection, so it's not out of the question for things to be going on without the king's permission), as at least to an end to finding out what was going on with our father.

I'm fully expecting things to go sideways, we know the church has people that "could" reach Gratia, hell we even met one. Who is actually to say she is still in there and isn't in a dungeon being interrogated, and we're just cleaning up loose ends before "Hose Pale" is finally dealt with.
>>
>>6103817
>“I'll be careful,” you promise, before repeating, “I know my limits.”

We lie to Elle so easily, so effortlessly
>>
>>6104330
>We really shouldn't be being threatened and it's an indication that they actively hamstringing the investigation or at least trying to "shape" the outcome, or order of events.
That's a pretty uncharitable interpretation of the letter. Just from what's written I take away "These people who have a bad rep deserve it" and "Stop flirting with my apprentice". Plus it was written with Elle's return to the Choir, so rather than proving her interest it just shows she had a talk with Elle while she was back. I don't think it's enough for the King to take any action. We'll just look like we're crying wolf.
>>
>>6104473
>it's enough for the King to take any action.
Considering that evidence that they're doing shady things is mounting.

is it not useful to ensure that people that may need to make critical decisions on our behalf are aware of everything that is going on?

>We'll just look like we're crying wolf.
It at, very least helps build "insight", into their actions and characterizes their intent. Also it serves as one more element that could catch them out in the future should it become relevant after all. Information is power and we have no reason not to share with those in a position to better make use of it.
>>
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As Sakhalin is marching out to his carriage, you hurry after him and call his name. With a quick backwards glance to make sure that you're not overheard, you take out Moreau's letter and hold it out to the older man. “I'd like to get your opinion on this,” you explain, “Ah, just the first part. Ignore the second part of the letter, that's... not relevant.”

With a curious expression, Sakhalin takes the letter and slowly reads it. “It would appear, Master Pale, that Choirmaster Moreau is concerned about your recent conduct,” he remarks, “That is understandable, given her position.”

“Whatever her intentions may be, she's interfering with my investigation,” you complain, “It makes me wonder what else she might be interfering with.”

Sakhalin looks up at you. “The missing files?” he asks quietly.

“The Choir is her territory. If anyone had the authority to remove certain prophecies from the archives, it would be her,” you point out, “What I can't be certain of, though, is why.”

You both lapse into silence here. Whatever his thoughts on the subject, Sakhalin keeps them to himself for now.

“There was one other question I had,” you continue, “This is obviously a sensitive matter, so I'll need to be discrete, but... what is King Albrecht's position on Calamity?”

“Calamity is a force that undermines the safety and stability of our great nation,” Sakhalin answers automatically, with the tone of a man reciting a well rehearsed script, “It must be opposed wherever it-”

“No, not the official line,” you interrupt, “I mean, what he really believes.”

“That, Master Pale, is not something I should be discussing,” he says carefully, “However... it appears to me that when men cannot achieve something through fair means, they inevitably turn to foul ones. This is true for many men, from the lowest servant to the highest of kings.”

“Farewell, Master Pale,” Sakhalin adds, giving you a firm nod before climbing into his carriage.

-

Sakhalin wasn't mistaken when he said that the Silvera lands were beautiful. Adjacent to the Teilhard territories, the Silvera lands are somewhat similar in character but with a slightly rougher cast to them – ridges of rough stone thrust up through the grasslands, while craggy cliffs loom up on the horizon. If the Teilhard family are vigilant masters of their land, the Silvera family have allowed it to grow wild and untamed – trusting, you presume, that it will flourish according to the natural order.

Off in the distance, you can hear the faint crash of the ocean waves smashing against the shore. There's a cold edge to the wind, but the weather overall is pleasant enough. It's calm, peaceful, the ideal sort of place for a hospital specialising in nervous disorders.

“I haven't been back here in a while,” Elle murmurs, leaning her head out the carriage window, “It hasn't changed a bit.”

[1/3]
>>
>>6104525

“Where is your home, anyway?” you ask, glancing out the window, “I haven't seen many buildings around.”

“I don't think we're likely to come very close,” the oracle replies, taking a small map out of her handbag, “Saint Samara's Hospital, that's where we're headed, right? It's further up to the north-east, by the coastline. My home was in Petrichor, the main city here. A little manor on the outskirts, very quaint and modest.”

“Of course. A modest manor in the capital city.”

“Isambard, are you making fun of me?” Elle asks, raising an eyebrow, “It IS modest, by our standards. I would say the whole manor would fit into just the central building of your shabby little estate.”

If you didn't know any better, you'd say that you just struck a nerve. “Well, consider me told,” you remark, “What's it like?”

“Petrichor? It's fine. It's nice,” she pauses, thinking for a moment, “It's actually sort of boring, to be honest. Even before I left for the Choir, I'd spend most of the day studying. The rest of the time... well, each morning I'd sit for almost an hour and make myself presentable. I'd curl my hair, wash my face, clean my fingernails... can you imagine the life I led, when I could spend so much time on things like that?”

“How terrible!” you laugh, “I'll never complain about my own childhood again.”

“Now that's a lie, and we both know it.”

-

“Welcome to Saint Samara's Hospital. Master Pale, yes?” the young doctor asks, before turning to Elle, “And you are?”

“My assistant, Miss Legrasse,” you answer for her.

“Legrasse?” the doctor repeats, a curious light coming into her eyes.

“No relation,” Elle quickly lies, shaking her head.

The doctor looks down at her clipboard and sighs. “I wasn't notified that you'd be bringing an assistant,” she complains, “Well, I suppose it doesn't matter too much. Doctor Darwin, by the way. You came a little too early, actually. Master Teufel will still be sleeping.”

“Can't you... wake him?” you suggest delicately.

“We'd prefer not to. He doesn't like it when his routine is disturbed – yes, we could wake him now, but I doubt he'd be very cooperative,” Darwin counters, “Come. Let me show you some of what we do here while we wait. Sign your name in the logbook, please, and then we can begin.”

With an enticing sway to her hips, Doctor Darwin leads you into the hospital. The whole building is coloured a dull white, with large windows allowing the morning sun to flood in. While it mostly looks modern, you occasionally see hints of a much older origin. A few white-garbed doctors move past you as you walk, but you don't see any other patients. Probably still locked up in their padded cells, you think to yourself with a grim smile.

[2/3]
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>>6104526

“This is a lovely building,” Elle ventures as you walk through the main hallway. In particular, her gaze is drawn to a large painting hanging on the wall – an image of the wounded woman peering out from behind a large tree, one hand reaching down towards the ground. From where you stand, you could easily reach up to touch the hand – indeed, you can see a few faint marks on the painting, as if some others have touched the hand for luck.

“We've had significant renovations carried out, but the building is a Drummond original,” Doctor Darwin explains, “I'm especially fond of the main gallery. It's just down here.”

“Drummond...” Elle murmurs to you, “I've heard that name before somewhere. I'm sure of it.”

You shake your head and shrug as Doctor Darwin opens a large door and gestures inside. The gallery is a large hall with especially large windows, a handful of easels scattered throughout. A few people wearing white smocks – patients, you assume – stand at the easels drawing with blunt sticks of charcoal.

“I believe very strongly in the therapeutic powers of art,” Doctor Darwin explains, “It gives our patients a safe outlet for their emotions, whilst also keeping them calm and occupied.”

“No artistic talent required, I see,” you remark, looking at one of the childish scribbles.

“Isambard!” Elle hisses, slapping you lightly on the arm.

“You're correct, Master Pale. We're not trying to make masterpieces here. The process is more important than the end result,” the doctor replies, taking out her pocket watch, “Hm, I think we should be able to see Master Teufel now. Shall we? If you have any other questions, I can answer them on the way.”

>No questions. Lead the way, please
>Has anyone else tried to visit Teufel?
>How did Teufel arrive here at the hospital?
>I did have some questions... (Write in)
>Other
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>>6104527
>How did Teufel arrive here at the hospital?
There had to be an origin to this. He was somewhere else before this and after his return from the colonies. Alex implied a long time passed after the group parted ways.
>>
>>6104527
>Did Master Teufel paint anything?
>Did he ever mention my father? I rather hope he won't react just from seeing my face.

So we're wearing the silver armor. I wonder if that'll bait whatever is hunting them to Isambard rather than Teufel.

>Doublecheck a route to run if you suddenly get attacked by an eldritch monster and need somewhere that isn't terrible to fight in.
>>
>>6104529
Good writeins here, +1 this too
>>
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“How did Teufel arrive here at the hospital?” you ask as you follow Doctor Darwin back through the hospital, “We lost contact with him for quite some time, you see, and now we're trying to figure out what happened to him.”

“Hm. Well, we've done a little bit of digging ourselves. In order to properly treat his ailments, we needed to understand them, you see,” the doctor replies, “But there are still a great many missing details. We believe that Master Teufel was living at a small community far to the north. It had a very strange name, what was it... Ah, Ivory Shoulder. That was it.”

“Ivory Shoulder,” you repeat, glancing aside to Elle. She shrugs, but notes the name down regardless.

“Mm, yes. It doesn't seem to exist any more – razed to the ground. Master Teufel was found somewhat to the south of the community, wandering through the countryside in a state of significant confusion. He was behaving violently when some concerned locals managed to subdue him,” Darwin continues, “We're really very lucky that they spared his life and brought him here instead. He never talked very much about what happened, but...”

“But it was probably violent,” you finish for her. Darwin nods, giving you a sympathetic smile. “I see...” you continue, “I wanted to ask, did you try that art therapy with Teufel?”

“We tried, but it wasn't successful. He sketched out some things – I think they were supposed to be birds – but then he had a nervous fit. We had to restrain him, and... well, we haven't tried ever since then,” she sighs, “I suppose we might be able to give it another shot now, but nobody really wants to risk it. He's been quiet, peaceful. We don't want to change that.”

Quiet, peaceful – that's quite the change from the violent madman he was when he was brought in. “Did he ever mention the name Gideon Pale?” you ask next, “That's my father. I'm rather concerned that he might react poorly if I bring him up. Even seeing my face might be trouble.”

Darwin taps a pen against her lips for a moment. “I don't recall him ever saying the name “Gideon”, but for a time he did talk about a “great pale devil”. He would wake up in the middle of the night, claiming that it was outside his window, dancing in the moonlight. He would get quite worked up,” she shakes her head, “Truth be told, Master Pale, I can't predict how he'll react. Try not to push him too hard. If he starts getting agitated, or he seems distressed, please give him some space.”

“Of course,” you assure her, checking behind you as she leads you towards Teufel's room. It's at the end of a long corridor, not far from the main entrance. Should you need to leave in a hurry, it's a straight sprint towards the front doors.

It never hurts to check.

[1]
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>>6104542
>I think they were supposed to be birds
oh boy
>>
>>6104542

Doctor Darwin pauses outside an anonymous white door, knocking gently before opening the door a crack to peer through. A moment later, she opens it wider and gestures for you to enter. “I'll be down the hall,” she promises, “Come and find me if anything happens.”

You nod, holding your tongue until the door clicks shut behind you. The room is far from what you expected – if you didn't know this was a hospital, you could almost have mistaken it for a particularly austere hotel room. It's stark white, like the rest of the hospital, with large windows. Those alone make you wonder – Teufel can't be much of an escape risk if they left him in a cell with such an easy way of breaking free.

The man himself, Anders Teufel, sits upright on his bed and looks in your direction with a vague, unfocused stare. He looks younger than you expected, his face strangely slack and free from lines.

“Anders?” you begin quietly, sitting in one of the chairs beside his bed, “Hello Anders. Do you know who I am?”

He doesn't reply. His eyes don't even move towards you when you speak. He just carries on staring into space, the blank look on his face masking whatever lies within. You're about to try again when Elle starts humming an old military marching tune. This finally causes him to slowly look around, a slight hint of a smile forming on his face.

“How did you do that?” you whisper to Elle.

“He was a soldier once,” she replies, her voice as dreamy and distant as Anders' blank stare, “When the final order came, he killed more than any other man.”

You shudder, but Anders doesn't seem to notice her words. “Hello again,” he says in a toneless voice.

“Again?” you repeat, “I believe this is the first time we've met.”

Another long pause. You can already tell that this is going to be a long conversation. “Oh yes. Silly me,” Anders answers eventually, “I thought you were the girl.”

“Which... girl?”

“The girl with the bird,” he replies, his expression shifting to the faintest ghost of a frown, “I don't like birds.”

“This girl, then. Did she look a lot like me?” you ask, trying to keep your excitement in check, “Look at me, Anders. Did the girl look like me?”

“Isambard, go easy on him,” Elle whispers, tugging nervously at your sleeve. You shake off her grip, but calm yourself.

“...I think so,” Anders answers at last, “She... asked me a lot of questions. I don't always remember things, but she made me remember. I wanted her to leave, so I told her everything.”

Then he lapses back into silence. With a grimace of frustration, you glance aside to Elle. She just shrugs.

>Keep quiet, see if Anders will talk on his own
>Press for more information. You need him to talk
>Try the name “Strix”, see how he reacts
>Maybe he can answer a few questions... (Write in)
>Other
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>>6104578
>Press for more information
If he wants us to leave he should also tell us everything, right?
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>>6104580
+1
>>
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“Do you want us to leave too, Anders?” you ask, leaning closer to the madman, “We can leave right now if you want. All you have to do is tell me everything you told the girl.”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Anders asks in response, sounding mildly curious at best.

That... wasn't the response you were hoping for. Perhaps it wasn't the girl he wanted to get rid of, but the “bird” he claimed was with her. You're still trying to figure out what he might have meant by that. Ariel? Except, you can't imagine a possible scenario where she'd be able to come out here with only her hunting hawk – now dearly departed – for company.

It occurs to you, then, that you're trying to seek rational answers to a madman's words.

“You want me to leave, Anders, because I could throw open those windows and let in all kinds of birds,” you threaten, gesturing vaguely towards the large windows, “You don't want me to do that, do you?”

At first, Anders doesn't seem to understand what you're saying. It takes a very long time for your words to sink into the core of his being, a look of dismay gradually creeping into his face. “But I don't know,” he whines, “I don't remember, I don't WANT to remember.”

“Try to remember,” you urge, rising to your feet and looking towards the remember, “Try, Anders.”

“She asked about... the expedition,” Anders answers, screwing his eyes shut, “She wanted to know what HE did.”

“He?”

“That white devil,” he whispers, trembling on his bed. Elle reaches towards to place a hand on his shoulder for comfort, but you curtly shake your head. “She said... she said that something was coming,” he continues, “The white devil called out, and there was an answer. But it wasn't the answer he was expecting. He invited them in, and she wanted to cast them out.”

“We did... terrible things,” Anders mumbles, looking down at his hands as if picturing them stained with blood, “We cut them down like beasts, shot them like wild dogs. Blood and terror, they could smell the blood and terror. It's what feeds them, nourishes them...”

“What are you talking about?” you press, dropping back down into your seat and leaning forwards until your face is almost touching his, “What ARE they?”

But Anders flinches back from you with a scream. “The devil, the white devil!” he wails, his voice echoing through the room, “The great white devil!”

He's still wailing when the cell door flies open, and a burly guard pulls you back from his bed. Darwin brushes past, pausing only to cast a look of disgust in your direction before sinking a syringe into Anders' neck. His struggles ease, and his cries fade to soft whimpers as the medication takes effect. When she's happy that he's been fully pacified, Darwin straightens up and scowls at you.

“Outside, now,” she orders, “That was not a request, Master Pale.”

[1]
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>>6104610

“You shouldn't have intervened,” you complain as Darwin leads you into her office, “I wasn't in any danger.”

“It wasn't you that I was worried about,” Darwin replies sharply, “Tell me, Master Pale. Do you enjoy baiting nervous patients?”

“I don't enjoy it, no. But I need to know what happened to him,” you point out, “He said that a girl visited him. A girl with a bird, he said.”

“Master Teufel's delusions have consistently involved birds, yes. But, as far as I'm aware, he's not had any other visitors. As his master, Gideon Pale was the only one authorised to visit Teufel – until, of course, his passing,” the doctor sits down behind her desk and lets out a heavy sigh, “What are you hoping to find here, Master Pale? Just what are you expecting from him?”

That is not an easy question for you to answer. As you're trying to pick the correct words, the voltaic lights overhead flicker for a moment. You glance up in alarm, but Darwin dismisses the flicker with an indifferent wave.

“Ignore it. The generator here is less than perfect – a crude copy of a Phalaris original,” she insists, “Now answer the question.”

“I believe that Anders was involved in some events that happened overseas, events involving my father and several other men. These events would have happened more than twenty years ago, but their consequences are only just starting to be felt. My father is dead, along with one of his associates,” you explain, idly wondering what Darwin is about to diagnose you with, “That community that Anders was staying at. You said it was razed, yes?”

“That's correct,” Darwin confirms, taking your wild claims in her stride, “We sent someone out to investigate after Teufel arrived here, just in case anyone else needed assistance, but there was nothing left. The settlement had been burned, and there were no signs of life.”

“Were there any signs of fighting, violence?”

“I can't say. Our man didn't investigate that closely. We reported it to the proper authorities, but I don't know if there was ever an official investigation,” the doctor shakes her head, “Are you suggesting that this community was destroyed because of these... events?”

“I don't know. I was hoping that Anders would be able to tell us that,” you sigh, slumping back in your chair, “But that seems unlikely now, doesn't it?”

“Excuse me, Doctor Darwin. I have a... slightly sensitive question,” Elle says, “I don't know how to word this tactfully, so I'll just, um, spit it out. What have you... done... to Master Teufel.”

For a moment, you see a glint of coldness in Darwin's eyes – a cool, clinical detachment. “At the patient's own request, we performed a prefrontal lobotomy in the hopes of alleviating some of his more severe symptoms,” she answers, “Barring some of the expected side-effects, the procedure was a complete success.”

[2/3]
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>>6104614
Damn medieval/early-industrial mental health stupidity. Pale should give this Darwin bitch a real lobotomy with the business end of his sword
>>
>>6104614
Honestly, that might've saved his life.

I'm concerned where the rest of his brain went though. Because that might be the trinket we're getting out of this.
>>
>>6104614
>>6104616
I’m surprised we didn’t notice any surgical scars, they might be further along than we think
>>
>>6104614

You're not quite sure what she just said, but you know that you don't like it. “Forgive me, Doctor, but I'm something of a layman,” you admit, “You did what exactly to him?”

“We made a small incision in the brain, cutting off certain regions that were causing his violent outbursts,” Darwin explains, taking a tool out of her desk and showing it to you – a very long, very thin spike made from gleaming steel. “It's quite safe, of course. We go in here, through the eye socket,” she continues, tapping the corner of her eye, “Done correctly, it barely leaves a scar. It helped him, Master Pale.”

They cut up his brain. They cut up his BRAIN.

“Please understand, Master Pale. Before the procedure, Teufel spent almost all of his time under heavy sedation,” the doctor insists, “He had lucid periods, yes, but all too often he was a danger to himself and the other patients. Please understand, Master Pale. We asked him if he was sure several times during his lucid episodes, and he urged us to go ahead with the operation. There really was no other choice.”

“And since the operation, has he given you any trouble?” Elle asks delicately, “You mentioned an incident with the art gallery...”

“That was a small problem, yes, but minor compared with his earlier outbursts. Other than that-” Darwin pauses, “Well, there was one time when he briefly went missing. We had a power outage, you see. It took some time to get the generator working again, and when we checked on the patients afterwards we realised that Anders wasn't in his room. We searched the whole hospital, but we couldn't find him anywhere – until, a few hours later, we found him wandering down a hallway as if nothing had happened.”

“How strange,” you muse, “Do you know what happened?”

“The only explanation I can give is that he was hiding from us somewhere, perhaps moving about the hospital while we were searching. But, frankly, I doubt that Teufel would be capable of such a thing,” she offers you a humourless smile, “You probably noticed that quick thinking was difficult for him.”

Understandable, considering that they cut out a part of his damn brain.

“Listen, Master Pale. Teufel is on heavy sedation right now, he's going to sleep for a long time. But he'll be awake again by the evening time. I'm willing to let you speak with him again if you want,” Darwin offers, with no small amount of reluctance, “But please, don't provoke him. Please.”

>There's no point. I'm not going to learn anything new here
>Thank you. I'll be sure to treat him gently
>How would you suggest I proceed, then?
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other
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>>6104629
>How would you suggest I proceed then?
It does sound like they saved him with that procedure
Then again, we really only have Darwin’s word on it
>>
>>6104629
>What happened to the part you cut out?
>I want to try the art treatment again, would it be possible? Do you have any silver paint?
>>
>>6104629
>How did you hear about my father passing away?
His death should mostly be a secret and while Alex might have let it slip in his attempts to get in contact with Teufel, it doesn't hurt to see her answer since Darwin doesn't come across as the most trustworthy person.
>>
I like our boy Pale going to this hospital with his usual edge and wit, making fun of the patients' art and muh padded cells and such... only to leave here with a newfound loathing for the mental "health" system and "procedures" and those perpetrating it on the broken

>>6104629
First >>6104637
Then >>6104634
>>
“Doctor, something occurred to me,” you say slowly, “I don't recall mentioning that my father had passed away.”

“That would be because you didn't, Master Pale,” Darwin answers simply, “There was a Master Seidel here earlier, trying to speak with Teufel. We explained to him that only Master Pale was authorised to visit, and he explained that Master Pale was no longer alive. My condolences, by the way.”

You wave away her token attempt at sympathy with a gesture, frowning to yourself. It makes sense, but you're not particularly happy about it. Perhaps you're reading too much into it, but you can easily imagine Darwin convincing Alex, or anyone else really, into saying far more than they really should. When you get back home, you'll have to warn him not to be so careless.

“By the way, this may seem like a rather gruesome questions, but...” you pause, already wincing at your own words, “What did you do with the parts of his brain that you cut out?”

“Why, do you think I have a collection of brains in jars back here?” Darwin asks with a pretty scowl, gesturing back towards the closets in the back of her office. You don't dare say it, but that thought had actually occurred to her. “Any tissue that is removed would be incinerated, in line with standard procedures,” she continues after a moment, “If you're curious, I have some diagrams about the procedure...”

“That won't be necessary!” Elle yelps, frantically shaking her head.

Darwin looks faintly disappointed, and you decide to quickly change the subject. “I was wondering if we might try the art therapy again,” you suggest, “Would that be possible?”

“There is a risk, of course, but I could arrange that if you think it's truly necessary,” the doctor decides, “I can have some supplies prepared. What do you think you'll need?”

“Paint, a good range of colours,” you answer, recalling Elle's prophecy, “Do you have anything silver?”

This gets her to raise an eyebrow. “I'd have to check about that,” she concedes, “I know that we have grey.”

Which would be useful if the prophecy had mentioned a grey bird. “Well, it'll have to do,” you sigh, “Before we go, is there anything else you'd suggest? Any advice on dealing with Anders?”

“He doesn't talk much with us, or most of the other patients, but there is one man he seems more open with. Konilev, I believe his name is. You could try and ask him for advice,” Darwin pauses for a moment, “Don't worry, Konilev is mostly harmless now. A fairly standard case of religious mania. His family brought him in after he attempted self-mutilation. He believed that his penis was a source of Calamity and... don't SMIRK, Master Pale, this is no laughing matter!”

“Sorry,” you apologise. It's really not funny, but you keep thinking back to Kalthos' book – and the “great white serpent” he mentioned.

[1]
>>
>>6104660
Great "Pale" devil huh
I don't think it's the main character
>>
>>6104660
Lmao
Does Konilev have like a dozen kids or something? If so not an unreasonable belief
>>
>>6104660

“So,” you murmur as you leave the office, “What do you think?”

“I think that if I ever go mad, I'd prefer it if you just lock me in the attic or something,” Elle whispers back, “This place is turning my stomach.”

“Sounds good. We can share an attic room,” you agree with a humourless smile, “Well, if Anders is going to be sleeping off his dose, we might as well look for this Konilev fellow. Hopefully he hasn't cut off his tongue along with his-”

“Okay, okay, let's... not,” the oracle pleads, “Let's not finish that sentence, okay?”

-

Asking one of the guards for a description, you find Konilev in the common room. A genteel old man with a large beard, he sits smoking a pipe by one of the windows. He doesn't look like the sort of person who might try to violently castrate themselves, but you suppose you can't judge a book by its cover. You give him a nod of greeting, and he merrily gestures towards the empty chairs nearby.

“Anders, eh?” he begins, as you tell him why you're here, “Strange boy. Comes to me sometimes with questions of faith, but I don't think he's ever been one for church. Maybe he just wants a distraction. Can't blame him, can you?”

“I shouldn't let the doctors overhear, but I'm a bit of a Nicean myself,” Konilev continues with a wink, “Don't worry, I'm not about to start preaching to you. But Anders, he loved to hear about it. He said something to me once, let me think...”

You wait as Konilev puffs on his pipe and tugs on his beard. “Ah yes!” he announces after a moment, “Anders said that if the Godhead would only act, everything would be okay. I told him that, well, maybe one day it would. Watch for the wounded woman, I told him, she'll be a sign that better days are coming. Maybe you saw it, but there's a painting of the wounded woman in the front hall. There's a secret about that painting. Come a little closer, and I'll tell you.”

Giving Elle an exasperated look, you lean a little closer to Konilev.

“If you look closely, you can see her tit,” the old man whispers, laughing lecherously as you recoil, “It's true! I can't tell you how many times I've caught Anders staring up at that painting!”

That seems like a good place to end the conversation.

-

Retreating from the common room, you look around for a bit before finding an empty office. Closing the door feels like an escape from the outside world, and you can finally relax a little. Judging by the look on her face, Elle isn't enjoying this any more than you are. “This place is so depressing!” she sighs, “I hope Anders can help us, even just a little bit.”

“Anything other than a wasted trip, right?” you agree, “I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm reaching for something, anything, that might help me understand – but everything I grasp turns into smoke, and I'm left with nothing.”

“Don't give up, Isambard,” Elle urges, gently touching your arm, “Have faith.”

[2/3]
>>
>>6104672
Or he had dangerous or socially-unacceptable sexual urges?
>>
>>6104686

You put your hand over Elle's, feeling her cool skin for a moment before she hastily draws back her arm. “I'm sorry,” she says automatically, “I just... I don't like seeing you get disheartened like that. It makes me feel down as well. Even if things seem tough now, we have to keep going.”

“Always the optimist,” you tease gently, “But you're right. It's too soon to give up.”

“It's so annoying, though!” Elle groans, “There's something I'm missing, something right in front of me. It was that name, the one who made the building. Drummond, they said. I'm sure I've heard that name before, I'm sure of it!”

Just one more question that you can't answer. “Why don't we take a walk?” you suggest, “No doctors, no mental patients, just a walk around. Maybe you'll see something that will jog your memory.”

With a weary smile, Elle nods. Leaving the office together, you stroll back towards the front entrance and look back to the large painting. After Albershot, you can't look at the wounded woman without shuddering, but you force yourself to examine it closely. “Hey, look,” you whisper to Elle, “You really can see her-”

“Don't be ridiculous,” the oracle interrupts, giving you a scolding look, “You're just imagining it. That old man has been putting dirty ideas in your mind.”

“I've got plenty of my own dirty ideas, thank you very much,” you counter, causing Elle to laugh aloud. It's good to hear her laugh, especially in a grim place like this. “Seriously though, all these long empty hallways and weird people...” you add in a low voice, “Add a few ghouls, and this place would be just like the Iron Keep. It's just missing-”

“Oh!” Elle gasps, cutting you off, “Isambard, you're wonderful!”

“Naturally,” you reply, a little stunned by her outburst, “But can I ask why?”

“Drummond was the one who designed the Iron Keep!” she explains, a wide smile of relief spreading across her face, “That's why the name was so familiar! Gosh, that's a relief. I thought I was going to go mad...”

“Well,” you point out, “You're in the right place for that.”

>I'm going to pause here for today, do some prep for tomorrow. I'll be continuing then, same rough start time
>Thank you for playing along today!
>>
>>6104709
>Drummond was the one who designed the Iron Keep!
The Keep, this hospital... Maybe he had some hand in the Demesne? Surely not designing such an ancient, magical place, but maybe helping navigate it?

Thanks for running, QM! Sorry I was too busy to play today.
>>
>>6104709
Thanks for running!

When Drummond designed his long hallways did he envision them being left empty? I like to think he wanted them filled with fragrant potted plants and cheerful smiling people.
>>
>>6104709
Secret passages. We need to FIND THEM. They're how Anders slipped by the orderlies in that power outage
>>
>>6104728
This anon gets it!

Is there a hidden passage around the painting too?
>>
>>6104709
Thanks for running.
Out of context, Teufel shouting about the white devil is a funny scene to picture. Visiting a mental asylum with flickering lights at nighttime without a Teilhard to save us is going to be a fun experience. There's even the Nicean avatar with a huge tree that's seemingly luring people to it, tempting them to take her hand.
Bard's also getting bold with that handholding with Elle at the end there.

>>6104728
Bard also notes about how easy it would be to leave through the windows. With the cover of the blackout, it doesn't sound like it would have been too difficult for Gratia to have sneaked in and question Teufel while hiding from the asylum staff.
>>
>>6104796
That'd be why part of it looks like it's been touched a lot, and why he was always hanging around the painting too
>>
>>6104810
How did Gratia set up the power outage and know where Teufel was located to ask him? In fact, does Gratia have her own secret circle of friends offscreen like how Isambard does? Did she also have a guy in the group she was tempted by like how Isambard has 3 girls (Elle, Juno, Ariel?) he's always around?
>>
>>6104810
>Bard's also getting bold with that handholding with Elle at the end there.
Well, he now knows pretty much for a fact that Elle is super into him, even if it's because of the romance of Bard's protagonist-like proximity to adventure/fate/God whatever.
>>
>>6104728
>>6104810
I think it's more likely that Gratia used a secret passage, possibly linking near the Demense.

Unless Drummund is a madlad beyond measure and has a NETWORK of "dark paths" running through the kingdom.
>>
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Surprisingly, there aren't many ways to pass the time in an insane asylum. You spend a lot of time pacing the long hallways as you wait for Anders to sleep off his injection, so much that the map of the hospital might as well be engraved on your memory. Time and time again, you find yourself drawn back to the painting of the wounded woman. Elle is often there, gazing up at the picture as if in a trance.

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” you remark as you pass her once again. She looks around and gives you a tired smile, then looks back to the painting. “I know, I know. It's a nice painting,” you add, “But it's not THAT nice.”

“Sorry. I'm just...” Elle replies, “We have a painting just like this one back at home. It always scared me a little. I'd have nightmares about this wild woman creeping about a forest and snatching away naughty children.”

Now that sounds familiar.

“Anyway, it's almost time,” the oracle continues, glancing at the setting sun gleaming through the window, “Do we have a plan yet?”

“Get Anders talking if we can, get him in front of an easel, then stick a paintbrush in his hand,” you answer, “Hopefully he'll give us something to work with. There's just one thing I need to do first...”

-

It takes no small amount of persuasion to get Darwin to agree to you carrying your sword into the hospital, but you can be persistent when you want to be. You're not sure what's going to happen, but you feel a lot safer with a weapon at your side. Resting one hand on the hilt of your sword, you slowly wander down the long hospital corridor. The other patients have been herded into their rooms and sealed in, leaving the hospital feeling utterly deserted.

With a heavyset guard gently guiding him along, Anders enters the treatment room and looks around in mild confusion. “I've been here before,” he says softly, “Haven't I?”

“Yes, Anders,” you tell him, “We're going to try some painting today. Paint whatever you like – the first thing that comes to mind.”

Anders stares into space for a moment as he thinks, then he slowly starts to move some of the easels around. Setting three of them up in front of a chair, he sits down and stares at the blank canvas. He stares for so long that you'd think he'd fallen asleep, if not for his open eyes.

“Do you like painting, Anders?” Elle asks softly, “I heard that you like that painting in the front hall. It's the wounded woman, isn't it?”

His eyes flick in her direction, but he doesn't say anything.

“Actually, I think people focus on the wounded woman too much,” the oracle continues, “The Nicean Prophecies mention a lot more signs than just her. Like the stars – the prophecies say that when God is coming, the night sky will be alive with dancing stars. That would be so beautiful, don't you think?”

Still silent, Anders reaches for a paintbrush.

[1/2]
>>
>>6105169

The setting sun fades from view as Anders slowly daubs paint onto the canvas, the golden light replaced by a harsh white of the voltaic lamps above. You sit in silence, reluctant to say anything for fear of distracting the ailing man. He's hesitant at first, awkwardly painting wavering lines on one canvas, but slowly gains confidence. Stroke by stroke, an image takes shape – a group of men, little more than black smears, standing around a bonfire as thick trees surround them.

“Is that Ivory Shoulder?” Elle asks, “That's a funny name, isn't it? Why do they call it that, anyway?”

“Because there's a statue buried there,” Anders answers, his hand trembling a little, “There's only a little bit of it above ground. Just a little nub of white stone, white like ivory.”

“I see. That makes sense,” she murmurs, “Do you remember what happened there?”

“I... don't know,” he whimpers, shaking his head, “But I wrote it all down. I wrote until my hand was sore.”

As he says this, Anders reaches up towards the top of the canvas and paints a black flick in the branches of a tree – a bird, you realise. His gaze is drawn towards it, his hand starting to tremble. “You wrote it all down, Anders,” you press, hoping to keep him focused, “What happened then? Did someone take your story away?”

“I gave it to the wounded woman,” Anders answers, painting another bird. He freezes, staring at the painting for what seems like an eternity. Overhead, the lights flicker and darken before flaring back into life. Then, with a sudden motion, he stabs his brush down into a thick pool of black paint and slashes it across the canvas. Each violent stroke leaves the crude suggestion of a bird, and Anders' eyes grow wider and wilder with each mark he makes.

“Anders?” you snap, but he pays no heed. Lurching around in his chair, he starts to smear black paint across one of the fresh canvases before snatching up a fresh brush and adding a vivid streak of red. Sparks fly as one of the lamps above bursts apart, causing Elle to let out a shriek of surprise, but Anders works on regardless. When you grab his arm, you feel that his muscles are as unyielding as steel.

You have just enough time to look around at the canvas and see a pair of lurid red eyes glaring out at you before the lights fail completely, plunging the whole room into darkness. Even through the sudden blackness, you can see Anders' arm moving as he layers more and more paint onto the canvas, but that's not the only thing you can see. It must be a trick of the light, or the darkness, but it almost looks like the canvas is... moving.

>Wait and watch. You need to witness this
>This has gone on long enough. Get Anders away from the canvas
>You need to get out of here. Just grab Elle and run
>Other
>>
>>6105170
>Wait and watch. You need to witness this
>"Elle, get ready to restrain him if he tries to harm himself or destroy the paintings. He needs to live."
>ready the revolver but don't draw or shoot
>lock eyes defiantly with the painting beast
>(whisper at the beast) "Don't you have anything better to do?"
>>
>>6105170
>Wait and watch. You need to witness this
>ready the revolver but don't draw or shoot
>>
With a macabre fascination, you watch as the paint writhes on the canvas. Slowly, ever so slowly, the black paint churns like a whirlpool around the burning red eyes. Heedless of the impossible transformation playing out before him, Anders keeps adding more and more paint to the canvas. At one point the brush falls from his numb fingers, but he barely seems to notice. He just starts to daub his fingers into the paint and smear it on with his bare hands.

“Isambard!” Elle whispers, but you reach out a hand to silence her.

“Just wait!” you hiss, “Get ready to hold him back if he tries to hurt himself, or damage the painting. But until then, we wait.”

“We... wait?” she repeats, her voice wavering. Even in the darkness, you can see the sapphire of her eyes glinting out at you. They vanish briefly as she shuts her eyes tight, and then you see her nod.

Cautiously, you reach down and snap open the holster at your belt. With one hand resting on the grip, you gaze straight into the painting. There's no mistaking it for an illusion now – there's definitely movement there, no matter how impossible that might be. You take a pace to the side for a better look, and the red eyes seem to follow you wherever you move.

“Haunting a mental patient...” you murmur, without taking your gaze from the painting, “Don't you have anything better to do?”

It's as if the painting beast had been waiting for those words. No sooner have they left your mouth, everything seems to happen at once. Anders lets out a thin cry and throws himself back from the painting, clasping his hands to his face. Elle dives after him, and you do the same. Fighting with a strength completely at odds with his sleepy, sluggish behaviour, Anders struggles against you as you pull his hands back. You can see deep scratches down his face from where he clawed at his eyes, but that's all they are – just scratches.

Before Anders can cry out again, you hurriedly clap a hand over his mouth and silence him. He thrashes for a moment more, then goes very still. His eyes stop their mad rolling, and seem to focus on something just beyond your gaze. With a sudden feeling of dread, you slowly turn your head to follow his gaze. Though the darkness in the room is near total, there's just enough light for you to see that you're no longer alone.

It's hard to describe exactly what you see. It presents itself as a deeper darkness, a perfect blackness against the deep grey background – an absence, rather than a presence. The silhouette is vague, suggesting a hunched, lumped form of roughly human proportions. The head, though, is far from human – grossly distended into a spike-like beak, shuddering and trembling even as the rest of the beast remains statue still.

[1]
>>
>>6105182

You lie there in the blackness, holding a hand over Anders' mouth to stifle any noises he might make. Yet, you can't be certain that you won't be the one to scream instead. A terrible thought occurs to you as you lie in the gloom – someone outside might have heard Anders' cry. If they come running and burst in on you, what then?

The blackness before you shifts as the beast moves, but it makes no sound at all. Even when it walks over a fallen canvas, there isn't even the slightest rustle or whisper of cloth. At one point it lurches straight past you, so close that you can see the individual fingers on its hand – six of them, all uneven lengths.

It's then that the sharp smell of urine stabs at your nose, and Anders goes very limp in your arms. Fighting the immediate urge to look around, you slowly turn your head towards him. He's unconscious, fainted dead away, but otherwise alive. Carefully touching a hand to his neck, you feel a weak pulse throbbing away. Easing the comatose man to the ground, you tentatively look back around - but the shadow is gone.

One by one, the voltaic lamps blink back into life until the room is bathed in a blinding white light. She collapses back, staring up at the ceiling and gasping for breath. Gradually, the strength returns to your body and you manage to stand upright, offering her a hand up.

“I don't...” Elle whispers, “I don't know what to say. What-”

“What was that thing?” you finish for her, “A long time ago, my father called out. I think that thing was what answered him. But it just... vanished.”

Elle looks down at Anders, her eyes losing focus as the awesome power of the Emanations washes over her. “It was him,” she murmurs, “It came her for him. Drawn by his fear, his terror. But when he fainted-”

“When he fainted, the fear was gone. That creature, that spirit, lost the trail,” you realise, “It gave up... this time. Next time-”

But you don't get the chance to finish that thought, as the door bursts open and several doctors sweep in to surround you.

-

“They say Anders should be fine,” Elle tells you, tugging the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders, “A few scratches, but nothing serious. Of course, they'll have to wait for him to wake up before they can know for sure.”

“Well, at least this hasn't been a complete disaster,” you agree, sipping the mug of hot tea someone gave you, “We'll call it a partial disaster at worst. If we could find that writing Anders mentioned, we might be able to salvage something from this mess...”

“The writing...” Elle murmurs, her eyes widening, “Isambard, I've got an idea!”

>Tell me then, because I'm completely lost
>I think I know too... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6105189
>I think I know too... (Write in)
Secret passage behind the painting. Drummond made them here like he did in the Iron Keep. That's how Anders evaded the doctors during that blackout. It must also be how... that girl... got in to speak with him without anyone noticing.
>>
>>6105189
>Drawn by his fear, his terror.
>>6104610
>Blood and terror, they could smell the blood and terror. It's what feeds them, nourishes them...
>>
>>6105189
>A long time ago, my father called out. I think that thing was what answered him
>>6104610
>“The white devil called out, and there was an answer. But it wasn't the answer he was expecting. He invited them in, and she wanted to cast them out.”
>>6103818
>“beware the silver bird, but spare its life”
>>6104578
>“I thought you were the girl.”
>“Which... girl?”
>“The girl with the bird,"
>Did the girl look like me?
>“...I think so,”
Hmmmmm
>>
>>6103211
>“I'm no expert, and I don't want to be, but they believed in a world of petty gods and spirits. With the proper rites, men could draw their attention and make contact with these spirits,” Alex explains, “That's what got Gideon interested. He contrasted it, I suppose, with the Godhead. Here were gods that actually answered their prayers.”
>“After a while, I started hearing rumours – rumours about a great white devil that joined the natives in their rituals, then led them,”

>>6104542
>“I don't recall him ever saying the name “Gideon”, but for a time he did talk about a “great pale devil”. He would wake up in the middle of the night, claiming that it was outside his window, dancing in the moonlight. He would get quite worked up,”

>>6103248
>a cuirass of gleaming silver
>you feel the corrosive sting of Calamity

>>6103274
>Just for a moment, a fleeting fraction of a second, you see the metal stained with dark rivulets of blood. A blink later, and the image is gone once more. The metal is as bright as the light of the full moon

>>6099385
>The moon looks different here, compared with at the Pale Estate – the colour is different, as if the Tomoe's corruption had even managed to stain the moon itself.

Just what IS the QM cooking?
>>
“I think I know too,” you reply, “You said that Drummond designed this place, right? There must be secret passages, just like the Iron Keep. I'll wager that they were how Anders kept evading the doctors during the blackout they mentioned. They might even be how that... girl... was able to enter the hospital without being seen.”

“Right!” Elle agrees, smiling brightly despite everything that's happened, “And the entrance to the secret passage-”

“It's behind the painting of the wounded woman!” you finish for her. Elle laughs, throwing her arms around you in a brief hug. Before you can do anything more than lightly touch her back, she's already sprung away. “Well, come on,” you tell her, “Let's go and see if we're right.”

With a skip in her step, Elle leads the way as you hurry past bemused doctors and return to the entrance hall. As you go, you wonder if Anders himself remembered what he did here, or if he was just drawn to the painting by a vague sense of familiarity. Either way, he left enough clues for you to follow his trail back here. Looking up at the painting, and the faint scuff marks on the outstretched hand, you gently push against the marked section. You feel a faint resistance at first, then hear a deep clunk.

Down below you, a second of the wooden panelling on the walls pops open a little bit. Wedging your fingers into the ajar gap, you pull the hidden door open and peer inside.

“Here,” Elle says, handing you a lantern. Nodding your thanks, you creep into the narrow passage. Fortunately, there's only one path that you can follow – a low tunnel running through the hospital's spine. You walk for a short while, neck awkwardly stooped to pass under the low ceiling, and then the tunnel opens out into a strange room. The room is devoid of any furniture, but the walls...

The walls are covered in dense, scrawled text, words written in faded black charcoal – no doubt purloined from the art supplies.

“This...” you murmur, “This is what Anders wrote.”

“Yes,” Elle agrees, “She showed him this place. She watched and waited as he wrote it all down. It nearly destroyed him.”

A faint shiver runs down your spine as you picture the scene – Anders, frantically scrawling words along the wall, dredging up his worst memories, while the girl watches with cold, calculating eyes. Had he dropped dead at the end of it, would she have cared at all?

Pushing those doubts aside, you walk a slow circuit around the room until you find what is, you presume, the beginning of the story. Making a slight adjustment to your lantern's light, you start to read-

THE SOLDIER'S TALE.

[1/3]
>>
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>>6105202

Your name is Anders Teufel, and you've known bloodshed. You were there when the Lliogor washed ashore and started massacring all that they could find. Though you were little more than a boy, you were there at the Siege of Portsmaw, when the Lliogor launched firebombs into the city in an attempt to break the bloody stalemate. Then, when the war was over, you drifted south to wallow in bloodshed once more.

But what you saw there, what you did there, was different. It sent you fleeing back to your homeland, plunged into a frenzy of strong drink and laudanum as you sought the merciful embrace of oblivion. Somehow, the details of which remain elusive, you arrived at the Ivory Shoulder – a strange little settlement far to the north of Agoria, so close to the Great Sea of Dust that the wind sometimes carries a mist of fine white debris. Here, men with unspoken pasts live out a quiet life of solitude. Here, perhaps, you found peace.

Until the blood started flowing once more.

-

Shortly after dawn, the screams wake you from a deep ocean of slumber. You wake in agony, head crushed in the vice of a terrible ache. As you've done many times before, you lie to yourself and pledge to dismantle the crude, home-made still that produces the dark, secret liquor which you so often savour. The scream rings out again as you roll out of bed, stumbling out into the merciless light of day.

Out in the communal garden, you see a loose group of your fellow hermits caught in the grips of hysteria. Stumbling over and pushing them aside, you realise what they had seen. Ennis lies in the long grass and weeds, the soil beneath him dark and sodden with blood. His throat has been cut, the wound so deep that you can see the flash of white bone gleaming through. Just a few feet away from the body, a bloodied sickle lies discarded.

“Impossible!” someone stammers, “I was... I was just with Ennis yesterday!”

“Who could have done this?” another voice sounds out.

With a dull ringing in your ears, you can't tell who is speaking and who is silent. Suddenly, a lurch in your stomach sends you fleeing from the garden to retch into a ditch. No matter how much you try, however, the vomit just doesn't come. With the acid still boiling in the pit of your stomach, you collapse backwards and sit slumped in the dirt for a long while.

Eventually, you hear footsteps behind you and a heavy hand falls on your shoulder. “Come, Anders,” the voice murmurs, “We need to talk. We all need to talk.”

Nodding numbly, you look up at the man only to squint – with the glare of the sun behind him, his features are dark and indistinct. It's as if the man has no face.

[2/3]
>>
>>6105204

Looking secretively around you, you follow the man back to your fellow hermits. There are... there were a dozen of you living here, all men like yourself. Ennis was your leader, so much as any of you was above anyone else, and his death has cast you all adrift. Your headache is getting worse, the pain bad enough that your vision blurs and wavers. Even standing so close to them, you can barely tell your companions apart.

“Did anyone see or hear anything out of the ordinary last night?” one man – Norris, you think – asks, “Any strangers lurking out in the woods?”

“No new faces,” another man (Quincey?) answers, “But I heard someone moving about last night. I heard the bedroom door open, and then close again. I heard footsteps.”

“Did you SEE anything?” Norris presses.

“It was dark!” Quincey complains, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Did anyone ELSE hear anything?” Dalton asks. You're sure it's Dalton – you recognise his accent.

A sudden silence. “I can't have been the only one!” Quincey yelps, “Cameron? Gilroy? We were all in the same dorm, you two must-”

“I didn't hear a thing,” Gilroy answers quietly, “Don't drag me into this.”

“Calm down, all of you!” Norris snaps, “We need to be rational about this, we need-”

“Anders!” Quincey insists, turning to you last of all, “You were the only other one in the room, surely you heard something!”

You didn't, of course, because you were passed out in a drunken stupor. Your memory of that entire night, from the moment you started drinking in the early evening onwards, is a blank. You start to tell him that, then pause. What would the others think, if you were to confess your weakness? Useless Anders, unreliable Anders... suspicious Anders.

>[Lie] I definitely heard something last night. Footsteps, and the sound of the door
>[Half-truth] I didn't hear anything last night. Nothing at all
>[Truth] I don't remember anything. I was... passed out all night
>Other
>>
>>6105206
>[Truth] I don't remember anything. I was... passed out all night
This is us trying to seek refuge from the past same as all the hermits have been. So what if we were passed out? We know we didn't do it and so do they. Don't they know we drink, Anders? Didn't any of them see you or smell it on you, like they must have at least once before? Why are they asking you then? Those hypocrites.
>>
>>6105209
>>6105206
You're not fucking suspicious, damnit! You're not useless or unreliable either. You put in the work so often for so long you wound up here over it, after THAT colony hellhole. In fact, why not try something else? Stay up in the night for once. You'll have a VERY SPECIAL bottle ready to toss at whoever killed Ennis and make them regret being alive. He didn't deserve to go out that way...
>>
>>6105170
err.....Teufel?
>>
One after the other, the men turn to look your way. Beneath the weight of their staring eyes, you feel powerless – and then you feel angry. What right do they have to judge you?

“I don't remember anything,” you announce, your voice seeming to come from some place very far away, “I was... I was passed out all night.”

“Passed out?” a man asks in a thin, nasal voice. Though his face is just a smear of tanned flesh and gold hair, you recognise Sigurd. He never liked you. “Well...” he adds thoughtfully, “You could've done anything, the state you were in.”

“No, no no...” you reply angrily, “You're not pinning this on me. So what if I was drunk? So what if I was trying to seek a little refuge, just like the rest of you?”

Your outburst echoes out around the group. Was that really you speaking, just then? They don't seem like your words.

“Anders-” Norris begins, his voice the stern tone of a self-appointed leader. Ennis isn't even cold, and he's trying to take his place.

“Don't pretend that you didn't know. Don't pretend that you couldn't smell it on me!” you spit, gesturing wildly, “Enough of this self-righteous shock! You only want someone to blame, well find someone else! I've put in as much work as anyone else here, I won't be made into your scapegoat!”

After everything you've done, after every nightmare that you've slogged through. The war, that dark, accursed southern land, and now this!

“That's enough, please, that's enough!” Quincey cries out, “Turning on each other isn't going to help. I... maybe I was wrong, maybe I was dreaming. I don't know. But we need to stay united!”

You look around at the little man, surprised that he'd rise to your defence so suddenly. A silence falls, and the heat slowly drains out of the air. The men, having lost their appetite for accusations, mill around for a moment more before slowly departing.

“No more drinking,” you promise to nobody in particular, “I'll stay awake this night, and I'll catch them. I'll catch whatever bastard got Ennis. I'll catch them, you hear me?”

But nobody replies. It's as if you were crying into the void.

-

It's all falling apart.

Your day is spent in a nightmare of fear and paranoia. Together with your remaining comrades, you search through the surrounding woods for any trace of an interloper. Nobody has dared to give voice to the idea that you're all thinking – that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't an outsider who killed Ennis. You search until the day grows long and the sun begins to sink below the horizon, with the darkness sending you fleeing for home.

And then, the next morning, Sigurd is dead – dragged out of his bed and gutted like a fish. The other men in the dorm slept through it all.

Or so they claim.

[1]
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>>6105217

Nobody goes anywhere alone now, and the other men scarcely dare to close their eyes for a moment. Splitting up into pairs, the other men embark on a frantic patrol of the camp. It's pointless, a futile waste of time, but the alternative is to do nothing and wait to die. All the while, your headache hasn't loosened its grip. If anything, it's gotten worse. As you walk through the forest, the landscape around you seems to rise and fall like the waves.

All you want to do is find a dark place to curl up and die, somewhere far away from the noise and fuss. But, whenever you try to go off on your own, you sense the suspicious eyes turning your way. So you endure the endless drama, quietly wishing for it all to end.

Evening is growing close, and you're staggering back to camp when you hear the shouting. Breaking into a loping, uneven run, you arrive to find the others gathered around a large bonfire. Quincey is on his knees, struggling against the two men holding him down. “I didn't do anything!” he pleads, “Somebody tell them, I didn't-”

“Dalton is dead!” Norris bellows, “You were supposed to be watching him!”

“We... we heard something in the forest. We ran to check it out, but... but we got separated!” Quincey whimpers, “I don't know what happened to him. We got split up, I tried... I tried to double back and find him, but I couldn't... I couldn't...”

A wave of grotesque, animal noise rises up to drown out his words, human voices turned bestial by the weight of fury. Wincing, clutching your head against the shooting pain, you try to focus on anything – anything except for the wild dancing light of the bonfire. Someone has a gun, you realise, an old military revolver – your revolver? - and brandishes it furiously towards Quincey.

“It's him! He's the one who killed Ennis, and Sigurd, and Dalton too!” the faceless mass of voices howl, “Put the beast down!”

>They're right. You should put the beast down!
>You can't let them do this. You have to do... something!
>You shouldn't intervene. Better not to draw any more attention to yourself
>Other
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>>6105222
>You can't let them do this. You have to do... something!
Hmm, fire a gun straight up?
>>
>>6105217
>Was that really you speaking, just then? They don't seem like your words.
Call it a bit of repressed emotion. (He doesn't know it's us)

>>>6105222
>You can't let them do this. You have to do... something!
Hey when the fuck did they take your gun?! That's YOURS! And where the hell is Dalton's body if they say he's dead? I don't trust this one bit...
>>
>>6105222
>You can’t let them do this!
Suggest confinement instead of execution
>>
When the rest of them turned on you, Quincey spoke up to defend you. He was the only one to take your side, even when you left him hanging. Now he's here, facing down a lynch mob. You can't just stand by and let them do this. You have to do... something, anything!

Rushing forwards, you grab for the gun and throw a clumsy punch at the shape holding it. He falls backwards with a curse, blood streaming from his broken nose, and you waste no time in firing a shot into the air. As the gunshot rings out, everyone freezes.

Then, one by one, the eyes turn to you. Suddenly, it feels as if history is repeating itself.

“What are you doing?” you rasp, forcing the words out from your raw throat, “Turning on each other like this...”

“He forced our hand!” Dalton complains. No, not Dalton – Dalton is dead, you even saw the body. No... no, that was Ennis. Ennis was killed with a sickle in the communal garden. Dalton was...

“How did Dalton die?” you ask slowly, clutching your aching head. You should know this, shouldn't you?

“You want to know how Dalton died?” one of the men asks, looking at you with disgust, “I'll show you how Dalton died.”

-

A grim silence hangs over the group as you trek out into the forest. You've got the gun, which gives you power over them, but you don't dare to presume that you're safe. If anything, you've made yourself a target. These bleak thoughts are washed away as you arrive at the base of a great tree, looking up at the remains draped across the branches. Dalton has been slit open and impaled upon the tree, left for the birds to pick over. His head is a short distance away, speared onto a separate branch.

“This...” you whisper, when you're finished retching, “How is a man like Quincey supposed to do a thing like this? You fools, you... you damn fools!”

“What else could have done it?” the man sneers, gesturing around you all, “I don't see anything else here.”

“Lock him up, then!” you spit, “See what happens then! If your killing stops, then maybe-”

“Shut up!” someone else hisses, and a sudden silence falls over the group, “Where... where's Norris?”

“He was right there,” a man, perhaps Marcus, whines. It's getting hard to keep track of who is who, you realise, but does it really matter? You're all just meat, after all. Just flesh and blood. Dead or alive, that doesn't change much.

“Norris!” someone cries out, hollering the name into the mist and fog, “NORRIS!”

A deep, slow laugh rolls out of the forest in response. At that sound, your resolve is broken. Fleeing in a disorderly rout, you – and the other men – retreat back towards the false safety of your camp.

[1]
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>>6105249

You lose a day. Maybe two.

For all your high talk, for all your promises, you go to the makeshift still and drink it dry. You wake an indeterminate length of time later, feeling as if you're wearing someone else's skin. Your body doesn't quite do what you tell it to do, and just getting out of bed is a clumsy battle. Swatting your shabby pillow aside, you see that the revolver is missing.

Limping out into the dim evening light, you look around and take in the overwhelming silence. There's nobody in sight – has the camp been abandoned? Are you the only one left?

Picking a direction at random, you end up at the supply shack. If the others took your advice and locked up Quincey, this is where they would have put him – it's the only door in the whole camp with a lock. True enough, the door is padlocked tightly shut when you arrive. Circling around, you see that the small window at the rear has been shattered. It's not large enough for a man to squeeze through, but it lets you peek inside.

It lets you see the red ruin of a man sprawled across the floor. The body looks as if something had chewed it up and spat it out, leaving the mangled remains to dry in the sun. And yet, impossibly, it turns its eyeless face towards the window.

“Something got into us.... got under our skin,” the Quincey-thing whispers, “Got into our minds, made us... made us do things, hurt each other. It's still here, Anders. Still inside one of the others.”

A bubble of blood gathers at the corner of the thing's mouth as it struggles to speak.

“Blood and terror, Anders. That's what they want,” it groans, smearing fresh gore about as it writhes, “Oh god, we fed them well...”

With those final words, the body slumps back and goes still. You stare at it for a long time, then glance to the shards of broken glass still clinging to the window frame. Perhaps...

-

Time passes. Numbly, you walk back from the supply shack and the broken window, the horrors inside. Quincey's last words echo through your head – it's still here. Still inside one of the others. But who? There has to be some way to figure it out, but you're not a smart man. A smart man, a man like Master Pale, would be able to figure it out. He told you things, while you were in the south, things that you barely understood. The light of the full moon, he once said, could reveal the truth.

Slowly, you look up at the night sky and the full moon leering obscenely down upon you. Tearing your gaze away, you spot a bonfire burning a short distance away from camp. The others are there. Where else would they be?

With a shard of broken glass from the shattered window as your only weapon, you stumble over towards the bonfire.

One way or another, this ends tonight.

[2/3]
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>>6105251

Three men sit in a rough circle beside the bonfire, staring at each other with a burning intensity. The revolver sits in the middle of their little group, within grasping reach of them all. One man is splattered with blood, his eyes gleaming wide and white against the dark mask. Another man sobs silently, his eyes glistening with tears even as he glances suspiciously at the other two. The final man holds a bone pendant in one hand, rubbing his thumb across it as he fights to stay calm.

“Oh. You,” one man says as you amble over, “I thought you were dead.”

“Maybe he is dead,” another adds, “Just a puppet. A stolen face.”

“Maybe we're all dead,” the final man murmurs, gently kissing his pendant, “How many times have we repeated this moment, do you think?”

You look between the three of them in dull confusion, trying to figure out what you're supposed to do.

>You can figure this out. Use what Master Pale taught you
>They all have to die. It's the only way to be sure
>These men are lost, but you're still yourself. Leave now, and maybe you can stay that way
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>>6105255
>You can figure this out. Use what Master Pale taught you
>>
>>6105255
>You can figure this out. Use what Master Pale taught you
He did right by us mostly, didn't he?
>>
“One of you...” you say in a wavering voice as you gesture with the shard of broken glass, “One of you isn't what they seem. One of you is the... the monster.”

The men don't reply. In fact, they don't even look at you. They simply glance away, their eyes returning to each other and the gun placed between them as if they've already lost all interest in everything that you have to say. Did you say it, you wonder suddenly, or did you just think it? Did they speak, earlier, or were you simply hearing their thoughts?

A vast labyrinth of doubts and hesitation yawns wide before you, and you have to stop yourself from plunging in. There are some questions that cannot be answered, and this is not the time to wrestle with such things. You need to think. If Master Pale was here, what would he say?

“…”

What would he say if slaughtering them all wasn't an option?

The light of the full moon could reveal the truth.

The light of the full moon...

Turning with a sudden lurch of motion, you kick dirt over the bonfire until the flames have been completely snuffed out. The whole scene is plunged into a new darkness, lit only by the silver light of the full moon. Turning back to the tree men, you let out a thin cry of horror. The moonlight casts long shadows, yet one of them is not like the others – it dances and writhes, pulsating as if it was fighting to tear away from its owner. You follow the shadow back to its source, meeting the man's gaze.

Even though his eyes shimmer with tears, the man smiles.

“Clever boy,” he says, his voice low and guttural, “Now what will you do?”

The other two men recoil as you approach, circling around the crying man. He doesn't make any attempt to resist, doesn't even try to move. In fact, he tilts his head up as you move behind him, offering you his throat. Steeling your nerves, you take a handful of his short, scruffy hair and yank his head even further back. With a trembling hand, you raise the shard of broken glass to his throat.

“This isn't the end, Anders. Not even close,” the man continues, drawing out each word in a bored drawl, “We'll see each other again, mark my words. I know your scent, now. I won't forget it.”

You start to say something, then change your mind. Words have long since lost all meaning.

With a single, savage motion, you draw the broken glass across the man's exposed throat and send a wave of black blood rushing forth. He dies silently, slumping to the ground with the smile still on his face. Dropping the glass shard, you stumble back a step and stare up at the full moon. It gazes down upon you, shining with a light that neither condones nor condemns.

Throwing back your head, you let out a long scream of anguish.

[1]
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>>6105279

You sit down very heavily, staring down at your hands and expecting to see them filthy with blood. Slowly, painfully slowly, facts creep back in. Your name is Isambard Pale. You're currently in Saint Samara's Hospital, a facility specialising in nervous disorders. Hopefully, they'll let you leave by the end of all this. You're not alone – you're here with Elspeth Legrasse. Elle.

You're not alone.

“Can you hear me?” Elle whispers, tugging lightly at your arm, “Isambard, please don't... don't do this to me.”

“Do what?” you ask quietly, your voice causing her to recoil in alarm. Her wide eyes stare at you in disbelief for a moment before she lunges forwards and hugs you tightly. This time, she doesn't draw back. “There there...” you mutter, patting her arm gently, “There's no need to overreact.”

“I don't... you were just standing there, like your mind was gone. I thought...” she mumbles into your shoulder, drawing back just enough to slap you on the arm, “Don't SCARE me like that!”

“If you think you had it bad, try reading that damn thing,” you breathe, nodding to the wall, “Or don't, actually. You're better off this way.”

As you lapse back into silence, you feel the nightmarish words sinking into your soul. In a strange sort of way, it almost feels as if your father was speaking to you through Anders – passing on the tainted wisdom he had gathered in his time.

[Insight attunement increased by 1.]

“Well...” Elle says, hesitating, “Does that mean we can upgrade this trip from “partial disaster” to “partial success”, or...”

“I think so,” you reply, “Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to throw up.”

>That feels like a good place to close for today. I should be on track to continue this on Saturday this week
>Thank you for playing along today!
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>>6105285
Reminds me a bit of The Thing. Something else, too. Moonlight revealing hidden monsters... A bird-headed spirit which impales its victims like a shrike... A therianthrope The Great Mother made men into things like beasts in a prior quest, and the Galseans mentioned it giving men more appropriate forms to their nature...

Thanks for running!
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>>6105293
>Reminds me a bit of The Thing
Norris is one of the guys from The Thing. SMT Strange Journey also makes the exact same reference
Anyway Isambard will be better than his father and Gratia. Blame the Teilhards corrupting him
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>>6105285
Thanks for running!

Sorry I couldn't vote, my job has gotten super anal about phones.
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>>6105285
Should we recommend they bring Teufel out to the light of the full moon before we leave?
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>>6105419
Better safe than sorry, but they won't do it unless the doctor herself sees evidence of the supernatural.
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>>6105297
>and Gratia
I do wonder what she's been up to. Teufel talking about a woman suggests she may have been here already, but we'll have to dig a little more I think.
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>>6105419
Recommend?

We should demand it honestly. He is still our vassal after all
>>
Just caught up. Incredible job, QM!

>>6105199
I’m gonna hazard a guess and say that he’s foreshadowing the end result of our rampant (rough equivalent of) demon worship. Calamity maxxing is a fun way to go, but the easy power will inevitably come at a cost.
>>
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Lying back on a bed in an empty hospital room, with Anders' ghoulish painting leering out at you, you let your mind wander. The pieces are starting to come together, and you're starting to see the picture. It all started – as much as anything starts or ends – in the dark southern continent. Amidst an oppressive air of blood and terror, your father called out and something answered him. Following him and his companions back home, it fell upon Anders first and nearly destroyed him. Dunblane knew something, and he was destroyed too. And your father?

No. Not him. Everything about his death has the scent of human hands.

There are still a few holes in your theory. There seems to be a long lull between the southern expedition and the first deaths, a span of over twenty years. Why? And why Anders, before anyone else – was his terror so great that it shone out like a beacon, eclipsing even your father's sins?

You don't have all the answers just yet, but you're getting there.

-

“You're absolutely sure that Doctor Darwin is okay with this?” Elle asks nervously, as you push the creaking wheelchair towards the front doors, “You have actually asked her, yes?”

“Of course I have,” you assure her, glancing down at Anders' motionless form, “Given that our friend here isn't in any danger of running away, she allowed it. I won't say that she was happy with it, but I think she realises that playing along will help get us out of her hair sooner rather than later.”

“Hm,” the oracle murmurs, opening the door so you can wheel Anders out. Even though day is still far off, the full moon casts a bright light down upon the land around you. Here in the north, it seems truly vast – obscenely swollen, swallowing up the blackness of the sky. Wheeling Anders down a grassy path, you step back and carefully examine his shadow.

The shadow is almost perfectly still, just as the man himself is almost motionless. There is only the slightest tremble as he breathes, his shadow shifting in time to his movements.

“There,” you whisper to Elle, “That's a good sign.”

“I'll take your word for that,” she replies, “Though I'm not sure if we should really put so much weight on the words of a man suffering from a serious nervous disorder.”

“You're right,” you agree, “We should be putting her trust in the Emanations instead.”

“That's...” Elle pouts, “That's completely asinine!”

You shrug. “Right now we're fumbling in the dark, grasping for whatever answers we can find. I've listened to oracles, Galseans and the Tomoe – a madman isn't that much of a stretch,” you explain, “Everyone strives towards the truth in their own way, and they all have lessons to learn from – even if it's just to avoid the mistakes they made.”

Elle considers this for a moment. “Fine,” she admits eventually, “I suppose you've got a point.”

[1/2]
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>>6107996

Elle accompanies you back to the spare bedroom, only to stop dead in her tracks as she sees the painting set up next to the bed. She stares at it for a while, the burning red eyes staring back from within their churning void of black. “What is THAT doing here?” she asks eventually.

“I put it there,” you answer simply, “It helped me think.”

“Well... just so long as you don't plan on bringing it back to the estate with us,” the oracle sighs, only for her eyes to widen suddenly, “Oh God, you DO want to bring it back with us!”

“It's perfectly safe. It hasn't moved at all since before, not even a tiny bit,” you explain, “This is important evidence.”

Elle just keeps staring at the painting for a while. “I won't try to change your mind, but only because I know it's a fight that I can't win,” she decides, “But I do have one suggestion. Don't worry, it's not related to that... painting. I think we should go to the Demesne next, as soon as possible.”

You turn away from the painting and raise an eyebrow. “You're not just taking notes, you're writing my schedule for me too,” you remark, “I don't remember giving you a promotion.”

“It's just, ah, more efficient this way,” Elle insists, her cheeks flushing red, “We're already here, it's a much shorter trip to stop by the Demesne now rather than go back to the estate and then come all the way back. You see the logic there, don't you?”

“Calm down, I'm just teasing,” you assure her, gesturing for the oracle to relax, “You do have a point, I'm not arguing that. You're just excited to see it with your own eyes, aren't you?”

“...Maybe,” Elle answers, giving you her best attempt at a coy smile. It doesn't quite work, but you appreciate the effort.

>You're right. We'll head to the Demense next. We're already close, after all
>I still want to go back to the estate first, properly plan out our next moves
>I have some other things to do while we're here... (Write in)
>Other
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>>6107998
>I still want to go back to the estate first, plan out our next moves
Anything but the Demense please
I’ll take another mutant siren
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>>6107998
the painting isn't going to do something weird in the full moon, right?
>Before that, I want you to take a look at this armor first. I thought it would lead it would get a reaction from certain supernatural creatures, but since it didn't work I'm thinking of cutting it up and getting something more protective.
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>>6107998
>You're right. We'll head to the Demense next. We're already close, after all
Won't hurt to take a look, but no promises that we delve deep. Let's indulge Elle a little, why don't we?
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>>6108006
Honestly with all this Calamity shit plus >>6105199 and >>6106909, I do feel like doing something better and more constructive with the silver cuirass. Something to rid it of the Calamity, if it's even possible
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>>6108013
That's the idea, but I'm not really sure how to go about it. The bird imagery is important, but do we make it more prominent, or less?
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>>6108016
I wanted to show the cuirass off to Anders but I doubt we can do that now, can we? I don't exactly know either

>>6107998
I'll tiebreak, backing >>6108006 and >>6108007
We should confront that Demesne already
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>>6107998
>“It's just, ah, more efficient this way,” Elle insists, her cheeks flushing red, “We're already here, it's a much shorter trip to stop by the Demesne now rather than go back to the estate and then come all the way back. You see the logic there, don't you?”
>“Calm down, I'm just teasing,” you assure her, gesturing for the oracle to relax, “You do have a point, I'm not arguing that. You're just excited to see it with your own eyes, aren't you?”
>“...Maybe,” Elle answers, giving you her best attempt at a coy smile. It doesn't quite work, but you appreciate the effort.
Imagine Bard pinning Elle to a wall in the Demesne and fucking her in an alcove somewhere. That'd be super hot
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>>6108026
time to lose some Purity
>>
“Before we move on, there's something I'd like to get your professional opinion on,” you tell Elle, her eyes widening as you start to take off your uniform jacket, “Don't get any funny ideas. I just want you to look at this armour. See if you get any reaction to it.”

Elle nervously bites her lip as you toss the jacket down on the bed, revealing the polished armour. Tentatively, she reaches out a hand and lightly tracing her fingers down the flaming heart design. Even though there's a layer of metal between the two of you, there's still something intimate about her touch. “Where did you get this?” she asks eventually, “It's... old.”

“It used to belong to my father,” you explain, “I thought it might get a reaction from that... thing that was menacing Anders. But it didn't, so now I'm wondering what to do with it.”

Placing the flat of her hand on the armour, Elle closes her eyes and speaks in a low voice. “He faces down the men, a pack of feral savages. He spreads his hands wide and invites them to pierce his heart, but they're too afraid to move. Even when he cuts them down, one by one, they don't dare look him in the eye.”

With a sudden motion, she jerks her hand back and shudders. “Sorry,” the oracle murmurs, “I saw... I don't really think that helps, does it?”

“You think it's bad news, don't you?”

“I... do, yes,” Elle answers, cautiously touching the armour again, “Your father did a lot of terrible things, didn't he? I didn't want to pry, but some of the things that Anders said...”

“He did, yes. It's... not easy to talk about,” you admit, “It's a long story, too. Too long for us to get into now.”

It does not escape your notice that you're using the same tired excuse that Alex used. Elle notices too, but tactfully pretends not to. “I don't think we should destroy it just yet, but maybe... maybe just keep it somewhere safe,” she suggests, “Somewhere that doesn't involve your own torso. There's one other opinion I think we should get, though...”

-

“Master Teufel? Anders?” Doctor Darwin whispers, peeking into the room before giving you an irritated look, “I told you before, he doesn't like waking up early. I don't think-”

“I'm awake,” the low, dreamy voice interrupts. Lumbering clumsily across the room, Anders gives you all a slow look. There's a faint flicker of recognition in his eyes, but not much more than that. Darwin withdraws with a curt nod, closing the door behind her and leaving you alone with the madman. “Hello,” Anders says to you, “I... know you. Don't I?”

“We go way back,” you tell him with a humourless smile. Without another word, you quickly take your jacket off and reveal the armour once more. Anders doesn't flinch away from it, as you thought he might, but a deep shudder runs through him. “You had some armour like this, didn't you?” you ask, “What happened to it?”

“I threw it into the sea,” Anders answers slowly.

[1]
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>>6108030

“You threw it into the sea,” you repeat, “Was that when you were sailing back home?”

“Yes,” he says tonelessly, “Other men did the same. They threw their armour and weapons overboard, then swore to each other that they wouldn't talk about it. But Master Pale didn't. Did he give it to you?”

“Not... exactly.”

“He shouldn't have done that,” Anders slowly shakes his head, “You shouldn't have to carry his burden.”

“Maybe so,” you agree with a sad nod, “But I ended up with it regardless.”

-

As you sit back down in the carriage, you fumble with the straps and take the armour off. Setting it down on the seat beside you, you let out a low sigh. It's too much to think about now, all of it. There's a part of you that wants to retreat back to the cool darkness of your home, to lose yourself in the labyrinth of corridors and empty rooms... but there's a different labyrinth calling out to you now.

“Isambard...” Elle begins, her gaze slipping away from you and settling on a point just over your shoulder. You wait for her to say something more, but she says nothing. Eventually, she shakes her head and lapses back into silence. The silence draws out as your carriage rolls past faded grasslands and into the white dust surrounding the old palace. In what seems like no time at all, you arrive at the entrance to the Demesne.

Entering the palace and following the now-familiar corridors, you spot a young man lingering by the entrance to the Demesne – Cato Silvera. You almost turn back, thinking of his unanswered invitation, but it's too late. He's already seen you.

“Master Pale,” he begins with a formal bow, “And... Miss Legrasse, isn't it? How are your parents?”

“They're... fine,” Elle answers, her voice taut.

“Master Silvera,” you greet him, shaking his hand, “I apologise for not answering your message, I've-”

“Think nothing of it,” he assures you, “You have your own life to live, as do I. You must be very busy.”

“Well... yes, I am,” you nod, smirking slightly to yourself, “Were you here to explore the Demesne too?”

You can't imagine why else he'd be here, after all. You certainly hope he doesn't suggest venturing in together – knowing your luck, you'd run into Kalthos together and that's not a conversation that you relish. But it's your lucky day, as Cato shakes his head.

“I've had my fill for now,” the silver-haired man tells you, “I spent most of the night inside, meditating. You should try it, if you haven't already done so. Now I'm just waiting for-”

“Sorry it took so long,” a soldier calls out, hurrying down the corridor with Cato's sheathed sword, “Here you are, Master Silvera. We kept it nice and safe for you.”

Taking the sword with a nod of thanks, Cato raises his fist to you in an archaic salute before striding out of the hallway. When he vanishes around the corner, you and Elle both let out a sigh of relief.

[2]
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>>6108042

“I know, it's terribly impolite,” Elle admits, noticing your curious look, “But I was worried that he'd start asking all sorts of questions about my family, and I'd have to come up with all kinds of excuses. I don't really know what I'd tell him. I, um, haven't really spoken with them for a while, you know.”

“Mm,” you agree, “I'm very much the same.”

“You're terrible!” she whispers, trying to hold back a guilty laugh, “Well, we shouldn't procrastinate any longer.”

Nodding, you approach the entrance and start handing your weapons over to the soldier on duty. He takes them carefully, especially your black ritual knife which he handles as if it was a vile stinging insect. Appropriately disarmed, you start to guide Elle towards the entrance only for the soldier to leap forwards in alarm.

“Hold on!” he yelps, “I can let you in, Master Pale, but not your companion. She hasn't been given permission.”

Of course. They have LISTS, these people. Strange, that King Albrecht would ensure that you're able to explore the Demesne without extending that same privilege to your assistant – and his asset. “You can't make an exception, just this once?” you ask, giving the soldier a firm look, “We're on very important business from King Albrecht.”

“You are, Master Pale. She isn't,” the soldier answers, holding his ground, “I'm sorry sir, but I have orders. I can't be seen showing favourites.”

You glance aside to some of the other soldiers lingering about. They're all listening in, while trying very hard to look as if they weren't actually listening.

“It's fine, Isambard. Don't worry about it,” Elle assures you, “I'll see it another time, once the proper arrangements have been made. I was foolish to forget about them. You go ahead, I can wait.”

“And don't make a scene,” she adds in a low whisper, eyeing the other soldiers, “Please?”

>Make a scene. These rules are a load of nonsense
>You'll go in alone. You shouldn't make any enemies here, after all
>In that case, you won't go in at all. So there
>Other
>>
>>6108045
>By the way Elle, I never did mention the poison I drank inside there, right?
>Alright, let's go in alone!
>>
>>6108045
>Other
See if there is somewhere private we can discuss things.

Make it clear that this is a time sensitive issue and that we will deal with the fallout, we're not trying to "solve" the demesne, but are trying to save our sister and the longer things take the more likely a poor outcome.

Get mad if we need to just do it in private.

He can report this if he feels it necessary, but we need access and we're not doing this because we feel like it.
>>
>>6108045
>Fine, neither of us will go in
ANYTHING
>>
>>6108045
>You'll go in alone. You shouldn't make any enemies here, after all
There goes Elle's planned date in the Demesne. Probably should just ask Kalthos how he managed to sneak in in there when we see him.

>>6108051
Main problem is that they probably don't really care about our sister. If we were to push it, saying that an oracle would help our investigation would be more convincing. I don't think they're even aware of Gratia being inside, so maybe bringing her up could still work if they wanted us to drag her out, but what happens to her once she's out might be a problem.
>>
>>6108056
>what happens to her once she's out might be a problem.
She somehow managed to get in by herself without notice, and as long as nothing demands that we extract her out immediately. We can plan her exit once we've established contact with her.

Potentially even arranging for other organizations / houses to provide asylum for us if we need to

>saying that an oracle would help our investigation would be more convincing.

The less that is known about where we are with our investigation the more we can bullshit later if we need to, so its best to admit nothing more than we need to to get the support we need to continue.
>>
“Is there some way that we can continue this conversation somewhere more private?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder to the other soldiers. They fidget awkwardly in place, some hurriedly looking away as if caught in the act. The young soldier scowls, but reluctantly leads you a few paces further away. It's hardly private, but it's better than nothing.

“This is important,” you tell the soldier, “We believe that someone is trapped inside the Demesne, and time may be of the essence. They need help in there!”

“So... help them,” the soldier suggests, trying not to sound like he's mocking you, “I'm not stopping you, sir, but I need to follow my orders.”

“It's a difficult situation, I know, but I need an oracle for guidance. I don't know if you've been inside the Demesne, but there's a lot of ground to cover. A proper search could last days... weeks...” you fix the young man with the most serious look you can summon up, “If you need to report this to your superiors, that's fine. I'll take the punishment, but-”

“Isambard, don't,” Elle interrupts, touching your arm, “It's not going to work. You go on ahead and scout out the way ahead. We can make the necessary arrangements and come back later. Don't worry, I'll see the Demesne one day – just... not today.”

You give the soldier another scowl, but eventually relent. Dealing with men like this is trying to cut through something very soft and very dense – it takes all your strength to make a shallow cut, only to see the wound close up as soon as the blade is drawn free. He's got the power of a vast, faceless bureaucracy on his side – the Emanations themselves wouldn't have better luck than you did.

“Fine. Fine,” you sigh, shaking your head in dismay, “Wait here, Elle. I won't be too long.”

“Don't worry. I'll find some way to make myself useful here,” she promises, smiling sadly, “Another time.”

The soldier lets out a little sigh of relief, leading you towards the doorway. Elle follows as close as they allow you, only to stumble a little as the doorway looms up in sight. You hasten to steady her, seeing her vague, unfocused eyes. As you help her to her feet, she whispers something to you – more guidance from on high.

“There's more than one of everything.”

-

Elle's words needle at you as you venture into the Demesne alone. They make you think of the Denizens, those strange lifeless copies that populate the lower levels of the Demesne. A warning, perhaps? It feels like Albershot all over again, the fear that your sense might not be entirely trustworthy. You're so caught up in these thoughts that you almost miss the first diversion in the corridor. There was a sealed passage here, you recall, but you should have the means to open it now.

[1]
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>>6108075

True enough, the seal is easily broken when you approach. The room beyond is small and dimly lit, a low mist clinging to the ground. Empty save for a podium, you find a small scroll of aged paper atop the stone. A map of some kind, although you don't recognise exactly what it's a map of. Holding it, you don't feel anything – no slumbering power within. With a shrug, you slip the map into your pocket and move on.

You were almost expecting to find Kalthos waiting for you on the second layer, but the old monster is nowhere in sight. You have no doubt that he has many ways to navigate the Demesne, far more than the few petty tricks he shared with you. It wouldn't surprise you if you turned around and found him standing right behind you.

Well, it might surprise you a bit.

There were another two sealed portals in the second layer, you recall – seals marked with the symbols of Solitude and Sovereignty. You head for the Solitude seal first, purely because Jan comes to mind. As you walk, you pass a few of the Denizens. Neither of them show any reaction to you, even when you accidentally bump into one of them in passing. Even if you were to knock one of them to the ground and savagely beat them, you doubt they'd do anything more than squirm. Idly, you wonder how hard it would be to kill one of them.

Through the Solitude seal, you find a small length of thorns braided into a kind of rope. Carefully picking it up, you test one of the thorns with your fingertip. Despite the great age, it still feels ruthlessly sharp. Anything more than a slight tap, and you'd draw blood. Neatly folding the band up, you slip it into a deep pocket and move on.

Kalthos is waiting for you in the main hall, his yellow eyes glinting menacingly out at you. “Ah, my young apprentice!” he gloats, “I see that you've travelled further down the path of Calamity.”

“Unfortunately so,” you reply, smirking as an idea strikes you, “Hello... Ymir.”

Kalthos raises an eyebrow. “Oh? That's not a name that I've heard in a very long time,” he chuckles, “You've been doing your research.”

“Naturally,” you nod, “So, how's life in the Demesne?”

“Quiet. We had another guest recently, a young man rather like yourself,” Kalthos grins, his lips peeling back from yellowed fangs, “There must not be much sun in the outside world. So many pallid, sickly looking people lately!”

Cato, you assume. Really, aside from the air you look nothing alike.

“I thought it best to hide from the young pup, to stalk him and see where he went. He travelled far, you know, all the way down to the fourth layer. There, he sat down before the door and waited. I think he went to sleep, actually,” the old man's grin gets a little wider, “I thought about bashing him over the head with my cooking pot, but decided against it.”

[2/3]
>>
>>6108089

“Was he the only other person you've seen lately?” you ask, keeping your voice carefully neutral.

“The only other person I've seen today. Or yesterday. It's hard to keep track of time in here,” Kalthos shakes his head, “But he's not the only one. I saw... ah, you don't want to hear this old man ramble on. You've probably got places to be, things to do. You don't want-”

“Who did you see?” you snap, abandoning your short-lived attempt at playing it cool.

Kalthos grins, as if that was the exact response he wanted. “I saw the girl. Again, the fourth layer. I was ambling down a corridor, such is my habit, when she came around the corner before me,” he recalls, “I gave her a friendly hello, but she turned tail and ran! Of course, I'm in no condition to chase after a spry young thing like that. But she's still HERE, and she's still... alive.”

You let your shoulders sag, letting out a low sigh of relief. It barely even occrus to you that the old fiend might be lying, toying with you for some perverse reason. All that matters is that Gratia is still alive, and fit enough to be running about.

“Do you think she... knows that I'm here?” you wonder aloud, before you can stop yourself.

“I rather think she does,” Kalthos answers slowly, his voice growing solemn, “Walk these halls for long enough, and you start to get a feel for them. They whisper to you, if you have the means to hear them. Ah, but that's not something I can teach you. It comes with time, and time alone.”

Time that you may not necessarily have.

>I'm going to pause a bit early today. Sorry for this, but I'm feeling the brainrot. Hopefully, I should be able to run tomorrow even if it's a shorter session again
>Thank for hanging in there
>>
>>6108116
Thanks for running!

>Feeling the brain rot
I haven’t noticed any zoomer speak though?
>>
>>6108120
>I haven’t noticed any zoomer speak though?
I'm too old for that fr fr
>>
>>6108120
Brainrot goes further back than any one generation. It is Calamity. It is ancient beyond man, beyond time. Before ever there was language, the brain of the collective unconscious was rotting.

>>6108116
Thanks for running!
>>
>>6108164
Brain rot has existed since the fateful day that Ug the caveman looked at his friend Grug and thought it would be hilarious to fart on him.
>>
>>6108328
Ug did nothing wrong.
>>
>>6108089
>So many pallid, sickly looking people lately!”
wild guess, The guy Ymir mentioned isn't Cato, but a younger version of Bard's father. Either a denizen or something else.
>>
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“Tell me something, my loyal young apprentice,” Kalthos rasps, his stained red robes whispering against the stone floor as you walk through the Demesne, “Is that ridiculous young man still leading the Tomoe family?”

“If you mean Janus, then yes. He's the current head of the family,” you answer, “And I don't recall agreeing to be your apprentice.”

“Bah, it doesn't matter if you've agreed to it or not. I'm teaching you, that makes you the apprentice – though, I won't call myself a master. I am just a humble mentor,” the old man replies with a rough laugh, “A more laudable title than “foolish old man”, which is what most might call me.”

For good reason, of course. “So unless I'm very much mistaken, you don't care for Master Tomoe,” you remark, “May I ask why?”

“You can ask. But, eh heh heh... I might not answer,” Kalthos chuckles to himself, tugging at his long sleeves and rubbing his gnarled hands together, “What does it matter to you? Could it be that you're trying to learn some coveted family secret, in hopes of impressing that pretty young redhead?”

“Actually, I want to know if I'm wading into some kind of family feud. And, if so, whose side I should be on,” you answer, frowning as a recollection comes to you, “Though I find it very hard to believe that you have ANY kind of relationship with Master Janus. According to your portrait, you're over one hundred and fifty years old.”

This actually causes Kalthos to pause, an expression of genuine alarm twisting his features for a passing moment. “Has it been so long already?” he murmurs, “Well... I suppose maybe it has.”

He's avoiding the question.

“Oh yes, you probably think that I'm avoiding the question,” Kalthos waves away your scowl, “When you get as old as I am, young lad, it gets hard to keep your thoughts in a nice neat order. They wander, boy. They roam like little lost lambs. Now, what were we talking about?”

“You... were just explaining how you entered the Demesne,” you lie, “Quite the feat, I imagine.”

“You're lying,” the old man counters, his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits, “I might be old, but I'm still as sharp as any blade. You can't sneak anything past me.”

“Can you blame me for trying?”

“I can, and I will,” he sneers, waving the subject away with a dismissive gesture, “But I'm a generous soul, so I'll look past it. Let's see... you asked me about my age. Luckily for you, I'm not a woman so I won't take offence. But I have no answer to give you – so long as I remain within these walls, I age but do not die. That, I understand. Exactly how that works, though...”

He finishes this thought with a shrug, bony shoulders shifting within his shapeless red robes. The Demesne is full of mysteries, his gesture seems to suggest, why should this be any different?

[1/2]
>>
>>6108644

“Now, as for your other question. Well, I'll have to disappoint you again,” Kalthos leers, “I entered the Demesne the same way that you did – I walked through the front door.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you reply bluntly, “It was a long time ago, yes, but I can't imagine that attitudes towards the Tomoe were very different back then.”

“Oh no, you're quite correct. They were, if anything, rather stricter. They never would have allowed Ymir Tomoe – blasphemer, occultist, and scholar of banned philosophies – to wander through their sacred places. But Amadeus Silvera, a humble and earnest academic?” the old fiend grins, “It benefits a man to be known by different names in different places, young apprentice.”

It's easy to imagine a Tomoe leading a double life, you suppose, just as the Venger family played the part of loyal vassals while scheming behind the scenes. You shudder a little, thinking about just how far the family has spread its reach, how deeply it has embedded itself in the unsuspecting body of polite society.

“Your sister...” Kalthos adds, his voice growing strangely sad – almost sincere.

“What about her?”

“She clearly has no wish to speak with me, and I can't say that I blame her, but perhaps... I could leave a message for her,” the old man suggests, “Even if I have to write her a note, I can leave it somewhere I know that she'll find it. I only hope she can read my handwriting!”

As Kalthos laughs to himself, you consider the idea. There's a part of you, a jealous, possessive part of you, that recoils at the thought of him having ANY contact with her. But, trying to be objective about it, this might be your best chance at sending her a message.

>There's no need. I'll be with her soon enough
>Tell her that it's safe. Tell her that she can come home now
>Tell her that I'm coming to find her. She should wait, and stay hidden
>Tell her... (Write in)
>Other

>That aside, I have other questions... (Write in)
>>
>>6108645
>Tell her that I'm looking for her. Whether she trusts you or not, she'll probably believe that much.
I don't think we should control her actions when we don't know her deal.

>I notice that for how old you are, you're not carrying a cartful of odds and ends.
>Ask if he knows a Strix
>>
>>6108645
>>6108646
+1
Write in and extras are perfect
>>
>>6108646
+1
>>
>>6108645
>That aside, I have other questions... (Write in)
Does he think Cato could be looking for our sister?

And on that note would it be worth it to tip Cato off to the fact he is / was being observed.

Separately it may also be worth something to some one to close the "loophole" that Ymir used, as an investigation may reveal other discrepancies with the lists and so leads to follow up as there may be other unaccounted for aliases.
>>
>>6108645
>>6108646
+1

I'd also add:
>What do you know about Juno and the Triumph of the Tomoe?
He does seem to know about her given his comment about impressing her.
>>
>>6108654
>>6108645

As an additional question, asking where he thinks she could be found seems like a good idea, as far as we know the 4th layer is as far as she could have reached, assuming things haven't gone sideways.

Also it could serve as a counterpoint to the Kings original claim of Father only reaching the 4th Layer
>>
“Just tell her that I'm looking for her,” you tell Kalthos, “Whether she trusts you or not, she'll believe that much – and she'll know what to do with that knowledge.”

“Very well,” Kalthos replies with a slow nod, “I dearly hope that she gets my message, my young apprentice. And next time you visit us, I hope you'll get the answer you're hoping for.”

You remain silent for a moment, waiting for some barb or jibe to follow this, but none come. As improbably as it might seem, he really does seem to be wishing you well.

“Thank you,” you say eventually, only for Kalthos to wave away your gratitude. “Is it possible that I'm not the only one looking for her?” you add, “That young man you saw earlier...”

“He didn't seem like he was looking for anyone. Men on the search have a certain character to them, like hunting hounds. Not him,” Kalthos grins, “No barking or snarling from him. No no. Not him.”

That's a small mercy, at least. You're not sure what Cato might do if he stumbled across Gratia in here, but you'd rather not find out. “You said you know where she might be found,” you ask next, “Can I ask where that is?”

“She often returns to the fourth layer, to the spot where the old man died. Ghoulish, really,” the old fiend remarks with a cruel laugh, “I've seen her there, kneeling down beside him. Waiting, as if he'll get up at any minute. Maybe I'll pin the note to his cold chest, just to make sure that she sees it!”

It takes a strength of will not to reach out and throttle the old man, but you slowly cool your temper. “I noticed something, actually,” you continue through gritted teeth, moving on with the conversation, “For how old you are, you don't seem to have gathered many... items.”

“Like those trinkets you're hoarding?” Kalthos counters, “Ah, those are only one way to advance through the Demesne. You scavenge Lessons that others have learned, while I've spent many long years cultivating Lessons of my own.”

“Heh heh heh... What's that expression for?” he adds, chuckling to himself, “I meant no offence by it. You've chosen the smart path, my young pup – you don't have the time to meditate for days and nights on end, do you?”

“No. I don't,” you concede, “I fear there's a danger looming, and I don't have time to wait for it to arrive. Tell me, Kalthos. Do you know the name Strix?”

Kalthos purses his lips as he thinks. “On the cusp of sleep, I've heard that name whispered through these halls,” he murmurs, “Those nights, I never have pleasant dreams. I wouldn't say that name here, if you know what's good for you. I wouldn't say that name ANYWHERE, actually. Not here, not outside, Not anywhere.”

It might be a little too late for that.

[1]
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>>6108668

Having said this, Kalthos looks so grim and fearful that you feel compelled to change the subject. “You mentioned a redhead,” you say tactfully, “You mean Juno, don't you? The Triumph of the Tomoe... how do you know about her?”

“I have my sources,” Kalthos answers with a secretive wink, “A fine girl, no? And the Triumph, well, that story was old even when I was young. A little bit of foolishness for the young to latch onto. It's easier to bear a life of constant strife and suffering if you have a great shining hope to look forwards to, is it not? Whether that hope ever arrives or not, well, that's another question!”

He lets out a nasty laugh, then an explosive cough.

“There is an inherent paradox present in House Tomoe – you spend your entire life struggling to upend the very same system that allows you to exist. I realised the ultimate futility of it all, and I left. The girl is on the cusp of realising it too,” Kalthos muses, “I wonder what she'll do when she does...”

Lapsing into silence here, Kalthos stares off into space as he thinks to himself. His eyes grow dull, a faint confusion seeping into his features. Turning away from you, he shuffles away into the Demesne. You hesitate, watching as he ambles away around a corner and vanishes.

You let him leave.

-

Kalthos' words still ring through your head as you wander through the Demesne, heading for the Sovereignty seal to see what awaits you within. Passing through, a smirk forms on your lips as you study the scene laid out before you – an ornate stone plinth topped with a plush pillow of faded red velvet. Sitting upon all that grandeur is a tiny sliver of metal – a single bullet.

Picking up the bullet, you recall one of your lessons on military history from Coral House. In the space of a single generation, men went from marching into battle with swords and longbows to using modern military rifles – all thanks to the rapid development carried out by the brilliant minds of House Phalaris. Since then, since their disappearance, that progress has slowed to a crawl.

Maybe it's for the best. Who knows what kind of war machines the Phalaris would have created, if they were still around today?

-

Descending to the third layer of the Demesne, you're immediately struck by the sheer size of the hall you enter into. Human hands have never built a hall as vast and grand as this, so grand in scale that you can barely see the far end. Worse than the size, somehow, is how blank it all is – the hall is almost entirely featureless, save for the white stone columns placed through the hall in regular intervals. You stand in the entrance for a long time, struggling to decide exactly what it is about the hall that so unnerves you.

It's how inhuman the whole thing is – men couldn't built something as large as this, and if they could they would never leave it so empty and unused.

[2/3]
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>>6108680

Aside from the size, the third layer feels different from the layers above. Older, somehow. The stone is a slightly darker shade of grey, as if fine dust has been ground into the recesses. There's a faint sound too, a distant scraping noise like something heavy being dragged across stone. You don't see anything moving, but there could easily be Denizens in hiding somewhere.

With your guard raised, you set off into the vast hall. Every echoing footstep causes you to wince, wondering what else might be able to hear you as you press deeper into the empty white. It doesn't take long for the sight of the great distance around you to give you a headache, a growing sense of dizziness and disorientation. Bracing yourself against one of the stone pillars and taking a breath, you glance around as a louder sound reaches you.

Ahead, a Denizen emerges from a narrow tunnel and shambles into the vast hall. It walks with a clumsy gait, occasionally pausing to shudder and tremble fore moving onwards. You don't get a good look at it, but even a distance glance at the face causes your stomach to lurch with disgust. More than ever before, the Denizen has a wretched unfinished look to it, as if its face was crudely sculpted from damp clay and left to droop.

When the Denizen lurches out of sight, you let out a low sigh of relief before casting a longing glance back to the stairs up.

>You need to press on, to find the entrance to the next layer if nothing else
>There might be more secrets hidden away here. A thorough search is required
>You've gone far enough for today. You need to get out of here, immediately
>Other
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>>6108683
>You need to press on, to find the entrance to the next layer if nothing else

What could go wrong.
>>
>>6108683
Did we just wander into medieval/early-industrial Blame! or something?
Also I'm getting the impression the further down in layers the more unrefined the Denizens will look. Come on Isambard, remember the Martense statue degeneration... What does it mean that the same might be happening here? Or maybe it's backwards where further from the end the Denizens become more human... Have Denizens ever escaped the Demesne at all? Or are the humans we know echoes of these instead of the other way around?
...Better to not think of this now.
>You need to press on, to find the entrance to the next layer if nothing else
>>
>>6108683
>You've gone far enough for today. You need to get out of here, immediately
I hate this place
Wish we could burn in down
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>>6108686
We find the way to the next layer, learn the route, then we explore for more secrets (and loot!)
>>
>>6108683
>Compare these Denizens to the Martenses
>You need to press on, to find the entrance to the next layer if nothing else
We could in theory use Calamity to blunder through all the low level seals and loot them, but I don't think now is the time for that.
>>
Looking back to the vast hall stretching out before you, you feel your resolve harden. If what Kalthos is saying is true, Gratia could be just one single layer below you. You might not be able to reach her just yet, but you have to know for sure. If you can forge ahead and find the entrance to the next layer, you can plan your next moves properly. There may be more secrets waiting in the outskirts, but those can wait until next time.

Dearly wishing that you had your sword with you, you continue through the hall. Occasionally, very occasionally, you see something that looks like a window set in the far wall, although the view outside shows nothing but a milky white glow. Eventually the temptation grows too great, and you make a diversion to examine one of the “windows” up close. It's not glass at all, no matter what it looks like. It's rough under your fingertips, no different to the stone surrounding it. Just one more imperfect imitation.

How anyone could see this labyrinth as a holy place is a mystery to you.

-

You don't know how long you're walking for, but eventually you find the far wall drawing close. In the centre, it narrows to a tighter corridor – although even that is so wide that two carriages could ride through it side by side without touching. You pause here, staring towards the next seal with disgust. About half a dozen of the Denizens linger here, swaying in place as they stare blankly with heads askew.

At least the wide corridor gives you plenty of room to move around them. Small mercies and all that.

As much as you try to avoid looking at the Denizens, you catch a few glimpses of their grotesque faces – you see crooked rows of teeth emerging through half-formed lips, and eyes drooping halfway down the face. The deeper you go, the more degraded the Denizens seem. It reminds you, in a way, of the degeneration that swallowed up the true Martense line. Maybe it's something similar here – higher up, the Demesne can “sample” real humans and create a more accurate replica. Lower down, the Denizens are copies of copies of...

Thrusting that thought aside, you finally arrive at the sealed exit and rest your forehead against the cold stone. You can feel it tremor slightly, testing your will, but the seal remains intact.

[Attain the Ninth Lesson to descend further, pilgrim]

You pull your head back in a jolt of motion. That felt... different to the seals above. Almost as if a voice was whispering into your mind. Shaking your head in unease, you step back from the door and start the long walk back towards the entrance.

Nine Lessons. That's not much of a stretch, you don't think.

Not long now.

[1]
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>>6108707
what are we at now?

2
2
5
1
3
3

With Calamity 3? It's only not much because we're making full use of Calamity, and I'm not sure that's a good idea.
>>
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>>6108713
>Our highest stat, Calamity included, gets us to 8. So we'd need either a single dot of Insight or Calamity to move forwards
>>
>>6108707

Fatigue drags at your limbs as you finally arrive back in the “normal” world. It always feels like this, as if the true weight of your exertions in the Demesne only really sink in once you return to the surface. Leaning against the wall and taking a few deep breaths, you numbly take the weapons you're given. When you've recovered some of your strength, you return to the main entrance and spot Elle waiting on a low bench. At the opposite end of the room, Cato sits and reads a book.

“Isambard!” Elle whispers, leaping to her feet when she sees you arrive, “I was starting to get worried!”

“It's a lot larger in there than I thought,” you admit, “I hope you weren't too bored.”

“Actually, I got a lot of work done,” she answers, shaking her head, “The guards keep a sort of, um, visitor book here. A record of everyone granted access to the Demesne and, in some cases, the depths they reached. I had the chance to look through it, and I noticed a few patterns. Firstly, Master Sakhalin was correct – most of the names were from House Silvera, or families allied with them.”

“Did you see Amadeus Silvera on the list?” you ask.

“Um, yes. I think so. It didn't say which layer he reached, though,” Elle frowns a little as she thinks back, “Why do you ask?”

“I'll tell you later,” you assure her quickly, glancing over to Cato. It doesn't look like he's eavesdropping, but...

“Well, ah, okay. What was the second thing?” the oracle taps a slender finger against her lips, “Oh yes. Most of the names listed seemed to reach the fourth or fifth layers, but no further. I don't think I saw any that went lower than that, and quite a few that stopped in the early levels. I wonder if there's some... obstacle, some challenge ahead of you. That aside, there was one other thing. Um...”

Taking you lightly by the arm, Elle leads you away from the main hall. Glancing around to make doubly sure that you're alone, she finally continues. “A few entries in the book had been deleted,” she whispers to you, “Completely covered up with black ink. I don't... quite know what to make of that.”

“Maybe it's like Yulia Phalaris,” you recall, “Sakhalin said that she explored the Demesne, but the powers that be don't like people talking about it. You know, after what happened to the House.”

“Mm, maybe. I didn't see her name anywhere in the book,” Elle nods slowly, “So perhaps it was deleted. If so, all the other names-”

“Other people who became politically inconvenient,” you finish for her.

“Ugh. I hate talking about this sort of stuff,” Elle admits, “It makes me feel so... dirty. Do you want to head out? We should probably hurry back to the estate, see if there's any important news.”

>I'm ready to leave. Let's go
>There's something else while we're here... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6108721
>There's something else while we're here... (Write in)
Cato has absolutely found our Father's Body at some point; hasn't he His opening comment was that "we" Pale's look similar., see if he is willing to describe its location, if he can.
>>
>>6108721
>Ask Cato how he is able to navigate the third layer
Bard's more noticeably feeling unwell at that point. Could be possible we really do need Kalthos' poison since I don't think we drank it this time, or at least it wasn't mentioned. I imagine Cato isn't chugging poison though so he either has some other alternative to mitigate it or he just powers through it like Bard basically did.

>>6108730
This as well. I'd also like to ask Elle about the most recent visitors, but it's probably better to save that in private instead of openly discussing who might have killed our father in public.
>>
>>6108721
>There's something else while we're here... (Write in)
Yeah ask Cato what he's seen (dad) + tips
>>
“Before we go, I just want to have a quick word with Master Silvera,” you tell Elle, “It won't take long... I hope.”

“Well, I'll leave you to do the talking,” she replies, forcing a slight smile onto her face.

Elle falls in behind you as you march back to the main hall, heading straight up to Cato and raising a hand in greeting. He hurriedly tucks his book away as you approach, but not before you catch a fleeting glimpse of the cover – some swashbuckling adventure tale, by the looks of it. No wonder he was so quick to hide the thing.

“Master Silvera,” you begin, “I'm a little surprised that you're still here.”

“My father was due to arrive here today. I intend to meet with him, then head back to the capital together,” Cato answers, “Even if I have to wait all day, it's no hardship. I like the quiet here. How were your explorations in the Demesne?”

“Challenging,” you admit, sitting beside him on the bench, “That third layer is a tricky one.”

“Yes, it is,” Cato agrees with the slightest hint of a grim smile, “Fortunately, I have a secret weapon.” Reaching into his pocket, the young man takes out an elegant wooden case. Snapping it open, he takes out a pair of spectacles with coal black lenses. “Of course, they do make it somewhat harder to see,” he admits, “But that is an aid, as much as it is a burden. I find the third layer to be somewhat disorientating without them. It's too much... white.”

“Looks like I'll have to do some shopping on the way home,” you remark, although you really wonder if the glasses would do any good. What you felt in that place was more than just a dizzy spell. “I wanted to ask you about the next layer as well. The fourth,” you continue, lowering your voice a little, “Could you... tell me what you've seen there?”

Cato turns to look at you for a long moment, his mouth drawing into a tight line. He looks pained, somehow. “I saw a body there,” he admits at last, “I believe it to be the body of your father. When I found it, it was covered by a sheet. My curiosity got the better of me, and I took a look at the face. Please understand, I wouldn't normally disturb a corpse in such a way but...”

“It's not normal, finding a body in the Demesne.”

“Exactly,” Cato nods, “But you can trust my discretion, Master Pale. I have no interest in spreading gossip or rumours.”

Closing your eyes, you take a long breath. “Tell me more,” you murmur, “Tell me more about the layer.”

“The fourth layer is a true labyrinth, the very antithesis of the layer above. I fear that it would be very easy to get lost within it,” the silver-haired young man explains, “There are a great many rooms throughout the corridors, almost all of them empty. I found... your father in one such room. It would have been a very lonely place to die. I'm... sorry.”

[1]
>>
>>6108746

“If you are able to enter the fourth layer, and wish to... visit your father, you should stick as close to the left side of the labyrinth as possible. That will lead you to his resting place as easily as possible,” Cato explains, closing his eyes as if picturing the route in his mind, “The seal leading down to the fifth layer is almost directly opposite your entrance, although there is no direct route.”

“And the Denizens?”

“Is that what you call them? I like it. It's a fitting name,” Cato nods slowly, “I didn't see any of them in the fourth layer, although I think I heard them at times. Footsteps within the labyrinth, sometimes even the sound of heavy breathing. Of course, it could have been a trick of the mind, or a distraction cast out by the Demesne itself. It will try that.”

“There was one time when I saw one of the... the Denizens that wore a familiar face,” he continues, “It looked like my grandfather. The resemblance was so uncanny that I almost lost my nerve. But remember, Master Pale. The Demesne tests us, tests our faith and our resolve. The unworthy masses might allow themselves to be misled, but we must rise above.”

“The... unworthy masses?” you repeat, raising a sceptical eyebrow. The words sound ugly and unexpected coming from him, like finding a razor in a dish of rose petals.

“Ah, forgive me. A turn of phrase I heard recently, and I've been thinking about it a lot. I don't care for it,” Cato shakes his head, “But it's easy to slip into such thinking, doing the things we do. We are, after all, part of a very select group of people. Even so, we shouldn't forget our duty to society at large.”

“And what would you say your duty is, Master Silvera,” Elle asks quietly, studying the young man with wary eyes.

Cato looks to the oracle, slightly bowing his head in a show of respect. “To protect the natural order, Miss Legrasse,” he answers, “From any attempts at subverting it or changing it by force.”

>I'm going to pause here for today before I yap on too much. I'll be continuing this next Saturday, assuming no changes to schedule
>Thank you for playing along today!
>>
>>6108765
Thanks for running!

How long has dad been dead in there? Is the Demesne keeping his body preserved?
>>
>>6108780
I'm horrible at keeping track of time, so I'm not sure how long it's been. A lot of natural processes are suspended within the Demesne, though - like Kalthos, who has grown very old within it. Just try not to think about what might happen if he left the Demesne
>>
>>6108790
Instant mummification
>>
>>6108790
Like Black Adam in Superman/Shazam from 2010...

>>6108765
Thanks for running!
>>
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Heedless of the awkward atmosphere hanging over you all, Cato walks out to the carriage with you. Clouds of white dust swirl around his polished boots as you step out of the palace, a faint breath of wind causing his cloak to stir restlessly. “I wish you a safe journey, Master Pale,” he says, giving you a respectful nod, “And I wish you luck with your further explorations.”

“Thank you,” you reply cautiously, “And, of course, I wish you the same.”

With a hint of a cold smile of gratitude, Cato nods again and steps back from the carriage. He waits, watching you closely as you clamber inside. Even as the carriage starts the slow trek back home, you can see the young man lingering amidst the swirling dust.

-

It's late when you arrive back at the Pale Estate, a heavy pall of clouds hiding even the slightest trace of moonlight. Feeling absurdly like a thief, you creep across the uneven ground and gently open the front door. The estate feels emptier than ever as you make your way inside, as if you've regressed to those lonely days of youth once more. Fighting down the vague feeling of uneasiness that nags at you, you retreat to your bedroom. Here, at least, is the clutter of recent life.

Sitting down on the end of your bed, you realise that sleep will be slow in coming – you dozed a little on the journey back, and you're not yet tired enough to sleep again. Searching for something to do instead, you rummage through your desk and emerge with the strange crystal shard you found in the Demesne – a sliver of frozen moonlight. It glows softly in the darkened room, casting a haze of soft shadow about it.

Armed with some wire and a thin length of chain, you set about converting the crystal into a clumsy, heavy necklace. It feels awkward, ungainly, against your chest, but not so much that it's unbearable. Slipping it inside your jacket to hide the soft light, you feel a faint chill spreading through your chest. Maybe you're being paranoid, but you're glad to have it with you.

Now, you just need to think of a way to examine people's shadows that doesn't make you look like a lunatic.

-

Alex is waiting for you when you move downstairs, his breakfast already half-finished. Giving you a wave of greeting, he hastily wipes his mouth with a napkin and gestures towards an empty seat. “Good morning,” he begins, “I'm a little surprised to see you, actually. I didn't hear you come in last night.”

“Well, it was very late. I didn't want to wake you,” you tell him, “Are you the only one up?”

“You know me, I like to get an early start,” Alex replies with a smile, “Miss Teilhard must be sleeping late. We went out for a bit of a walk yesterday, and it might've been a bit much for her.”

“Better to let her rest, then,” you decide, “Were there any messages for me while I was away?”

“Yes, actually,” he nods, “Two.”

You really are popular.

[1/2]
>>
>>6112546

“One message was from Master Sakhalin, informing you about a bit of work that you might be interested in. One Professor Hodgson, a minor folklore expert, set off on what was supposed to be a minor field expedition some time ago. He hasn't returned, and now his son is starting to wonder,” Alex explains, “I checked a little, and Hodgson appears in some of your father's papers. He wrote a letter to Gideon, though it was just a pleasantry – thanking him for his letter, which we don't have a copy of, and promising to send a copy of his monograph, which we also don't have. I assume Professor Hodgson never had the chance to finish it.”

You nod slowly. It doesn't surprise you too much that your father was in contact with folklore experts.

“Oh, hello,” Alex says suddenly, and you glance around to see Ariel standing at the threshold, “Come on in, you're not interrupting anything. I was just telling Isambard about the messages. The other message-”

“You'll never guess who sent this one,” Ariel interrupts, giving you a sly smile, “Master Hauer.”

“Master Hauer,” you repeat, “You mean, Portsmaw museum of stolen artefacts Master Hauer?”

“One and the same,” the pale girl nods, “I was as surprised as you are. He said that there's some trouble going on with the local Galseans in Portsmaw, and thought you'd be interested.”

“Trouble,” you muse, “What kind of trouble?”

Ariel takes the telegram from her pocket, “A developing situation of some importance,” she quotes, reading from the flimsy slip of paper, “Which tells us precisely nothing, but it sounds urgent. So, I did a little research of my own.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I'll send you my bill later,” Ariel grins, although her smile quickly fades, “It's ugly. Apparently a child has gone missing, and people are pointing fingers at the Galseans. There's all sorts of wild talk in the newspapers about abductions and... well, not very nice things being done to children. The situation is getting out of hand.”

And that, you assume, is what Hauer meant when he said “a developing situation”. The Galseans are already unpopular in Portsmaw, and this latest scandal is hardly going to make things better for them.

You're still considering your options when Elle joins you at the dining table. You quickly recount the two leads, and she replies with a grimace. “That's hardly pleasant news to wake up to,” she admits, “What do you think we should do?”

>Professor Hodgson had some dealings with my father. We should focus on finding him
>The Galsean situation could deteriorate fast. We should see if there's any way we can help
>I've got other plans... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6112548
>The Galsean situation
Hodgson has already been missing for a while, a little longer won’t hurt
>>
>>6112548
>The Galsean situation could deteriorate fast. We should see if there's any way we can help
>>
>>6112548
>The Galsean situation could deteriorate fast. We should see if there's any way we can help
They know something about ancient and malevolent 'gods'. Also, they helped us before, so I suppose we ought to help them...
>>
“It sounds like the Galsean situation could deteriorate very quickly, and things could get very bad if they do,” you decide, “Professor Hodgson has been missing for a while now – I'm sure he can wait a little longer.”

Or it's already too late for him, and a few more days won't make any difference. You're tactful enough to keep this thought to yourself, though.

“Right. Good call,” Alex agrees with a nod, the girls mirroring his gesture.

“So it's unanimous. Excellent,” you remark, “We would have gone with my plan either way, but I'm glad to see that there's no dissent. Now, we should be able to make the next train for Portsmaw if we hurry.”

“Just be careful, lad,” Alex warns, “There's a strange feeling about this whole affair. The newspapers were very vague about it – maybe if they had more details, they wouldn't need to make up their word count with outrage. But if the locals get whipped up into a mob, they won't be too picky with where they point their anger.”

And if you're seen to be taking the Galseans' side...

“I'm always careful, Alex. “Oh, but before I forget. I found this in the Demesne – I'm fairly sure that it's a map,” you mention, taking the crumbled paper out of your pocket and spreading it out on the dinner table, “Does anyone have any input?”

“Yes, I'd agree that it's a map but I'd need to do some research to figure out what region it covers,” Alex picks up the map and takes a closer look, pointing to some angular symbols on the top corner, “But these are important. I recognise them.”

“You do?” Elle asks, “It's not a language that I recognise.”

“Because it's not a language,” the older man explains, shaking his head, “It's an old cipher that Gideon used to use at Coral House. Just a game, really. I never imagined I'd see it again.”

“I see. So... can you translate it?”

Alex pauses. “It's been a very long time since I've seen this cipher...” he begins.

Silence falls, Alex's words trailing off into silence. “So you can't translate it,” you say at last.

“Back in the day, Gideon gave me a note with the translations. It might be buried in the attic somewhere, but I should still have it at home,” he insists, “Leave it with me, and I'll be able to get this translated. You've got important business elsewhere, don't you?”

Like catching your train, for one thing.

-

As the train rumbles into motion, you unfold the creased newspaper and skim down the article. It's already second page news, crammed down in the bottom corner. The article gives no names, but indicates that the missing child was from a wealthy family. All evidence points to the local Galsean community, the article reads, and a suspect is already in custody.

“Looks like they've already got their man,” Ariel murmurs, leaning over and peering at the page.

“They've got someone,” you counter.

[1]
>>
>>6112578

Even before your train arrives at Portsmaw, you can tell that the situation here is ugly. A small crowd lingers outside the Galsean settlement, with more soldiers than usual watching nervously. There's something uncanny about the way the crowd lurks – they're not shouting, waving signs, or brawling with the guards. They're just standing there, staring at the tall fencing surrounding the maze of hovels.

“Ugh,” Ariel mutters, “Don't they have anything better to do with their time?”

“Evidently not,” you reply, folding the newspaper up and tucking it under your arm. The train slows, then finally comes to a halt at the station. The stench of smoke and engine oil washes over you as you disembark and look around, rain hammering steadily against the great glass windows above you. You turn up the collar on your jacket and step out into the foul weather, as Elle fumbles open an umbrella.

-

It's only a short walk from the station to your hotel of choice, but even that short distance is enough for you to get a feel for the mood here. There's a tension simmering beneath the surface, seen in every scowling face and clenched fist. You're very glad when you're off the streets, and it's not just because of the weather.

After dumping what little luggage you have in your room, you meet with the girls in the common room downstairs. “Okay. First things first,” you begin, “Elle?”

Closing her eyes, Elle presses her fingers against her temples and thinks for a moment. “Red hook,” she says at last.

“Red hook?”

“No, I don't know what it means either,” the oracle admits, giving you a shrug, “I think we're supposed to figure that part out for ourselves.”

“On a more practical subject, we should head to the magistrate's office,” Ariel suggests, “If there was an investigation, a proper investigation, they would've been the ones to carry it out. If we ask nicely, they might tell us about it.”

“We'll have to talk with them sooner or later,” you agree, “But I see a few other options first. Master Hauer was the one to ask for our help, it might be worth visiting him to find out why. What's in it for him?”

“I assume he stands to benefit in some way,” Ariel agrees, “Maybe all this fuss is bad for his museum?”

Very likely. Anything associated with the Galseans could become a target if the violence breaks out into the open.

“Alternatively, we could brave the crowds and try to speak with the Galseans themselves,” you mention, “After everything we've done for him, I'd hope that Major Ionescu trusts us enough to tell us what's going on – from their perspective.”

With your options laid out before you, you fall silent and consider the path ahead.

>We shouldn't waste time. We should head straight for the magistrate's office
>I'm curious to see what Master Hauer knows about all this
>It's important to hear both sides. Let's see what the Galseans have to say
>I've got an idea... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6112592
>Hauer
He sent the letter, he ought to be ready for us
>>
>>6112592
>I'm curious to see what Master Hauer knows about all this
I feel like it's respecting him a tad much, but it's not like we trust the Galseans all the much anyway. Who knows, maybe not having Juno will lighten his mood.
>>
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“I'm curious to see what Master Hauer knows about all this,” you decide, “He invited us here, after all. He shouldn't complain if we arrive on his doorstep looking for answers.”

“And it'll probably be easier to speak with him, compared with the proper authorities,” Elle agrees, “Very well. Shall we go now?”

You nod, and soon you're back out into the pouring rain. You can trace your way back to the museum by memory, although you notice a few changes since the last time you were here. A pair of sullen guards stand outside the door, huddling under an awning, but they don't bother you aside from giving a sour look as you pass them by. Inside, the museum seems cleaner, less cluttered, with the various artefacts neatly organised. One whole side of the museum is devoted to Galsean culture, with yet another guard lurks nearby. Aside from the guards themselves, there's only one other person in the museum – a girl with scruffy black hair.

At the sound of your footsteps, the girl turns from the displays and hurries over. You have just enough time to see the look of unease on her face before she pastes on a bright smile. Then she takes another look at you, and her smile changes into something a little more genuine.

“You must be Isambard!” the girl announces, eagerly shaking your hand, “And you must be... Isambard's friends!”

“Elle,” the oracle points out delicately, “And Ariel.”

“Yes, of course you are. I'm Melinda. Melinda Ionescu.”

That name, heard here of all places, takes you by surprise. “Ionescu?” you repeat, “Oh, I suppose that explains how you know me. Your... brother?”

“Half-brother, but yes,” Melinda confirms, nodding eagerly, “I have to admit, I wasn't sure if you'd actually come. I'm glad that getting old man Hauer to send that message was worth all that stress!”

“Let's just slow down a little,” you tell the Galsean girl, “You got Hauer to send that message, and... you work here?”

“Right, right,” Melinda says with another nod, “Things were really looking up here, you know, before all this mess. Hauer talked to some important people and managed to convince them to ease up on some of the rules. Some of us were given work permits, and allowed to mingle with the locals a bit more. It was good, you know? Being able to earn a little money, showing people that we're not just a burden...”

“I can't imagine that Hauer did all this out of the goodness of his heart,” you point out.

“Of course not!” the Galsean laughs, “People got curious about us, and they came here to learn more. That's why I'm here!”

“You're a... tour guide?” Ariel says slowly.

“Hey, it's better than sitting in a slum doing nothing with my time,” Melinda counters, “Come on, I guess you're here to see the boss. Follow me.”

[1]
>>
>>6112634

“Fix it yourself!” Hauer shouts from behind the closed office door. Melinda doesn't even flinch, simply knocking again. You hear a muffled curse, and then she opens the door. Hauer hasn't changed a bit, glaring up from his paperwork with a look of absolute disgust. When he realises that it's you, though, his expression grows more conflicted, a strange mix of relief and irritation.

“Pale,” he says bluntly, “I didn't actually think you'd come here.”

“Your assistant said just the same thing,” you reply, taking a seat opposite the older man, “I understand that you've got a bit of a mess on your hands.”

Hauer lets out a low grunt. “That's one way of putting it,” he mutters, “Yes, it's a tremendous mess. Worse, it might all blow back in my face. I do one good turn, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Master Hauer, please tell us what's going on,” Elle suggests gently, “If you need any help, we can only get started once we know what the situation is.”

Taking a deep breath, Hauer thinks about where to begin. You can see that he has a litany of complaints stored up, but thankfully he holds those back. “The Suydam boy has gone missing. You probably got that much from the newspapers,” he explains, “The Suydam family are wealthy traders, high society types, so there's a lot of interest. They had a Galsean housekeeper, and people are pointing fingers at her. They only had a Galsean housekeeper because of MY efforts in getting work permits for her lot. You see the problem, don't you?”

“Guilt by association,” you reply with a slow nod, “This must be very difficult for you. Of course, it's probably worse for the Galseans themselves-”

“Oh, never mind them!” Hauer snarls, “I can write you an introductory letter for the magistrates, but you need to find some way of fixing this. I don't care what you do, just make sure I'm not dragged into this mess!”

He really is all heart.

>Thank you for the letter. We'll be off to the magistrates now
>Do you actually think that the housekeeper took that boy?
>What else do you know about the Suydam family?
>I had some questions about the case... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6112666
>What else do you know about the Suydam family?
>Have you been been contacted by or heard anything from House Tomoe recently?
>Thank you for the letter. We'll be off to the magistrates now
When it doubt, blame the Tomoes.
>>
>>6112666
>Was the Suydam house constructed by a notably insane architect?
>>
>>6112666
>Anything I should know about the Suydam family?
>>
>>6112682
+1
>>
“Master Hauer, I have a question. You're probably not going to like it, but I have to ask,” you begin, leaning a little closer to the vile old man, “Have you had any recent contact with House Tomoe, or anyone acting on their behalf?”

“I have not,” Hauer replies through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching with suppressed anger, “Are you suggesting that THEY are involved with this?”

“Too early to tell,” you remark, leaning back again and dismissing the subject with a wave of your hand. You weren't really interested in his answer, so much as how he answered the question. There's anger, even outrage, but no hint of fear or panic – nothing to suggest guilt. He's claiming innocence here, and you believe him. “Forget the Tomoe, then,” you continue, “What else can you tell me about the Suydam family?”

The sudden change in subject seems to leave Hauer disorientated. He shuffles a few papers on his desk for a moment as he thinks, then looks up at you. “New money,” he says at last, “A merchant family, like so many here. I don't know them personally, but they are – supposedly – kind and gregarious, very popular with the higher orders of society. Even allowing for the usual squabbles between businessmen, it's hard to imagine why anyone would want to target them.”

“Money?” Ariel suggests, “Kidnapping their child for ransom, that would certainly be a motive.”

“Perhaps so. But if there's been any kind of ransom demand, it's been kept very quiet,” Hauer points out, “A question for the magistrates, not me.”

There's a deliberate edge to his voice as he says this, and he quickly signs his letter of recommendation with a flourish before pushing it towards you.

“Thank you,” you tell him, folding the letter and slipping it into your pocket, “Oh yes, the Suydam family... You wouldn't happen to know who built their house, would you? A local madman, perhaps?”

“I suppose that's your “subtle” way of hinting at Master Drummond, yes?” Hauer sighs, “I'll have to disappoint you. The Suydam family home is a new build, designed long after Drummond was dragged off to the madhouse. A hideous building, frankly – one of these new model homes, designed without a hint of artistry or passion. Ghastly.”

For a moment, you feel like you're talking with Eleanora Martense all over again. Not a pleasant feeling.

“Thank you,” you repeat, patting your pocket as you get up to leave.

-

The magistrate's office certainly isn't one of the new model buildings that Hauer resents so much – it's a looming mausoleum of a building, complete with stone gargoyles leering down from the decorative balconies. You can well imagine the impact it might have on the poor criminals dragged up and inside. Fighting off a shudder, you enter the foreboding building and make your way to the front desk.

[1]
>>
>>6112700

“I'm here about the Suydam case,” you begin, slapping Hauer's letter of recommendation down in front of the receptionist, “Who can I speak to about this?”

The beleaguered receptionist picks up the letter and squints at it. It occurs to you then, as they take their time reading it, that you probably should've read it over yourself first. You wouldn't put it past Hauer to have written something terrible there, even a false confession. As the silence draws out, you start to feel more and more uneasy.

“The Suydam case?” the receptionist finally asks, “Why? It's a closed case, there's nothing left to discuss.”

“Even so.”

The receptionist shrugs. “The new girl is handling the paperwork, I suppose you could ask her,” he offers, “Go through to the back offices, you're looking for Dunham.”

-

After double checking the name plate screwed into the door, you knock loudly. A muffled voice calls out to invite you in, and you cautiously enter. The office is painfully small and cluttered with all manner of books and paperwork. Dunham – a woman with short blonde hair and pale blue eyes – sits with a lit cigarette in her hand and a sour look on her face. She studies you for a moment, then gestures to the single empty chair. You sit, with the two girls awkwardly standing behind you.

“Faye Dunham, Junior Magistrate,” the woman introduces herself, “Now what are you doing here?”

“We're here about the Suydam case,” you tell her simply. The response is immediate – her eyes narrow into sharp slits, and she gestures for you to close the office door. As it clicks shut, a secretive air descends.

“The Suydam case is closed,” Dunham says slowly, carefully, “The family housekeeper, a Galsean, has been arrested for abducting their son. It's believed that she brought him into the Galsean settlement, where we believe he is still being held – dead, in all likelihood. The investigation has concluded. So, I'll ask again. What are you doing here?”

There's a heavy bitterness in Dunham's voice, as if she doesn't believe the words she's telling you, and a deep sense of frustration. It feels, almost, as if she's testing you.

>I'm just here to make sure that justice is done
>I have friends in the Galsean community. I'm here to make sure they're not falsely accused
>You don't seem to have much faith in your own investigation, Junior Magistrate
>I'm... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6112720
>You don’t seem to have much faith in your own investigation
>>
“You don't seem to have much faith in your own investigation,” you point out, watching as the slow scowl spreads across Dunham's face.

“You're dodging my question,” she counters, “Guilty people tend to dodge questions. Are you guilty of something?”

“Maybe a few things, but nothing that would require the attentions of a magistrate,” you tell her with a slight smirk. With that, you fall silent and let her seethe.

The silence doesn't last long, Dunham soon letting out a sigh of disgust as she crushes her cigarette out in an ashtray. “This stays between us, okay?” she hisses, “Not a word of this leaves this room unless I say so.”

“Naturally.”

Dunham leans back in her chair, tapping a finger against the desk as she thinks. “Right now the whole case hinges on a single eyewitness testimony, and even that is of dubious reliability,” she explains, “There's not a single piece of solid evidence linking the Suydam boy's disappearance with the Galseans. But, the higher ups are pushing for a raid on their settlement. They want the settlement broken up, with the people shipped off to some prison camp in the mountains. Collective punishment, essentially.”

“Miss Dunham,” Elle asks softly, “Do you think the Galseans were involved in this?”

“I don't know. Maybe they were,” the magistrate shrugs, “But the case against them is weak, far too weak for my liking. I've been able to stall the raid for three days, in the hopes of finding some more evidence, but...”

But she's in over her head. Her pride might not allow her to say it aloud, but you can see it writ large across her frustrated scowl.

“Remember what I told you, this stays between us for now. Officially, the case is closed – you won't make any friends by trying to open it up again, and it'll be even worse for me,” Dunham adds, jabbing a finger at you, “So now you speak – why are you here?”

“We're here to offer our help,” you tell her simply, “If you're willing to accept it.”

“...Shit, I don't have much choice,” Dunham pinches the bridge of her nose, “Sure. Why not? Where do you want to start?”

“First of all, you mentioned an eyewitness. You thought they were unreliable. Why?”

“Right. The eyewitness is an old woman called... uh, Mahoney. She lives in a tenement close to the Galsean camp, her window looks out over it. She claims to have seen “a woman with dark hair and shabby clothes leading a young boy into the Galsean slums”, in her words,” the magistrate explains, “That description vague fits with the housekeeper, true, but it was the middle of the night.”

“What about the guards?” Ariel asks, “There should've been a guard by the camp entrance, right?”

“Exactly so. Mahoney claims that the guard was asleep on the job,” Dunham's lip curls into a sneer, “The guard himself denies it, but that's hardly unexpected.”

[1]
>>
>>6112764

It's not hard to see why Dunham has so little faith in the eyewitness account. That's a lot of detail to make out from a distant view at night, and it doesn't line up with the guard's testimony. The idea that they could purge the entire Galsean settlement on the basis of such a weak case is concerning. If you were a cynical man, you might think that someone in a position of power wanted to get rid of the Galseans.

“What about the housekeeper herself?” you ask, “She's under arrest, isn't she?”

“Right. We've got her here, in the basement,” Dunham nods, “We took a statement from her, but it's worse than useless. She was so scared she could barely string too words together. Aside from claiming innocence, we barely got anything useful out of her. I was hoping to try and talk with her again, just by myself, but I don't know how far I'll get.”

“She may not want to speak with any more magistrates,” Elle suggests, “Um, no offence.”

“None taken,” the older woman sighs, toying with her cigarette case, “She won't be the only one. As part of the initial investigation, I tried – unsuccessfully - to speak with some of the street children. I had a hunch that the Suydam boy might not be the first disappearance, just the most high-profile one. But that was a dead end, I couldn't get them to say a word.”

Another long pause as Dunham takes out a cigarette and fiddles with a book of matches. “So,” she concludes, gesturing with the unlit cigarette, “You can see the position I'm in. If you think you can help, by all means go ahead.”

>I want to speak with this eyewitness, double check her testimony
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
>Leave the street children to us. We'll get some answers out of them
>I have contacts with the Galseans. I can ask around on your behalf
>I've got an idea... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6112769
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
>>
I don't normally do this, but I'm not going to be able to write the next section tonight. I'm going to leave the vote open and check back tomorrow (for me). I'll be running as normal after that, hopefully.
Stay tuned!
>>
>>6112769
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
The eyewitness will be worse than useless. A waste of time. If this lady knows of any Galsean cult activity maybe involcing a certain squid-dragon-mqn, given the meta-reference to the Horror at Red Hook this could shine a light.

>>6112781
Longer vote windows are kinda nice tbf. Thanks for running, and see you tomorrow!
>>
>>6112769
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
>>
>>6112769
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
Major Ionescu knows of us, we've helped him before. His name could get us a long way with the housekeeper and in calming her down
>>
>>6112769
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
>>
>>6112769
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
>>
Okay, going to put a pin in this vote here and start preparing for the next update. I'll be aiming to go live at the usual sort of time, about 4PM Bong time
>>
>>6113086
Gonna need you to unpin that vote, I've got a new one that will shake up the whole situation

>>6112769
>We can try speaking with the housekeeper, if you can get us access
>>
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“If you can get us access, we could try and speak with the housekeeper,” you suggest, “She might be more willing to talk with someone who isn't wearing a uniform. Not just that, but I've had dealings with the Galseans before. I might be able to lean on those connections to win her trust.”

“Good, excellent. It's definitely worth a shot... assuming I get you access to her cell,” Dunham frowns in thought, “I'll have to check the rota to see who's on guard duty today. Give me a moment, Master...?”

“Pale,” you tell her, “Isambard Pale.”

“Pale?” she repeats.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No. I just came across the name “Gideon Pale” as part of my background checks. He's quite an advocate for the Galsean community here, arguing for better rights and conditions for them,” the magistrate nods in thought, “Your father, yes? I presume he sent you to act on his behalf.”

“Something like that, yes,” you reply, hastily changing the subject, “This is Miss Legrasse, and Miss Teilhard.”

“A Teilhard...” Dunham muses, “That gives me an idea.”

-

With a swift, purposeful pace, Dunham leads you to the holding cells hidden within the building. From the peeling white paint on the walls to the scent of damp decay, it all combines to give the cells a depressing, oppressive feeling. Even Dunham doesn't seem immune to it, shuddering slightly as she enters.

“Please excuse me for asking this, Miss Dunham, but...” Elle asks hesitantly, reading something in the magistrate's uneasily expression, “Have you handled a case like this before?”

“Is it really that obvious? Shit...” Dunham breathes, slowly shaking her head, “No, this is my first major case. I've only recently transferred into the magistrates – I was an artillery officer before this, and... forget it. Just remember the plan.”

You hold your tongue as you approach the lone guard lingering by a locked door. He tenses up a little as you approach, his eyes flicking from Dunham to you. “What's all this?” he asks, “We shouldn't be letting civilians-”

“Ease up, Green,” Dunham interrupts, “They've been given permission. Just a routine investigation, I was giving them a tour. We're just about finished though, so-”

“Green, did you say?” Ariel calls out, in a cheerful voice quite unlike her usual hushed tones, “You wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you? Marcus, I think, from the Eighteen Infantry regiment?”

“I... do,” the guard answers cautiously, “What's he done now?”

“He's a credit to his nation, that's what!” she lies, “He's a damn fine soldier. What a surprise, running into his brother here – tell you what, let me buy you a drink!”

The guard glances back to Dunham, who gives him an exasperated gesture. “Go on, Green,” she urges, “I can cover your shift for an hour or so. Enjoy yourself for once.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6113225

As Ariel leads the bemused guard away, Dunham ushers you into the holding cells. A long row of metal doors await you, each one painted rust red and emblazoned with a number. “Before you get started, there are a few things you should know,” Dunham explains quietly, “The housekeeper's name is Gerritsen, and the boy is Robert – Robert Suydam. Based on what the family have told us, the two were quite close.”

“The family themselves-” you begin, but Dunham interrupts you.

“They have a solid alibi, if that's what you were wondering,” she says, “They were visiting a friend outside of town and stayed overnight. We've confirmed that with the friends, and the alibi holds. So, I'm fairly certain that we can rule out any involvement from the family.”

You nod. As horrific as it might be, the thought had crossed your mind.

“Second, the house itself,” Dunham continues, “There were no signs of forced entry, or a struggle. That's partly why the housekeeper was considered the most likely suspect. Her statement doesn't provide a satisfactory explanation of what happened.”

“But you said that her statement didn't provide very much information at all,” Elle points out.

“Yes,” the magistrate agrees with a grim nod, “That's right.”

-

Your first thoughts of Gerritsen – younger than you were expecting, unharmed but very, very tired. For a moment, she doesn't even seem to notice you as you sit down opposite her. Her gaze is unwavering, fixed on a point just above your left shoulder. You don't say anything at first, waiting in silence as Elle readies her notepad and pen.

“Who are you?” she asks at last, with all the hesitation of one who learned Agorian as a second language.

“My name is Isambard,” you reply, nodding to your companion, “And this is Elle.”

Gerritsen doesn't reply straight away, your words seeming to sink into some vast darkness within her. Beneath the deceptive calm of her face, she seems like an animal caught in a trap. If she could gnaw off her own leg to escape this place, you have no hesitation that she'd do it. It occurs to you, then, how strange this must all seem – one day she was living her life as normal, only for her whole world to come crashing down the next.

You know how it feels.

“What do you want from me?” Gerritsen continues after a long silence, her voice weary.

“We're friends of the Major,” you explain, the name causing her eyes to widen slightly, “We're here to help. Can you tell us what happened, Miss Gerritsen?”

“Nothing... nothing happened,” she answers slowly, “It was just a normal day. I don't know what you want from me.”

>Just tell us about the day. Take as much time as you need
>Tell us about Robert. What kind of boy is he?
>Has anything unusual happened around the house lately?
>Have you seen any strangers lurking around the neighbourhood?
>I've got some questions... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6113226
>Just tell us about the day. Take as much time as you need
>Has anything unusual happened around the house lately?
>Tell us about Robert. What kind of boy is he?

In that order
>>
>>6113226
>Just tell us about the day. Take as much time as you need
That's what Elle will need to lean on the oracle powers, I think. As for the rest...
>Do you know what kind of products the Suydam handle in their house? Did they work with galsean items?
>Tell us about Robert. Is he a fearful lad, a reckless one?
>>
>>6113229
+1
>>
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“Just tell us about the day. Pretend that I don't know what a normal day is like,” you urge the woman, “Take as much time as you need. We're not in any hurry.”

That's not exactly true, but you're hoping that this conversation won't last any longer than an hour.

“I had to work quickly in the morning, to make sure Miss and Master Suydam's clothes were ready before they left. Robbie... Robert slept late that day, but he usually does when his tutor isn't coming. The Suydams left at noon, and I had the chance to sing to Robert for a while. He... he likes listening to me sing,” Gerritsen recalls, each word coming slowly and tentatively to her lips, “We had a... guest.”

“A guest?” you prompt.

“Yes. A trader. One of Master Suydam's associates, I think,” she frowns, “I thought it was strange. Master Suydam said he had cleared his schedule, because he was going out. He seemed a little disappointed that Master Suydam wasn't there. I...”

Here, she lapses into silence. “Go on,” Elle murmurs, patting the older woman's hand, “You don't need to be afraid of us.”

“I invited him in for a cup of tea,” Gerritsen confesses, “I'm not supposed to do such things, but I thought... just this once...”

“Can you tell us about him? What did he look like?” you ask quietly, glancing aside to Elle. She gives you a tiny hint of a nod, scratching a few notes into her book.

“He had long black hair, like me. I thought... I thought he was kin, like me. He said that his mother was. I was... curious about him. One of us, but a wealthy trader. We talked over tea for a while, and then he had to leave,” the housekeeper smiles a little, despite everything, “He said his name was Lupei. Yes, I remember his name well. It suited him.”

“Did he mention which trading company he was with?”

Gerritsen's face darkens slightly. “He showed me a card, but... quickly. I couldn't read it properly,” she admits. From her hesitant answer, you can tell what she really means – she doesn't read well, especially not Agorian. “I asked for his card, so Master Suydam could contact him again, but he said there was no need,” she adds in a low murmur, “He said he'd come back at a better time.”

This Lupei, if that was their real name, seems like a likely suspect to you. Tracking him down, on the other hand, is a different matter.

“What then?” you ask, gently prodding the woman to continue.

“I made dinner, and ate with Robert. He went to bed at, um, eight or so. I had a few last chores to do, making sure the house was all locked up, and I was asleep by ten. Then, in the morning...” Gerritsen trails off here, her words dying away. But you don't need her to finish, you know what she was going to say all too well.

In the morning, Robert was gone.

[1]
>>
>>6113249

“Has anything unusual happened around the house lately?” you ask next, after you've allowed a respectful silence to pass, “Anything at all that you can think of, no matter how minor.”

Gerritsen thinks for what seems like an eternity. “The keys,” she whispers at last.

“Excuse me?”

“We keep a spare set of keys,” Gerritsen explains, “They're kept hanging on a hook by the door. But that morning, when I realised that Robert was... gone... I couldn't find them there. I only found them later, sitting on a table in the hall. I just thought... I just thought I'd put them there by mistake. I wasn't thinking clearly...”

“Miss Gerritsen,” Elle asks carefully, “Did you leave this Master Lupei alone at all?”

Slowly, agonisingly, Gerritsen nods. “I was making the tea,” she answers, a faint whine in her voice, “I asked Robert to help me get out some cups. It was just a moment, but...”

While they were distracted with the tea, Lupei snatched the keys. Then, when he came back later – just as he said he would – he left the keys behind again. Maybe he didn't have time to bother with hanging them up on the hook, especially if he had his hands full with Robert.

“Is this... is this my fault?” Gerritsen asks in a whisper, “Did I-”

“Tell me about Robert,” you interrupt gently, “What kind of boy is he? A fearful boy, or reckless?”

Gerritsen wipes her eyes with a trembling hand. “Robbie is such a sweet boy, so kind and trusting. He never saw me as an outsider, even from the day we met. He just saw me as part of the family,” she murmurs, “We'd talk for hours, when it was just the two of us. He liked to hear stories from the home islands, but I wasn't supposed to tell them to him. It was our little secret. But now...”

As Gerritsen starts to tear up, Elle quickly passes across a handkerchief. You wait for a moment as she dabs at her eyes, even though you can feel the seconds ticking away. “I've just got one last question for you,” you tell her, “Do you know what kind of materials Master Suydam traded in? Did they have any Galsean items in their house?”

“No, not... oh. I brought them a gift when I started working in their home, a protective totem. I made it myself, for good luck,” she answers, a bitter grimace twisting her lips, “But that was it. I don't know much about the business, of course, but... I think Master Suydam mentioned lumber once or twice.”

“Don't worry. We can check that ourselves, I expect,” you assure her. As you're thinking about everything she's told you, you hear a firm knock at the door. It looks like you're out of time.

“Don't worry,” Elle urges Gerritsen as you're leaving, “We're doing everything we can to clear your name.”

Gerritsen just stares, as if she can't quite understand the oracle's words.

[2/3]
>>
>>6113257

Dunham quickly ushers you from the dungeons and leads you back to her office, occasionally glancing back over her shoulder as if fearing pursuit. Once you're back inside, and the door is safely closed behind you, she lets out a low sigh.

“Sorry for the interruption,” she begins, “I hope you weren't in the middle of anything.”

“Tough luck if we were, huh?” you remark, “We might have something. Gerritsen claimed that a trader by the name of Lupei visited the home on the night before Robert went missing. It's possible that he snatched a pair of spare keys while he was in the house. That would have given him a chance to enter the house later, after dark.”

“Lupei...” Dunham repeats, writing the name down, “If he's a legitimate trader, he should be registered with a company. They would have his address, some way to contact him... this is great! We've got another lead to follow! We-”

A knock at the door interrupts the magistrate, and she abruptly falls silent. A moment later, Ariel pokes her head around the door. “Sorry. I heard shouting,” she explains, “If we're going to be secretive about this, you really ought to keep your voice down.”

“Noted,” you assure her. As Ariel closes the door behind her, you recap everything that Gerritsen told you. She listens closely, nodding as the words sink in.

“Right, so we all agree that this Lupei fellow is absolutely shady, right?” Ariel says, “We need to find him.”

“Exactly,” Dunham agrees, “I'm going to the registry office to try and track down an address. Do you want to come with me?”

>Sure. It'll be faster work with another pair of hands
>No, I'm going to try and follow up with those street children you mentioned
>I can't. I want to visit the Galseans and get their input first
>I've got other plans... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6113263
>I can't. I want to visit the Galseans and get their input first
Divide and conquer
They might know Lupei as well, or his mother
>>
>>6113263
>>I can't. I want to visit the Galseans and get their input first
It's just as likely that this Lupei already covered his tracks.

But the Galseans might know of a black haired rich trader.
>>
>>6113263
>I can't. I want to visit the Galseans and get their input first
Plus we can have the Major do stuff on his end of things. He has a vested interest in the Galsean settlement's well-being, and he'd be very interested in taking righteous bloody revenge out on a despicable child-kidnapping "merchant" that started this whole debacle and gave those in power an excuse to try destroying the settlement. If we find Robert and return him to his family alongside proving the housekeeper's innocence, I bet the Suydams would be honored to give a generous donation of their wealth towards helping the Galsean settlement and the museum in Portsmaw.
>>
“I can't. I want to visit the Galseans and get their input first,” you tell Dunham, “You can handle the paperwork without me, but you wouldn't get a word out of them. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this, but they don't trust outsiders much.”

“You're right, I don't need you to tell me that,” Dunham agrees with a bitter smile, “Very well. Go and see what you can dig up. Just be careful with the crowds – it's getting nasty out there, and I don't mean the weather.”

Giving her what you hope is a reassuring nod, you start to leave the office when an idea strikes you. “The Suydam family,” you ask, “What kind of business do they have?”

“Lumber, bricks, building supplies mostly,” the magistrate answers, “They made a lot of money rebuilding Portsmaw after the last Lliogor migration. You probably don't remember, but there was a lot of money flying around in the aftermath. Colonial profits, you know how it is.”

“Yes,” you reply, as a cold chill runs down your spine, “I do.”

-

The driving rain has done nothing to deter the crowds massing outside the Galsean settlement. If anything, the crowd seems even larger than when you first saw it. Up close, you can hear a low rumble of conversation stirring through the massed bodies. The few snatches of conversation that you do hear are ugly, muttered threats and pointed anger.

Elle takes your hand in a tight grip as you push your way into the crowd, beating bodies aside with your empty hand. The beleaguered sentries help as best as they can, pushing the mob away from the gate and drawing their revolvers to keep the mass of bodies from surging forwards as the heavy iron gate is unbarred. You're ushered inside, and the gate hurriedly swings shut behind you.

“I hate crowds like that,” Elle admits softly as you hurry into the maze of narrow streets, “They make me feel as if something terrible is going to happen.”

“It already has,” you reply darkly, looking around for any sign of life. Unlike your last time here, the settlement seems completely deserted. At least, that's the way it seems on the surface – you can feel countless pairs of eyes watching you from hiding. With the uneasy feeling crawling down your spine, you turn the next corner and spot Mihail lounging on a set of steps. He has the same easy, lethargic smile that you recognise on his face, but his eyes look brittle and tense.

“Pale!” he calls out, leaping to his feet, “You should not be here, my friend, it's not safe!”

“Well, I'm here now. It's a little late for warnings,” you counter, marching over and shaking his head, “I'm here to help clean up this mess of yours.”

“Is not OUR mess,” Mihail insists, scowling darkly at your words, “This is... ugh, I cannot say. But yes, a big mess. Come, follow me. We can talk inside.”

[1]
>>
>>6113279

“I wish to make one thing clear, for confirmation,” Major Ionescu begins, before you've even had a chance to say hello, “This is nothing to do with us. There is no boy here, alive or dead. You tell them that, Master Pale. They may even believe it, coming from you.”

“I know that, Major,” you assure him, “But people are looking for someone to blame, and you're an easy target.”

With a low grunt of disgust, Major Ionescu picks up a bottle and sloshes a measure of bitter smelling liquor into a glass. He gestures towards another empty glass, but you shake your head. He downs the drink in a single gulp, shuddering a little before baring his fangs in a grimace of anger. “Perhaps I was a fool, to think that things would get better,” he laments, “My kin have taken jobs, lowly but honest jobs, in your city. I told them that it was good, that they would win respect with their labour. Now this.”

You get the feeling that this isn't the first drink he's had today. “We might have a lead on the real culprit,” you tell him, “The Suydam family was visited by a man before their boy went missing, a trader by the name of Lupei.”

“Hrm,” Major Ionescu grunts, “Go on...”

“Lupei spoke with the housekeeper there, and claimed to have Galsean heritage. His mother, to be precise,” you continue, “Do you know anything about that?”

The Major picks up the bottle of liquor and swirls it about, setting it aside without pouring another drink. “Lupei is a Galsean name. Yes. But I do not know of any merchants among our kin. As I said, the jobs we have taken are menial jobs – the hard labour that no local man wishes to do,” he muses, “I know of some kin who worked in the warehouses and dockyards, working alongside traders and merchants. Hmm...”

“Mihail!” the Major shouts after a moment, “Go and find Dumitru – he worked at the docks, did he not?”

“I'll find him,” Mihail promises, bowing his head before turning and scurrying off.

“A man working a lowly job at the docks would be invisible,” you think aloud, “He could lay low and listen to men like Suydam as they go about their business. He'd have a chance to learn how they talk, how to pass as a merchant – well enough to fool a trusting housekeeper, at least. And that's not the only thing he might have overheard...”

“Suydam might have mentioned that he'd be away from town for the night, and that's how this Lupei knew when to strike,” Elle agrees, nodding to herself, “And he might have found, or stolen, a business card to use as a prop. It all ties together, doesn't it?”

“Maybe,” you reply with a grimace, “But I won't celebrate until we've got our hands on the bastard.”

[2/3]
>>
>>6113297

Dumitru is perhaps the largest Galsean you've seen, heavily muscled instead of the usual wiry, sinewy build. No wonder that he found work at the dockyard, you suppose. Despite your expectations, his voice is soft and surprisingly hesitant. “Lupei? I won't say that I know him, but we worked together at times. He was not, um, reliable,” the Galsean explains, “Often he would not show up to work. We made excuses or did the extra work ourselves.”

“Why?” Elle asks softly.

Dumitru turns to her with surprise in his eyes. “He is kin. We look out for each other,” he answers simply, “But you think Lupei is in trouble, yes?”

“Big trouble,” you assure him with a grim nod, “Where can we find him?”

Shaking his head, Dumitru raises his massive shoulders in a shrug. “Can't say. I've never seen him here, in the camp,” he admits, “Only ever saw him at the dockyard.”

“I asked around a little,” Mihail adds quietly, “Nobody – not ANYONE – knows where he lives. You must imagine, Pale, how strange that is. Everyone knows everyone here.”

“An outsider,” Major Ionescu announces, his voice low and dark, “Your people, Pale, would not know the difference. He could pass as one of us, walking your city streets without drawing an eye. The rogue Galseans are no kin of ours, lawless men and troublemakers. They have always lived on the fringes of your society, hiding amidst the forests and mountains. Why, then, would he come here?”

“I think that's something we'll have to ask him,” you decide, considering your next move.

>We'd better get back to Dunham, report what we've found
>I've got some more questions about Lupei... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6113310
When did he start working at the dockyard?
Did he ever mention any places or names?
Was there anybody else in particular that he seemed close to? A potential accomplice?
How did he behave leading up to this situation? Could he have hinted at something?

For him to work at the dockyard disguised as a Galsean from the settlement, somebody must have hired him there. How long has he been planning this chaos? He'd have to have decided to target the Suydams somehow and decided on the kidnapping as the way to do it. How and when?
>>
>>6113310
>I've got some more questions about Lupei... (Write in)
Did he ever talk about his mother or father? Family in general? Politics, maybe?

>Other
Ask the Major if the Galseans, rogue or otherwise, were subjected to any particularly infamous colonial violence or displacement around the time of the Lliogor migrations...

I think this could be revenge. Maybe the Suydams got up to some 'business' like our father and his men.
>>
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“I need to know everything we can about Lupei,” you tell Dumitru, “First of all, when did he start working at the dockyard?”

“I was there on day one, when the first work permits were issued,” Dumitru recalls, “Lots of us showed up on the first day, but not so many came back. Lupei... I didn't see him on that first day, but he showed up later. A day or two afterwards.”

“How did he behave?” you ask next, “Particularly in the last few days, before the Suydam boy disappeared. Did he ever... hint that anything was going to happen?”

Dumitru glances aside to Major Ionescu. The older man pour a glass of liquor and pushes it across. “He was quiet. Kept to himself mostly. Didn't notice anything different about him recently. Maybe he looked a little more tired than normal. He'd drink, sometimes,” Dumitru explains, tentatively sampling his own drink, “That was his excuse, anyway. He'd miss a day of work, then claim he'd been drinking hard the night before.”

“Was he drinking alone, or did he have drinking buddies? Anyone he might have been close with?”

“I saw him once, with a few kin. I don't know who – I only saw them from a distance, in passing. Not close enough to see their faces, really,” Dumitru lapses into silence as he thinks, “But I don't think they were workers like us. More rogues?”

So you have to assume that Lupei isn't working alone, even if he was the one doing the hard work. The more you learn, the worse this all seems.

“Where did you see these men?” you press, “Did Lupei mention any other names, people or places? His family, perhaps?”

Dumitru drinks again, then shakes his head. “He didn't like to talk about himself, his kin. He's always dodge the question, change the subject. But that's not so strange – most here have lost family, one way or another. It's a sore subject for some,” he shrugs, “And when I saw the men, they were out on the edge of the dockyard. There's a few abandoned warehouses out there, I think maybe he liked to drink in one of them. Get out of the rain, yes?”

“It's worth looking into,” Ariel suggests, “If he was staying there, he might have left some kind of clue behind. We can ask Dunham when we get back.”

“I wonder why he's doing this,” Elle murmurs, “This is an awful lot of effort to go to. Was he targetting the Suydam family deliberately?”

“Major, is there any reason why the Galseans, rogue or otherwise, might want to get revenge on the Suydam family? Or anyone in particular, really,” you ask, “Were your people victimised at all during the Lliogor Migrations?”

“I presume you mean aside from when we were driven from our home islands,” the Major replies, giving you a humourless smile. He fall silent for a long moment, tapping a finger against the liquor bottle as he thinks.

[1]
>>
>>6113326

“There was, I recall, a skirmish not long after we first arrived in Portsmaw,” Major Ionescu says slowly, “Not all of my kin were so willing to be imprisoned here. Many fought, and were either killed or driven out into the wilderness. It is possible that this Lupei, or his Galsean mother, were victims of this violence. But I cannot be certain of this.”

Before you can say anything else, another Galsean bursts into the ground and gives the Major a hasty salute. “Trouble is brewing,” he hisses, “The crowd outside grows restless. I fear that violence is in the air. You outsiders – you should leave now, while you still can.”

“He's right,” Elle agrees, “We don't have time to waste. If we get caught up in some... mob violence, who knows when we'll be able to leave?”

“Thank you, Major Ionescu, Dumitru, but we need to get moving,” you conclude quickly, nodding your thanks to the Galsean men. The Major gives you a slow, unhurried nod, then pours himself another drink.

You wish you could be as calm as him.

-

A bottle flies overhead as you're hurrying out of the gate, exploding against the heavy iron fence and showering you with shards of broken glass. The crowd roar in response, caught between cheering in triumph and cursing aloud. Tucking your head low, you press forwards as a pair of soldiers flank you and carve a path through the mob with their wooden batons. You can feel blood trickling down your forehead from where a piece of glass cut you, but you don't have time to worry about that now.

Your pride prevents you from breaking into a run but you definitely hasten your step as you emerge from the crowd, hurrying through the city streets until the noise of the crowd fades into a low roar. Only then do you allow yourself to take a pause, leaning back against a wall and drawing in a deep breath.

“Here, stay still,” Elle whispers, pressing her handkerchief against your forehead, “I hope it doesn't need stitches...”

“Don't worry about me,” you tell her, gently pushing her away, “Anyway, don't you think a scar would give me an air of danger and mystery?”

“I think I've got quite enough danger and mystery in my life as it is,” the oracle counters, only for her cheeks to darken a moment later, “Um, what I mean is-”

“Flirt later, we've still got a job to do,” Ariel interrupts, slapping you lightly on the arm, “But you're not wrong, Bard.”

-

“So you think Lupei was a common labourer, not a trader,” Dunham muses, “That makes sense – I didn't see the name on any of the registries. I assumed that he had given the housekeeper a fake name, but this makes sense too. Good work with the Galseans, Master Pale. I can... get a medic for you, if you want.”

“Later,” you insist, shaking your head, “It's just a scratch anyway.”

[2/3]
>>
>>6113346

“There's a possibility that Lupei isn't acting alone. We've got a source who saw him meeting with some other men, possibly Galsean, at the dockyards. Specifically, at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts,” you continue, “Another thing to note – nobody at the Galsean camp seems to know Lupei, and it's a pretty close community. They believe that he might be an outsider, a rogue Galsean.”

“Interesting. I was under the impression that they lived out in the mountains,” Dunham replies, getting up from her desk and starting to search through a drawer of papers, “I've got a list of the trading companies here, it should include the defunct companies too. Give me a second...”

“Miss Dunham, can I ask you a question?” Elle says, gazing thoughtfully at the magistrate, “Why do you... care so much about this?”

Dunham pauses, looking around at Elle with curious eyes but saying nothing.

“What I mean is, everyone else here seems to have closed their investigations. You said yourself that you might get in trouble for asking all these awkward questions,” the oracle continues, “So... why take the risk?”

Dunham thinks for a moment. “Because I hate an easy answer,” she says at last, “It usually means that you haven't thought things through. This isn't about trying to prove the Galseans innocent or guilty, not really. It's just that I saw my colleagues doing sloppy work, and I couldn't stand the thought of going along with it. I want to know the truth, however unpleasant that may be.”

“I see,” Elle murmurs, “Thank you.”

Dunham makes an attempt at a smile, then pulls a crumpled sheet of paper from the drawer. “Shit,” she mutters, “There's more of them than I thought. Your contact really didn't give you a name?”

“He just said it was an abandoned warehouse. That's all.”

“It could take days to thoroughly check all of these,” Dunham complains, “Listen to this – Far Shores Trading, Sokolov and Sons, Pinnacle Shipping, Red Hook Trading, Hogshead Meat Company, Blue Star Logistics... Bear in mind, these are just some of the abandoned warehouses. If your contact was wrong about them...”

>Then we'd better not waste time with complaints. We need to start searching
>I've got an idea... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6113353
>>I've got an idea... (Write in)
The Business card that was given to the maid wouldn't correspond to one of the listed companies would it?
>>
>>6113353
>Red Hook. Get me all the info you have on Red Hook.
Elle's premonitions come in handy.
>>
>>6113359
He didn't hand her the card. Just flashed it at her and took it away before she could read it properly.
>>
>>6113353
>>6113361
Nice catch, +1
>>
>>6113361
Good job, anon. +2
>>
“If Gerritsen still had that business card, we might be able to compare... wait,” you look up from your thoughts, “Give me that list.”

With a bemused look, Dunham passes the flimsy paper across to you. Trying not to snatch it from her hands, you skim down the list again. “Red Hook Trading,” you read aloud, looking up and giving Elle a victorious smirk, “Get me all the information you have on Red Hook Trading.”

Dunham doesn't waste time asking questions, simply delving back into her drawers and digging out a slender file. “Red Hook Trading, defunct for around five years. When it was active, the company was led by... Abe Daelman, it says here. Successful trader in his day, had a profitable route between Agoria and...” she falls silent for a moment, then looks up at you, “A profitable route between Agoria and the Galsean Islands.”

“Shit,” you breathe, “Let's go. We need to check this out.”

-

Splashing through the puddles lining the streets, you march north towards the dockyards. Dunham leads the way, her long coat flapping in the wind like a pair of ragged wings. Her face is set in a grim mask, determination glaring out from her bright eyes. “Daelman himself retired about the same time his company went defunct. Assuming he hasn't passed, he'd be more than eighty years old by now,” she explains tersely, “So we can be fairly sure that he's not running around with stolen children, but that doesn't mean he's not connected.”

“He could have people working for him,” you agree, “Where can we find him?”

“He's got a mansion just outside of town, in the old districts,” Dunham answers, “We'll be paying him a visit soon, don't worry about that.”

“Miss Dunham, is this... legal?” Elle asks, her voice hushed and fearful, “I mean-”

“Let me worry about that, Miss Legrasse,” the magistrate interrupts, “If anything goes wrong, I'll take the blame. But it won't go wrong.”

“...I'm not so sure about that,” Elle mumbles to herself.

-

When you arrive at Red Hook Trading, the warehouse door is sealed shut with a weighty padlock. Dunham draws a large revolver and takes aim, but you grab her arm and gesture for her to hold fire. If Lupei really was using this warehouse as a hideout, he either had a key – which seems unlikely, considering how rusted shut the padlock looks – or another way in. You walk a slow circuit of the warehouse until you find what you were looking for – a bent sheet metal panel in the wall, loose enough for you to peel it back and crawl through.

“I can't,” Elle yelps suddenly as you stoop down to enter. You look around, her wide blue eyes flashing at you from the darkness. “I'm sorry, but I... I can't go in there!” she insists, “It's bad in there, it's really really bad!”

“You two go on ahead,” Ariel tells you, placing a light hand on Elle's shoulder, “I'll keep an eye on her.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6113393

Rain hammers against the tin roof like a hail of bullets, the sound nearly drowning out the thud of your heartbeat as you crawl into the warehouse. Turning to hold the sheet metal flap open, you step aside as Dunham follows you inside. Standing up, she shakes water from her coat and pulls out a voltaic lamp. Bright white light stabs into the darkness as she turns it on, illuminating a hulking figure rising up from the centre of the warehouse.

You're halfway through drawing your revolver when you realise that it's a statue, a crude wooden idol of a horned, animalistic woman. Even so, you keep your gun drawn as Dunham backs off and fumbles along the wall. A moment later, you hear a heavy groan as she pulls a heavy lever and turns on the power. Flickering at first, then roaring into life, the voltaic lanterns cast a sickly white light over the warehouse and reveal...

It doesn't feel exactly correct to call it a “corpse”, that thing laid out before the idol in a grotesque parody of prayer. Revulsion boils away in the pit of your stomach as you cautiously approach the remains, trying to get a better look even as your instincts cry out for you to turn tail and run.

Even without a thorough examination, you're fairly sure that you're looking at the parts from more than one body, skilfully cut apart and reassembled in a new, horrific form. The core of the thing is relatively intact, recognisable as a human torso, but the limbs have been spliced together with arms and legs from another source in order to elongate them. A second pair of arms and legs, equally distended, have been sewn onto the naked torso in a manner that resembles an obscene spider. The head is just as bad, perforated by a half-dozen holes like black abyssal eyes.

“I know that face. That's... him. That's Robert Suydam,” Dunham murmurs, her voice trembling as she fights back a wave of revulsion, “But the rest of him...”

“Your hunch was right,” you reply, your voice seeming to come from some great distance, “He wasn't the only victim.”

>I'm going to pause things here for today. I should have some extra time next week, so I'm hoping to run the next session on Friday
>Thank you for playing along today!
>>
>>6113412
Thanks for running!

These rogue Galseans had a good run of worshipping Lloth until they picked some rich kid as the newest addition to their altar. Should have stuck to victims that no one would miss.
>>
>>6113412
Fuck. Well, there really is a horror at this Red Hook, complete with grotesque idols to an ancient god and mixed-race agents of a mysterious cult.

Thanks for running!
>>
>>6113346
>“Flirt later, we've still got a job to do,” Ariel interrupts, slapping you lightly on the arm, “But you're not wrong, Bard.”
Ariel best boy? Best girl? Whatever they are, they're a solid wingman and they keep becoming more based with every line. How could their parents just fuck them over like they did?
>>
>>6113412
They're all going to pay for this
>>
>>6113346
>“I think I've got quite enough danger and mystery in my life as it is,”
oh my, forward today, aren't you Elle?
>>
>>6113610
she's hooked
>>
>>6113279
>The Suydam family,” you ask, “What kind of business do they have?”
>“Lumber, bricks, building supplies mostly,” the magistrate answers, “They made a lot of money rebuilding Portsmaw after the last Lliogor migration.

>But, the higher ups are pushing for a raid on their settlement. They want the settlement broken up, with the people shipped off to some prison camp in the mountains.

It’s almost like this kidnapping is a pretext to clear the settlement and redevelop it - making this family a lot of money.

I wonder who these ‘higher ups’ are? What do they stand to gain?
>>
>>6113678
Okay, scratch this…just caught up. Pays to not speculate when there are more posts…

>>6113412
The public is going to go nuts…no way they distinguish between Galseans
>>
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Magistrate Dunham paces restlessly from one end of the warehouse to the other. She finishes her cigarette in a single savage drag as she walks, dropping it to the ground and crushing it under her boot heel without breaking stride. She immediately prepares another, but stops short of lighting it. “What is this shit?” she snarls, gesturing to the mutilated remains with her unlit cigarette, “What IS this?”

“If I had to guess, I'd say this is some kind of ritual offering,” you reply quietly, your gaze still fixed on the body – or bodies. Since the moment you laid eyes on it, you haven't been able to look away from the desecrated remains, even as every instinct in your body urges you to avert your eyes. “Galsean, I assume,” you add, nodding slightly to the wooden idol.

“Shit,” Dunham repeats, drawing in a deep breath, “I'm going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest. Objective. Your people, your “contacts” in the Galsean community here... could they have done this?”

You don't answer straight away, your attention focussed on the remains instead. There's an obvious skill, perhaps even an artistry, to the way the bodies were cut apart and reassembled. There's nothing random or accidental about it. This was all done with a purpose, although you're mercifully ignorant as to what that purpose may be.

“No,” you answer at last, “This isn't their handiwork.”

“You're sure about that?”

“I'm sure.”

Dunham gives you a dubious look, her own gaze carefully skirting around the ruined bodies. “We need to be very careful about what we say,” she tells you, “If the higher ups see this, they won't draw the same conclusion.”

“I answered your question, so now you answer one of mine,” you counter, “Who exactly are you talking about?”

“My immediate superiors, for one thing, the Senior Magistrates,” Dunham answers, a hint of distaste creeping into her voice, “But above them, the Governing Council for the city. They've been pushing for a quick resolution here. Men like Suydam, wealthy men, hold no small amount of influence over the council. They're always keen to keep their patrons happy.”

“And yes,” she continues, “Before you ask, there ARE men on the council who would be glad to see the Galseans removed. This... this butchery here will only confirm their worst suspicions. So, as I said, we need to be very careful. But now, let's get out of here. I need some fresh air.”

“Agreed,” you reply, finally tearing your gaze away from the remains. Getting up and brushing dust from your clothes, you make your way across to the loose sheet metal flap. Dunham hesitates, meticulously picking up her crushed cigarette butts from the floor before following you out.

“We don't want anyone else to find these and get the wrong idea,” she explains, offering you a hint of a humourless smile.

[1/2]
>>
>>6116449

Back in Dunham's office, with a few extra borrowed chairs this time, you sit down to plan your next move. It's slow going – the accumulated fatigue of the day is starting to weigh on you all, and the conversation often lapses into a sullen silence. Though there was, in all likelihood, no chance that Robert Suydam could have been found alive, you can tell that his death is weighing heavily on Dunham.

“I'm going to take another look into Daelman,” Dunham says in a low, weary voice, “His company has been defunct for years, but he refused to sell the warehouse on. It even had power. Why go to all that expense?”

“Do you think he had some involvement in this?” you ask, “What would his motive be?”

“I don't know,” the magistrate admits, “As far as I know, there was no bad blood between him and the Suydam family. There's no indication that they even know each other. Daelman is something of a recluse these days, so he hardly moved in their social circle.”

“This ritual...” Elle begins, only to hesitate, “There has to be some purpose behind it. If we understand WHY they're doing this, it might help us understand their next moves. We should see if the Major can tell us-”

“That's going to be difficult,” Dunham interrupts, “The settlement has been locked down after the violence earlier today – the guards aren't letting anyone in or out.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to fend off a headache. Everywhere you turn, it seems like you run into new obstacles.

“I might be able to convince my superiors to make an exception. I could say we have a new lead to follow up, something that might prove the case beyond all doubt,” the magistrate offers, “But they won't do anything until morning, and I'm not sure if they'll budge.”

“What about the museum?” Ariel suggests, “Master Hauer... well, he probably won't be too much help, but Melinda might still be around. If she was working late, she might have avoided the lockdown.”

Dunham frowns, looking far from convinced, but doesn't argue against the idea. That, you assume, would be a waste of what little energy she has left.

>Let's get some rest, we can try and plead our case to lift the lockdown tomorrow
>We should give the museum a try. We can't afford to sit around and do nothing
>I think we should focus our efforts on Daelman. History lessons won't get us anywhere
>I've got a plan... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6116450
>We should give the museum a try. We can't afford to sit around and do nothing
We absolutely shouldn't tell Hauer anything though, more on the urgency in contacting the Major, and any information on the outlaws, because they're clearly way more than bandits.
>>
>>6116450
>Give the museum a try
Melinda was picked to work there because of her familiarity with ancient Galsean artifacts and legends, right?
Right?
>>
>>6116450
>We should give the museum a try. We can't afford to sit around and do nothing
>>6116455
Sorry anon, she's just a nepo baby
>>
“You're right. We should give the museum a try,” you decide, nodding to April, “Even if it's a dead end, we can't afford to just sit around and do nothing. I'll feel better if I'm up and doing something.”

“You go on ahead,” Dunham says, “I suspect that your friend will be a lot more talkative if I'm not around. I'll stay here and see if I can chase up any more information about Daelman. Even at this late hour, there should be somebody willing to talk with the magistrates.”

“And what if they're not willing?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” the magistrate smirks, “That's what the badge is for.”

-

The museum is, of course, locked up tight when you arrive, but you don't let that stop you. With no regard for discretion or decency, you start pounding on the locked doors and don't stop until an irritated guard opens the door. “The museum is closed,” he announces, pointedly looking at the “closed” sign hanging in the window, “You'll have to come back-”

“What's all this noise about?” Melinda interrupts, appearing from inside the museum, “Oh. Let me handle this, Joel. Don't worry, I'll take the blame if anything goes wrong. Go on!”

Grumbling complaints under his breath, the guard leaves Melinda and wanders off into the depths of the museum. With a smile that manages to be both bright and worried, Melinda opens the door a little wider and gestures for you to come in. Leading you through the rows of exhibits, she shows you into a makeshift break room. Judging by the blankets draped across the couch, she must have been sleeping here.

“So,” she begins, “At this house, I guess this isn't a social call.”

“Not exactly,” you reply, “We've found the Suydam boy.”

“Oh, that's-” Melinda pauses, her eyes widening before all light fades from them, “That's not good news, is it?”

“Not exactly.”

-

Melinda listens closely as you describe the gruesome scene that had awaited you in the warehouse. Despite the grim mood, it's fascinating to watch her face – it shifts between grief, fear and revulsion with the most extravagant motions. “This is bad. We're going to get in so much trouble for this,” she mutters when you're finished, “Oh! I mean, um, but it's even worse for the boy's family. I'm so sorry for them, it must be so-”

“It's okay,” you interrupt her gently, “We know what you mean. Sympathy aside, does this scene mean anything to you?”

You're treated to another wonderful display of emotions as Melinda thinks, her head tilting back and forth as if she carrying out some silent conversation with herself. “It can't be,” she decides at last, “Impossible. Not a chance. Not here, not now.”

“Maybe it is impossible,” you agree, with a remarkable display of patience, “But perhaps you could tell us anyway?”

[1]
>>
>>6116472

“Okay. So, my mother was a priestess back in the home islands. That meant that one day, I would be a priestess too. Bear with me, I'm getting to the point,” Melinda explains, each word coming in rapid succession, “She taught me a lot of old stories and stuff like that. One of them was about a group of very evil people, a cult of sorts. Their name translates to, um, “Black Wanderers” would be close. Close enough, at least.”

“The Black Wanderers believed that the gods were so high above mankind that normal prayers and petty sacrifices were pointless – the gods wouldn't even notice stuff like that,” she continues, “They believed in making grand displays of worship – horrific things, like pyramids of severed heads and flayed hides draped up in the tree branches.”

“Nice,” Ariel mutters to herself, as Elle covers her mouth with one delicate hand.

“So yeah, this... spider... is just the sort of thing they would do,” Melinda nods slowly, “But it can't be. We hunted the Black Wanderers down and wiped them out. Now they're just a story used to scare kids.”

“Apparently not,” you point out, “Were they worshipping your gods for some reason?”

Melinda takes a small sip from a glass of water. “They believed that their acts of blood and terror could attract the attention of the Magna Mater, even summon an avatar of her. It would appear as a horned woman – sometimes a horned man – and they would, um...” she hesitates for a moment, “The Magna Mater would give them a child.”

Silence then, as those words sink in.

“That's just one story,” Melinda adds quickly, “And it may be just that – a story. There are other reasons why someone might want to call out to the Magna Mater.”

“The Magna Mater has the power to make men assume a new form,” you recall, tapping a finger against your cheek as you think, “Could that be it?”

“Magistrate Dunham said that Master Daelman was in his eighties,” Elle recalls, “Perhaps he wanted to be reborn into a new, youthful body. Miss Ionescu, would that be possible?”

Melinda blinks in surprise, either at the suggestion or from being addressed in such a formal manner. “I mean... I guess?” she shrugs, “It's not quite as simple as that, but this Daelman might not know that.”

Of course. It would be a form better suiting his true nature – and if Daelman really was willing to have children butchered to achieve his goals, that might be a very twisted thing indeed.

>We should get back to Dunham, tell her what we've learned
>Tell me more about these children of the horned woman
>Why did your people try and wipe out the Black Wanderers?
>I've got some more questions... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6116485
>Tell me more about the Black Wanderers
Anything that would help to find them, that we or Dunham can use
>>
>>6116485
>What sort of form does the Mgna Mater grant men, in legends?
>>
>>6116485
>Tell me more about these children of the horned woman
>>
>>6116485
I wonder if the Magistrates would recognize the silver armor if we started flashing it around. Or Daelman,

>Did the Black Wanderers have any distinctive attire? Rituals we can use to track them?
>Did the Black Wanderers particularly fear anyone? Maybe angering the Magna Mater?
>>
“Could you tell us some more about these Black Wanderers?” you ask, “Anything you can tell us might help.”

“Well, they tended to be nomadic as the name suggests, but that wasn't too uncommon back in the home islands. If anything, I'd say it's rarer for us to stay in one place for too long,” Melinda pauses for thought, “Sometimes they would befriend travellers, only to lure them away and murder them. Other times, they would infiltrate camps in order to listen and gather information. Some of the stories got pretty wild – like claims that they could abduct people and learn to imitate them, copying their voices or returning to camp in disguise. Creepy stuff, you know?”

“Lupei seems to live up to his reputation,” you muse, “He blended in with the dock workers pretty well, then played the role of merchant to fool Miss Gerritsen.”

Melinda shudders a little. Gradually, she's starting to realise that this is really real. “In these stories, what kind of form did the Magna Mater give men?” you ask, hoping to keep the interview moving before she can get too distracted.

“Well, it varies. It's almost like a test of character,” Melinda recalls, “A cowardly man might become shrunken and weak, bent low and made ugly. A strong, bloodthirsty man might become like a wild beast. But someone with strong will, a mastery over themselves, might be made great – like a perfected version of themselves. In the stories, it almost always ends badly when someone calls upon the Magna Mater.”

Naturally.

“And what about these children you mentioned?” you ask next, “The children born from this horned woman. What do you know about them?”

“Well, um, they were “special”. Either blessed or cursed, depending on how you look at it. They would grow up to be great or terrible, powerful leaders and warriors,” the Galsean woman explains, “They had like, an aura about them, something that inspired trust in people. Sometimes more than trust, a kind of fanaticism. The way my mother explained, it's like they were whirlpools in a great sea of life – they drew things in, good or bad. They died terrible deaths as often as they lived great lives.”

Fitting, for a child born from a union between man and the divine. No mundane, moral life for them.

“But these are just stories, aren't they?” Elle asks, a nervous waver in her voice, “These spirits-”

“Gods,” Melinda interrupts.

“These spirits can't actually...” a pause as Elle fumbles for the right words, “They can't actually join with mortal men.”

Leaning back on the couch, Melinda shrugs. “I just got taught the stories,” she answers with a crooked smile, “I never asked how true they were. But we never questioned them, back in the home islands. Better safe than sorry, I'd say.”

[1]
>>
>>6116517

“Whether it's true or not, it doesn't really matter as far as we're concerned,” you point out, before the discussion can get out of control, “If the Black Wanderers believe this, they'll act accordingly. We just need to understand how they act, how they behave. Miss Ionescu – you said that they imitated normal travellers, but did they have any way to identify them? Any special garb or clothing?”

“When they weren't playing disguise, they tended to wear masks,” Melinda explains, waving a hand across her face, “Masks, and really gross robes – ragged furs, scrappy leather, even stuff like crowns made out of twigs and sticks. I guess that was part of their act, dressing in a way that inspired fear and dread.”

“Was there anything THEY feared?”

“No,” the Galsean answers simply, “Major Ionescu had a story, passed down from his father, about hunting down a pack of Wanderers. They were sneaky, but when they were finally caught the men fought without fear. They hurled themselves into battle like wild beasts, dying without a hint of fear or hesitation. Not one of them surrendered or asked for mercy. I suppose... I suppose they were just as willing to offer their own blood to the Magna Mater.”

“So, you know, if there really are Black Wanderers hanging around town,” she adds with a bitter laugh, “Be careful, won't you?”

-

Not long after you make it back to the Dunham's office, your strength finally gives you. Sitting down in a chair to wait for the magistrate to arrive, you feel your head dipping low in sleep. Just as you're eyes close, you see Ariel reaching over to shake you awake only for Elle to stop her, gently shaking her head. Then everything fades to black.

Opening your eyes after what feels like a few seconds, you see Dunham sitting behind her desk with a stack of papers. A hot cup of tea sits near you, while Ariel and Elle doze in their borrowed chairs. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, you take a sip of your tea and give Dunham a questioning look. She touches a finger to her lips to hush you, only for Ariel to stir regardless. With a groan, Ariel straightens up and looks around in surprise.

“I was just resting my eyes,” she insists, to nobody in particular. A moment later, Elle opens her eyes too.

“Let me guess,” you say as she opens her mouth to speak, “You were just resting your eyes?”

“That's...” Elle replies, her cheeks flushing red, “Haven't we got important business to discuss?”

“I've done a little research into Master Daelman,” Dunham begins, tactfully changing the subject, “It took a lot of digging, but I turned up more than I expected.”

A whole night of digging, judging by the dark shadows under her eyes.

[2/3]
>>
>>6116528

“This has been going on for a lot longer than any of us thought,” Dunham begins simply, “According to the incident report I located, the remains of an unidentified child were found in the dockyard about twenty years ago. The boy had been stabbed, but the attacker made a mess of it – the boy was able to able to run some distance before succumbing to his injuries. His trail led back to Daelman's warehouse.”

“There was an investigation, of course, but Master Daelman was cleared of any involvement. Even with the blood trail, there was nothing directly linking him with the crime,” she continues, “Even so, the scandal destroyed his business and turned him into a recluse.”

“Twenty years... that would've been before the Galseans arrived,” you recall, “If Daelman was found innocent, was the real culprit ever found?”

“No, they never identified any other suspect,” Dunham shakes her head, “The boy was tentatively assumed to be a street child, no family or anything like that. With no other leads to follow up, the trail went cold and the case was soon forgotten. I can't prove it, but I suspect that Daelman spent a lot of money to try and make it forgotten – the files were really buried, almost hidden. Now, what about you?”

You recount what Melinda told you about the Black Wanderers, almost expecting Dunham to laugh in disbelief. Instead, she listens closely and carefully.

“I have a theory,” she says at last, “Master Daelman learned about these rituals, this “Magna Mater”, and tried to call it up. He abducted a child, a street child that nobody would recognise, and murdered them. But Daelman, he's not a natural killer – he made a mess of it, and got scared. He got away with it once, but didn't dare try it again. But when the Galseans arrived in Portsmaw, he made some kind of... deal with these Wanderers, and the killings started over.”

Silence falls as Dunham finishes speaking. You nod slowly, weighing up her words. “That's certainly an interesting theory,” you say at last, “But I think we'd need to speak with Master Daelman to know for sure.”

“And that's the problem,” Dunham spits, “I raised the previous case with my superior, and asked to speak with Daelman about it. Just a conversation, nothing official... yet. My request, unfortunately, was denied.”

“What?” Elle yelps, “Why?”

“The case is closed, remember?” the magistrate says with a grimace, “And here I am, trying to make trouble for a good Agorian citizen – a man who was found innocent, after all. I was explicitly told to leave him alone.”

“And are you?”

“Of course not,” Dunham remarks, “I'm not letting this go. But you, you don't need to risk your necks for me. I couldn't have gotten this far without you, but let me handle things from here.”

>Very well. Good hunting, magistrate
>Not a chance. We're going with you
>This isn't a good idea. Don't do anything hasty
>Other
>>
>>6116543
>Other
Maybe, since he's so highly placed and we're head of House Pale, we could approach this man independently, claiming to be a "fellow traveler" of a sort? You know, hinting that we know his secret, and implying we want in on it?
>>
>>6116543
>Other
Backing >>6116551
She was forbidden from talking to him. We weren’t
>>
>>6116551
+1
>>
“I've got an idea,” you tell Dunham, “You've been forbidden from talking with Daelman, but I haven't. Let me try and talk with him. I think... I think I might be able to win his trust.”

Dunham pauses halfway through taking out a cigarette, studying you carefully. “I'm not sure if I want to ask,” she replies eventually, “But what exactly do you mean by that?”

“It's better that you don't know,” you counter, giving Dunham a cold smile, “That way, you can plead innocence later without worrying about lying.”

“You could be walking into some really deep shit,” the magistrate points out, “You do know that, right?”

You just shrug. These days, that's hardly an uncommon situation for you to be in. Dunham considers you for another long moment, then sighs and takes out a silver whistle.

“Here. Take this, at least,” she tells you, “I'll tail you, but keep my distance. Blow that whistle, and I'll come running. I'm the only backup you'll have, so don't get in over your head.”

-

Following Dunham's directions, you wander out to the far edge of town where the very old manors lurk. Spared the worst of the destruction during the Lliogor Migration, they have been left to rot instead. It's still early when you arrive, but the thick pall of clouds overhead hides much of the morning sunlight behind a leaden veil. Daelman's manor sits at the centre of an overgrown garden, almost a forest by itself, and Dunham takes cover behind a fat tree.

A dull knock echoes out as you rap your knuckles against the damp, almost spongy, wood of the front door. When no answer comes, you tentatively reach for the handle and find it unlocked. Showing yourself inside, you pause and wait for your eyes to adjust to the gloom. Most of the windows are shuttered, some boarded over completely, and the few gas lanterns you see are dark. Unhooking one from a wall, you fiddle with it for a few seconds and tease out a dim light.

Your initial impression of the manor is one of disrepair, squalor and decay. While the Iron Keep had felt like a mummified body, something left in the cold to turn to dust, this place feels more like a rotting corpse. Wincing as the warped floorboards creak underfoot, you creep through the ground floor in search of... anything really. When you move into a back hall, you nearly drop the lantern and reach for your gun before stopping yourself.

A tall figure rises up from the corner, a large wooden mask glaring out from a pile of matted furs. But this is no looming attacker – the cloak and mask are hanging neatly from a coat hook, the mask's empty eye sockets staring blindly out at the opposite wall. Brushing the furs aside to make sure that they truly are empty, you let out a silent little laugh.

You're jumping at shadows.

[1]
>>
>>6116566

Satisfied that the ground floor, at the very least, is empty, you head back to the front door and wave for the girls to enter. Ariel covers her face with one gloved hand as she joins you, while Elle winces at the lingering smell of rot. Touching a finger to your lips, you pass the lantern to Elle and start for the stairs. One hand rests on the grip of your revolver as you climb the stairs, while you clutch the whistle tightly in the other.

At the top of the stairs, you pause and listen as a hushed, ragged breath gasps out from behind an ajar door. Tentatively pushing it open, you see a withered skeleton of a man huddled in a wheelchair. His head, bald save for a few straggly strands of hair, is darkened with a stain of dried blood. Circling around the wheelchair, you gently tilt the man's head back so his unfocused eyes can waver across your face. He's not dead yet, but his mind has retreated inwards.

Elle tentatively approaches and places a hand on the old man's arm, only to draw back with a gasp. Slowly, cautiously, she touches him again and closes her eyes.

“No...” she croaks, her voice growing low and hoarse, “What have you done?”

“Isn't this what you wanted?” the oracle adds before you can say anything, her voice changing to become strong, deep and resonant.

“I didn't... want... any of this,” she argues back, weak and frail once more.

“Wasn't it YOU who invited us in?”

As these snarling words escape her lips, Elle jerks back her hand as the old man lets out another gasp. His eyes roll madly around for a moment before settling on your face, a hint of lucidity seeping into them. “Who...” he whispers, “Who are you?”

“I'm a... fellow traveller, of sorts,” you tell him quietly, kneeling down beside the wheelchair, “We've walked the same road, you and I.”

“Gideon?” the old man mumbles, his eyes glazing over, “Those men, those beasts... it's all gone wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this...”

Your blood runs cold as you hear your father's name on his lips. Of all the things that you had been preparing yourself for, this was not one of them. A sudden fury boils up from your heart, and you have to stop yourself from shaking the decrepit old man until he spills his secrets. It turns your stomach, to imagine the things your father might have discussed in this rotting study.

“That's too bad, old friend,” you continue, automatically assuming the gruff growl that you remember from your youth, “What have they done to you?”

“He HIT me!” Daelman whines, the effort of his words sending him into a weak spasm of coughing, “The boy, he doesn't listen to me any more. He... he's done something terrible.”

“The Suydam boy.”

“I told him... to be... discrete,” the old man insists, forcing each word from his withered lips.

[2/3]
>>
>>6116578
>The boy, he doesn't listen to me any more.
Did this old coot have a child with the Magna Mater?
>>
>>6116578

“How many?” you ask, your voice hardening.

“Ten, perhaps a dozen at most. He used to be... careful... but these last few...” Daelman rasps, “Too many, too fast... even with the gutter wretches, I told him it was too much. Then the Suydam boy... I told him there would be an outcry if the boy was found, but he just laughed. He laughed, Gideon! It was as if... as if that was what he had wanted all along.”

“You bastard...” Ariel whispers, but you hold up a hand to silence her.

“Didn't I tell you to be discrete, last time we spoke?” you ask Daelman, in the grating imitation of your father's voice, “You'll have to remind me, old friend.”

“No... Gideon, you knew? Even then, you knew?” Daelman's filmy eyes widen, “You knew, but said nothing?”

“I'm in no position to judge you, Daelman. Trust me.”

“You asked me... about the Galseans. There were secrets that they kept from you. We talked until the late hours, of the terrible rites they held under the full moon. Of the things I saw on those islands,” the old man recalls, his voice growing a little stronger as if revitalised by the memory, “You were the only man I ever told. Somehow I... I knew that you would understand me.”

>I've heard enough of your filth. I'm leaving
>A dozen dead... Why have you done this, Daelman?
>You still have time to redeem yourself. Where is Lupei?
>What have you seen? Did you see the horned woman?
>I still have questions for you... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6116597
>Yes, I understand, which is exactly why I put a stop to it. Where is Lupei?

Looks like dear father didn't do a full enough job killing everyone connected to the whole deal.
>>
>>6116606
+1

>>6116597
>>
>>6116606
+1
>>
>>6116597
>What have you seen? Did you see the horned woman?
Sure was someone talking through Elle there
>>
>>6116617
>Sure was someone talking through Elle there
Agreed. The only reason I didn't think it worth asking is, Magna Mater or otherwise, we know such 'gods' exist. We've met one.

>>6116606
>Looks like dear father didn't do a full enough job killing everyone connected to the whole deal.
I think this guy went n his own, separate colonial expedition. I got the vibe that our dad went to the local Africa equivalent, with the Heart of Darkness references. You know, wherever Sakhalin's from. Daelman seems to have gone to the Galsean Islands.
>>
It turns your stomach, hearing the old monster say that, but you force yourself to be cold. You came here to win his trust and get him talking, and your plan worked better than you could have imagined. You're not going to waste that triumph, even if it means wallowing through a river of filth and blood. “I understand all too well. I have my own sins, but I'm trying to fix them. I'm trying to make them right. What about you?” you hiss, “Now tell me. Where is Lupei?”

“That boy...” Daelman pauses, blinking a few times as if confused, “A boy should listen to... to his father, don't you think?”

“That's not what I asked,” you press, closing your fist around the old man's arm and gently squeezing, “Where. Is. He?”

A low moan escapes Daelman as your grip on his arm tightens for a moment. “I don't know, I don't know,” he whines, “He's... left me. He's gone back to them, back to his people. They came to him, told him... told him such terrible things. They turned him against me...”

“The rogue Galseans,” Ariel whispers to you, “I doubt they'll be here, in the manor. Outside.”

You nod. The woods and forests outside are the natural place for rogue Galseans to hide out. You start to rise, only to pause. There's another question nagging at you, even as part of you strains to keep you from asking it aloud. Daelman doesn't notice your hesitation, but Elle certainly does.

“We should go,” she urges, gently tugging your arm, “We shouldn't waste any more time here. Come on, please!”

“What else did you see?” you hiss, forcing the words out, “Did YOU see the horned woman?”

“No...” Daelman breathes, the word stretched out into a long sigh of regret, “I was... never... as lucky as you... Gideon.”

Those last words fade out into nothing as Daelman lapses back into his stupor. He's still alive, judging by the slow rise and fall of his chest, but he doesn't stir even when you squeeze his arm hard. You shake him next, with no result, then start to draw your hand back to strike him only for Elle to grab your arm.

“Let's go!” she pleads, and this time you allow her to drag you from the study.

-

Stumbling down the stairs on numb, unfeeling legs, you run past the discarded mask and furs as you leave the manor. Even the dull sunlight is painfully bright compared with the gloomy manor, and you have to shield your eyes with one arm as you run into the overgrown garden. Following the remnants of a path, you plunge deeper into the trees.

Stirred by the wind, or something else, the bushes around you rustle and whisper. Behind you, Ariel calls out for you to slow down but you pay no heed. It's only when a blade comes slashes out from the trees that you come to a sudden halt.

[1]
>>
>>6116623
>“What else did you see?” you hiss, forcing the words out, “Did YOU see the horned woman?”
>“No...” Daelman breathes, the word stretched out into a long sigh of regret, “I was... never... as lucky as you... Gideon.”
We now have a candidate for Isambard's mysterious mom
>>
>>6116633
...Ah shit.
>>
>>6116634
On the bright side, with parentage like that I don't think there's much naturally against Isambard going full wincest release with Gratia. They both really need it for their sanity after these years even if it means gaining a lot of Calamity points.
On the bad side, I don't want our boy Isambard to have his supernatural mom want to fuck him. He has enough issues as it is. Let's not do that.
>>
>>6116636
If Gratia is our twin, she’s probably also horned woman spawn and thus incest is just as taboo
>>
>>6116623

No time to draw your blade and turn aside the attack. You can only throw up your arms in a desperate attempt to protect yourself. The blade catches you at an awkward angle, biting deep into your forearm and darkening your sleeve with blood. Your sprint turns into a clumsy fall, thorny bushes somewhat cushioning your fall. The hulking figure, draped in mouldering furs, raises his blade for another strike even as you draw the revolver with your spare hand.

You fire once, twice, both shots catching the heavyset man in the torso. He freezes immediately, the knife falling from his hands as he wordlessly tumbles backwards into the undergrowth. You try to lift yourself upright and check on him, only for your wounded arm to fold under your bodyweight and send you crashing back down into the bushes. As you're trying a second time, Elle and Ariel burst from the trees and practically fall over you.

“Isambard!” Elle gasps, her hands fluttering helplessly at your wounded arm for a moment. Then something takes over, and she quickly tears a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress. Another wave of pain rolls through you as she ties the rag tightly around your arm to stem the bleeding. With the immediate crises over, she fumbles the whistle from around your neck and gives it a long, shrill blow.

“I think she probably heard the gunshots,” you grunt, taking Ariel's hand. You almost pull the pale girl down into the bushes rather than her helping you up, but somehow you manage to get upright. With the revolver still clutched in your hand, you step over and kick the prone body. No response. Still not convinced, you reach down and feel for a pulse. When you feel cold, still flesh beneath your fingers, you finally let out a sigh of relief.

“Wait,” Elle whispers, gesturing for you to be quiet before pointing further down the overgrown path, “It's not over.”

Nodding grimly, you raise the revolver and creep down the path. More than once you have to slow down to steady yourself, pausing as your head spins. Even with the delays, it's not long before the path widens out into a clearing – where a figure in dishevelled robes and a crude crown of twigs waits for you. The figure doesn't move at first, only slowly turning as you raise your revolver. You freeze as the man's blank eyes settle on you, black caverns yawning out from his bone-white mask.

For what seems like a very long time, neither of you moves or says a word. Then, finally, with a mocking slowness, he raises his empty hands.

“I surrender,” the old man announces, his tone low and even.

>I'm going to pause here for today. Next session will be tomorrow as normal
>Thank you for playing today!
>>
>>6116645
Thanks for running!

>I surrender,” the old man announces, his tone low and even.
Old? Not Lupei then. Another seeking rejuvenation like Daelman?
>>
>>6116636
Anon, why do you need someone to tell you that incest is bad?
>>
>>6116636
>>6116643
>>6116654
Demon demigod twincest has some legs on it as a source of taboo thrill or horror/drama/whatever, but I'm enjoying this dynamic we've got going with Elle, and even my second pick would be Ariel.

>>6116645
I wonder who it is... Thanks for running!
>>
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With a crash of undergrowth, the others emerge from the forest behind you – Elle, Ariel, and now Dunham too. The magistrate has her gun drawn and immediately takes aim at the dishevelled man, only for her to pause at the sight of his raised hands. The silence returns, stretching out for an eternity before Dunham lowers her gun. Taking a pair of iron cuffs from her uniform pocket, she cautiously approaches the old man.

“Keep him covered, Pale,” she orders, before looking at the villain, “No sudden movements now, okay?”

The old man doesn't move, doesn't say a word as Dunham roughly jerks his arms down and snaps on the shackles. She starts to lead him away when you step forwards, knocking aside his jagged wooden crown as you push the muzzle of your revolver up against his head. Just one pull of the trigger and you could blow his diseased brains all over with this forest. Just one pull, and-

“Pale, stand down!” Dunham cries, “We need him alive!”

“Isambard, what are you doing?” Elle adds, “You can't-”

With a grunt, you force your arm down and away. Your hand trembles as you carefully lower the hammer on your revolver and holster the gun. You're not sure what came over you. Maybe you've lost more blood than you thought...

“Get him out of here,” you tell Dunham in a low, uneasy voice, “I need a doctor.”

-

You wake from an obscene dream, a wild fantasy of cavorting fauns and satyrs that entice you with offers both repulsive and alluring. Dim echoes of those offers haunt you even as the rest of the dream fades and you allow the dim mundanity of reality wash over you. One by one, you take in the various sensations – white ceiling above you and white sheets around you, scents of medicine and disinfectant in the air, distant murmurs of conversation from adjacent rooms...

The infirmary. You're in the infirmary.

With that realisation, you slowly sit up and look around. Elle sits dozing in the chair beside you, a book lying open in her lap. Her dress is somewhat worse for wear, as a consequence of her using it for emergency bandages, and you can see a wide crescent of pale flesh from where her thighs have been exposed. You let your gaze linger, too exhausted to bother with social niceties.

Eventually, you let yourself slump back in bed with a low grunt. That slight noise is enough to rouse Elle, her eyes fluttering open. “Good morning,” she murmurs, “Um, is it morning?”

“I don't know, you tell me,” you mutter, “I just woke up.”

“Well, um...” Elle looks around in confusion for a moment, setting aside her book and finally noticing her shredded dress. Her eyes widen at the sight, and you can sense her urge to retreat – to flee like a startled deer. Instead, she makes a tiny adjustment to her hem and smiles at you. “We're both awake, so that means it must be morning,” she decides.

[1/2]
>>
>>6117136

You doze for a little more, waking up at around midday. When you wake up, you see Elle – in a new, and more intact, dress – and Ariel lingering nearby. Neither of them looks particularly worried, so you assume you're not about to drop dead. “Finally,” Ariel begins, giving you a smile of gentle mockery, “You're really making the most of this wounded soldier act, aren't you?”

“When else am I going to get a chance to sleep this much?” you shoot back, “What's the news?”

“That man you shot. We've taken a look at him, and passed his description along to the Galseans. They're pretty sure that he's Lupei,” she explains, “Our prisoner, on the other hand, remains nameless. Dunham has been keeping an eye on him, but he's not been talking much.”

“On the plus side, Miss Dunham seems to have convinced her superiors to reopen the case,” Elle adds, “They've cancelled their plans to raid the Galsean settlement.”

“Indefinitely postponed them,” Ariel corrects her, “Not quite the same thing.”

“Do we know anything else about our nameless guest?” you ask next.

“Not much. He's Galsean, probably one of the rogues that split off from the main group when they arrived in Portsmaw,” Ariel answers with a shrug, “We suggested allowing Major Ionescu a chance to speak with him, but Dunham's superiors are sceptical.”

Falling silent, you think this over. “Black Wanderers don't surrender,” you say quietly, “That's what Melinda said.”

“I wonder,” Elle murmurs, “The Black Wanderers were wiped out, living on only in stories. Perhaps Lupei and this man were nothing more than a pale imitation, evil men who adopted an old story to suit their purpose... although it's hard to say what that purpose really is.”

“Maybe I should have a word with the Major,” you wonder, “You said the lockdown had been lifted, right?”

“Please don't,” Elle warns, wagging a finger at you, “Right now, you need time to rest and heal up. Just take it easy for once.”

>I suppose you're right. I could use the time off
>I need to see Dunham, see how her investigation is going
>I can't just lie around doing nothing. I'll go to the Galseans, tell them the good news
>I've got my own plans... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6117137
>Have they already disposed of the idol?
>On the off chance things aren't over yet, let's assume they already completed whatever ritual they were pulling. Do we wait wherever we think monsters will come out, or keep an eye on the corpses being given a proper burial?

I really hope it won't burst out the chest of that flesh offering.
>>
>>6117137
>I can't just lie around doing nothing. I'll go to the Galseans, tell them the good news
>>
>>6117137
>I can't just lie around doing nothing. I'll go to the Galseans, tell them the good news
That's not too strenuous, right? They'll probably even give us a drink!
>>
>>6117137
>I can't just lie around doing nothing. I'll go to the Galseans, tell them the good news
Wasn't Pale only cut up on the arm?
>>
“What happened with the idol?” you ask, sitting up in bed and cautiously rubbing your wounded arm, “And the... remains?”

“The whole warehouse is locked down, remains included. The magistrates are being very careful not to let anyone see what's inside. To protect against an affront to public decency, I think they said,” Ariel answers with a faint hint of a smirk, “I'm honestly not sure what they plan on doing with the idol. I'm not sure if they know either. Why do ask?”

“I'm just... I'm not sure if this is all over yet,” you sigh, shaking your head, “What if they completed whatever ritual they were planning? There might still be more to come. What, then? Are we supposed to just wait here until the monsters start crawling from the shadows?”

The girls trade an uneasy look. “Let me go and chase up Dunham,” Ariel suggests slowly, carefully, “If there's been any update, she'll be able to tell us.”

She doesn't even wait for you to agree before hurrying out, leaving you alone with Elle. The oracle lets out a low sigh, turning in alarm as you throw back the white sheet. “I can't just sit around here and do nothing,” you tell her, “Don't worry, I'm not about to run off and get in any trouble. I was planning to go to the Galseans and give them the good news. I just need to get up and about.”

“That's... okay, fine,” Elle concedes, “I'm not going to change your mind, am I?”

“I'm afraid not.”

-

It's strangely quiet around the Galsean settlement. There are a few confused locals hanging about the high fence, but the guards outnumber them by far. You're able to enter the camp without any trouble, from the locals or the guards, and you're soon strolling through the narrow streets. A few of the Galseans have ventured out from their homes, milling about as if they can't quite believe how quickly things changed.

“Friend!” Mihail calls out, his brash voice splitting the silence. Raising your wounded arm in a solemn wave as he hurries over, you soon find yourself caught in a clumsy hug. “There are rumours,” the young man continues, “You have killed Lupei, yes?”

“Apparently so,” you reply, “Although we never had the chance for a formal introduction.”

“Come, come. We need to talk,” Mihail urges, eagerly leading you to the Major's house. With one final slap on your back, he steps away and leaves you to enter alone.

Major Ionescu stops his pacing at the sound of your arrival, greeting you with a curt nod. “Again, we find ourselves in your debt,” he announces, “Master Pale. You are a friend to our people. What brings you here?”

“I thought I'd share the good news, but it seems like I'm too late,” you tell him with a rueful smile, “News travels fast.”

“Yes, indeed,” Major Ionescu muses, “But I see there are other things that we must discuss. Sit, talk. We shall speak as equals.”

[1]
>>
>>6117137
>I need to see Dunham
Make her come to us though
Flex that head of great house status
Milk the injury
>>
>>6117162

Sitting down opposite Major Ionescu, you take the glass of liquor that he offers and try not to wince at the acrid smell. “Your arm,” he begins, nodding to the bandage, “Bad?”

“Just a scratch,” you remark with a dismissive wave, “Everyone keeps acting like my arm is about to fall off. I think they just like making a fuss.”

“Women will always wish to care for their master,” the Galsean points out, “This too is part of the “natural order” that your people are so fond of.”

This conversation got strange fast. “I don't know if you've been informed, but we found an idol – an image of the Magna Mater, I believe,” you continue, quickly changing the subject, “So far, the magistrates haven't done anything with it. What would you suggest?”

“I would prefer for it to be released into our care,” he decides, thinking carefully, “Destroying such a thing would be unwise, for fear of inviting retribution. We shall have to consider the issue. Perhaps we will bury it somewhere very deep, where it can do no harm.”

“There's something else. There was an... offering,” you explain carefully, instinctively lowering your voice, “Human remains, cut apart and reassembled in very specific ways to resemble a spider. I was able to speak with Melinda, who told us about the Black Wanderers.”

Major Ionescu closes his eyes. “Yes,” he says at last, “That sounds like their work.”

“Melinda said they were wiped out.”

“There are some things that never die, Pale. Even if we wiped out every member of the cult, struck their name and deeds from all annals of history, it would not matter,” he murmurs, “Eventually, they would find some way to return – in dreams, perhaps.”

“...Burn the body,” Major Ionescu adds, almost as an afterthought, “Fire burns away all impurities, and allows new life to grow.”

You're not sure how well that'll go down with Master Suydam, but it can't be any worse than letting him see his son's remains in their current form.

“There is something that I would hear your opinion on,” the Major continues, topping up your glass, “We have been approached with a certain offer – to assist in tracking down our rogue kin.”

“The magistrates have asked you this?”

“Yes,” he nods slowly, “They realise that their own clumsy efforts are doomed to failure, so they turn to us. They ask us to hunt our own kind. What would you do?”

“I'm not sure if I should be offering you advice,” you answer after a cautious pause.

“My mind is already made up,” Major Ionescu counters, waving your words away, “But I am curious. As a leader, what would you do?”

>It would be a good way to prove your innocent and win their trust
>You'd be degrading yourselves. You're better than some hunting hound
>I'd let my people know, so they could choose for themselves
>I would... (Write in)
>Other

>That aside, I had other questions... (Write in)
>>
>>6117176
>It would be a good way to prove your innocence and earn their trust
He already shittalked the rogue Galseans last time so not like there’s any love lost there. Besides, these Black Wanderers have already been wiped out before and that was without anyone asking the Galseans to do it
>>
>>6117176
>Cooperate for certain. The hard part is how to protect your people and dignity in the process.
>Records and names, for who goes out and what they find. Not for glory, but to remind the Magistrate to recognize them as people.
>Weapons. There needs to be give and take after all, and if we're so eager to introduce our culture to you, teaching you how to use our weapons is fair play.
>>
>>6117176
>It would be a good way to prove your innocent and win their trust
>>
>>6117176
>>6117190 +1
Point out we're already essentially hunting our "own kind", between the iron keep and this grotesque nonsense with our father. Better to hunt as a hound than to be exterminated as a wolf.

>>6117160
It was a deep cut, lots of blood-loss. And we were in a tizzy prior to that, from the revelations.
>>
“I would cooperate,” you decide, “It would be a good way to prove your innocence beyond all doubt and win back their trust.”

“Yes,” Major Ionescu nods, his eyes flashing with satisfaction, “We think alike, Pale.”

“Is that so?”

“Even if my people have been found innocent, we are still tainted in your eyes. We will never be accepted here unless we clear our names – if that means hunting down our kin, so be it. It is no great sin to kill,” he continues, rising from his seat to pace the room, “We have never been a united people. We often made war with one another in the home islands, until the Lliogor drove us to these shores. No more. If we hope to regain our home one day, we must share one purpose. This is the tide of history, and those who try to deny it will be swept away.”

“It sounds like you've got grand ambitions,” you remark, smiling a little as you allow yourself to be swept along with his enthusiasm, “A suggestion, if I may. If you're going to work with the magistrates, make sure you get something in return. Weapons, training... your people have fought for generations, but you've never been an army.”

“That will change.”

“I hope so,” you nod, “But it won't be easy. You'll need to show them how invaluable you really are. Take names and keep records, so you can show the magistrates exactly what you're capable of.”

Major Ionescu swirls his drink before downing it in a single gulp. “We are prepared to struggle,” he insists, “One day, Pale, I hope that you will see the home islands with your own two eyes.”

“I'll look forwards to it.”

-

You leave the Galsean settlement with a strange feeling of optimism, of hope, burning in your heart. You wouldn't think that they had been on the verge of a catastrophe just a few short days ago – the strength of their resolve is truly admirable. It's not hard to see why Major Ionescu came to be the leader of his community either. With him leading them, they may really see their homeland again.

With a renewed sense of purpose, you return to the infirmary and find Magistrate Dunham waiting in your room.

“Nothing wrong with your legs, I see,” she begins, giving you a firm nod of greeting, “How's the war wound?”

“I've had worse cutting myself shaving,” you insist, “How's the investigation?”

“Busy. There's a lot of paperwork to take care of, and I needed a break. So, I thought I'd come and see how you were doing,” Dunham answers, “We've made a few discoveries. First, we found a stolen work permit in Daelman's manor. I assume that's how Lupei was able to sneak into the dockyard.”

“Makes sense,” you agree, “What about Daelman himself?”

Dunham pauses. “He's dead,” she says eventually, “Don't worry, you're not in any danger – it looks like natural causes. He was very old, after all.”

[1]
>>
>>6117218

“Right,” you murmur after a long silence, “Does this hurt us? I mean, without Daelman to testify...”

“If anything, it seems to be making our job a little easier,” Dunham remarks with a humourless smile, “Daelman was an innocent victim in all this, apparently. A frail old man who was at the mercy of some ruthless Galsean rogues. They forced their way into his home and took over his warehouse, all to conduct their vile rituals. In the end, his nerves gave out from the stress of it all.”

“With all due respect, Magistrate, that's a lot of bullshit.”

“Yes. It is, isn't it?” she agrees, “But it's what my superiors are telling themselves, and I doubt I'd be able to change their minds. It doesn't matter – we found the real culprits, we've put an end to this. Even if the official record is a fantasy, I'll still know the truth. That's good enough for me.”

Even as she says this, her expression is conflicted – a tainted mix of satisfaction and cynicism. This job really is a far cry from the simple life of an artillery office.

“I've still got a few points I need to raise,” you tell the magistrate, “First of all the idol. The Galseans have asked for it to be handed over to them.”

“That's... not exactly going to be a good look for them,” Dunham admits, “Why do they want it?”

“They want to dispose of it safely. Burying it, they suggested. They're worried that your people might destroy it,” you shrug, “It's a superstition thing. Just tell your boss that it'll help keep the peace around here.”

Dunham sighs, but nods. “I'll try,” she promises, “What next?”

“Next. Right,” you hesitate for a moment, “The body. I know it's going to be a sensitive subject, but I'd suggest a cremation. Discrete, if possible.”

“That was the plan,” Dunham assures you, “There's no way that we're letting the family see that... thing. As far as Suydam needs to know, the Galseans burned the body in an attempt at hiding the evidence. It's much easier for everyone this way.”

Maybe so, but it still feels like a bitter pill to swallow. You can't quite shake the feeling of being part of some shadowy conspiracy.

“Don't look so glum,” the magistrate urges, “We've done good work here. YOU'VE done good work here. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you.”

“I know,” you tell her, “I'll send you my bill later.”

“Very funny,” Dunham remarks with a smirk, “Well, I'd better get back to my paperwork. Any last issues you wanted to clear up?”

>Nothing else, I understand things well enough. I'll see you around, Magistrate
>There was something else... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6117235
>Something else
Learn anything from the guy who surrendered?
>>
>>6117235
support >>6117258

If they're eager to make him the fall guy, make sure any possible friends he had didn't have the same idea.
>>
“Have you learned anything from the prisoner?” you ask, “It seems like he's going to take the fall for this, so we'd better make sure that he's not hiding anything.”

Dunham sighs, then shakes her head. “He's not given us much. No name, no leads on any associates or motive. Well, maybe a motive,” she frowns, “He said that he was an heir to an ancient tradition, older than anything we could imagine. He said that his death would mean nothing, and their cult would live on. I'm inclined to think it's bluster, but maybe you'll disagree. Does that mean anything to you?”

“I'm not sure if it means anything at all,” you reply with a shrug, “The Galseans have been trying to stamp out his cult for a very long time, but it always finds a way to come crawling back.”

“Reminds me of the Tomoe,” the magistrate murmurs.

“In a way, they're not so different,” you agree, “What's going to happen to him?”

“We've got orders to send him up to the capital, they plan on interrogating him further there,” Dunham explains, “I don't know if they'll have any more luck, but they're welcome to have him. I'd prefer to see him hang, of course, but we can't go against a direct order. He'll go to the gallows sooner or later.”

“The sooner the better.”

Dunham nods, giving you a humourless smile. Then her eyes widen, as if recalling some important detail. “Oh, here. I found this in the Daelman manor. I put it in my pocket without thinking about it, and only just found it while I was waiting for you. I don't know what it is, but I thought you'd be able to use it,” she says, taking a small wooden orb from her pocket and tossing it over, “Call it a souvenir.”

>Eye of Night: +1 Ingenuity Attunement, +1 Insight Attunement.

“I'm not sure if you should be taking things like this from a crime scene,” you remark, catching the orb and weighing it in your hand, “But thank you.”

“I'll see you around, Master Pale,” Dunham smiles again, brighter this time, “Next time I have a difficult case, I'll send you a note.”

“Please don't.”

>I think I'm going to pause here. It's a bit early, but I'm feeling cooked today. Next session should be tomorrow, same time as usual
>Thank you for reading today!
>>
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>>6117283

>Forgot the image - definitely not sending my best today
>>
>>6117284
jeebus, what happened to that sun god we donated? After all that trouble, too.
>>
>>6117284
Thanks for running!

Curious how despite being a Galsean artifact the eye gives bonuses to 2 non Calamity emanations. Maybe the godhead is fake and the emanations are just 6 potent Galsean spirits who were like later losers we’re heading over to this hot new continent and calamity is every other spirit that didn’t align with them
>>
>>6117284
Not Calamity, huh? Weird...

>>6117295
Intriguing theory. The red moon is something associated with Tomoe, which makes this especially weird. Maybe whatever these dark rituals are, they're meant to forestall the eclipse somehow? Like human scarifices to feed the sun and avoid the apoclypse in Central American religions?

>>6117283
Feel better soon, QM. Thanks as always.
>>
>>6117218
>>6117176
I like how Isambard warmed up to the Galseans and them to him in kind. He only got into that because of them being a lead from Gideon, but now "wow these Galsean guys are kinda cool" is setting in.

>>6117284
>red eclipse
When the Pale and Tomoe come together...?

>>6117295
What I wonder is how Ingenuity fits into this artifact's properties. We still know little about House Phalaris the record-stricken nobility, other than they were the Ingenuity guys and they were BIG into industrial revolution and mass production and gadgetry and the TECH
>>
>“Well, um, they were “special”. Either blessed or cursed, depending on how you look at it. They would grow up to be great or terrible, powerful leaders and warriors,” the Galsean woman explains, “They had like, an aura about them, something that inspired trust in people. Sometimes more than trust, a kind of fanaticism. The way my mother explained, it's like they were whirlpools in a great sea of life – they drew things in, good or bad. They died terrible deaths as often as they lived great lives.”
Oh neat so that's what we are.
>>
>>6117740
>Horned Woman heritage just makes you a protagonist
Kek
>>
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More and more, it seems as if you've lived your life on a placid island of blindness and ignorance amidst a roiling sea of chaos. It's not as if this is all new, this blood and terror, it's just that you were never aware of it. While you lived your peaceful life, there was a rot festering beneath the surface. Now that you've experienced it, it's impossible to return to your prior innocence.

These thoughts pass through your mind as you watch the group of sleepy looking men and women lining up for the last evening train. Most of them, the vast majority of them, will live and die without seeing even a tiny fraction of the things you've seen.

Good for them.

“Hey, are you listening?” Elle asks, reaching across and poking you in the arm.

“Of course I was listening,” you lie, shaking off your dark thoughts.

“Oh really? Then what was I saying?”

You look around to Ariel for support, but she gives you a look of perfect blank neutrality. With a silent inward sigh, you look back to Elle. “You were asking about our next move,” you offer, “About our next visit to the Demesne.”

Elle is silent for a moment. “You're just guessing,” she says at last.

“He was right though,” Ariel points out.

“Well, yes, but... anyway,” Elle shakes her head, giving you a soft smile that hints at both exasperation and amusement, “I was going to say, we shouldn't rush into anything. I know you're eager to catch up with Gratia, but we should be careful. I think...”

She lapses into silence here. You wait, but the thought remains unspoken.

-

“Did my father ever tell you anything about my mother?” you ask bluntly, sitting down opposite Alex. It's still early, early enough that the others are still asleep and Alex is still eating breakfast. He looks up with an expression like a startled deer, the question catching him entirely off guard. He swallows heavily and washes his mouth out with a gulp of tea, the motions buying him precious time to think.

“What brought this on?” he asks at last.

“Doesn't matter,” you reply swiftly, “Did he?”

“...No,” Alex says, shaking his head, “I asked, once or twice, but it was always the same. He'd just ignored the question. If I pressed the issue, he'd fly into a rage. After that, I stopped asking.”

“You weren't... curious?”

“Of course I was!” Alex insists, “But lad, you know what your father was like. There was no way of talking him around. I tried to make some enquiries, see if anyone else had any idea, but that was a dead end too. All I had were theories. I thought, maybe it was embarrassing for him – an affair with some servant girl – but that never felt right. I just couldn't bring myself to believe it. So I wondered if your mother might have been someone of poor character, perhaps even a Tomoe. But... I never found an answer that I could accept.”

[1/2]
>>
>>6117821

“Now then,” the older man continues after a long silence, “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“It's... nothing,” you tell him quietly, “I just met a girl in Portsmaw, and she talked about her mother. I suppose it just started me thinking.”

“Always a bad idea, that,” Alex says gravely, before he cracks a smile, “Now how about some breakfast?”

-

It's only later, once the girls have joined you and breakfast is finished, that Alex claps his hands together. “I've got some good news for you,” he announces, “I was able to figure out your little map problem. Both the coded message, and the map itself.”

“Excellent work, Master Seidel!” Elle replies, smiling warmly at the older man, “I knew we could rely on you!”

“Hah, well, you might not be so happy when you hear what I have to say,” Alex says with a nervous laugh, “First of all. The map shows a section of the old Phalaris lands.”

This announcement is met with a confused silence. You look around the table, studying your companions. Elle frowns, all traces of her warm smile fading from sight, while Ariel gives a slow, thoughtful nod.

“So my father was exploring the old Phalaris lands,” you murmur, “I suppose that makes sense. He seems to have been to every other corner of the land, why not the Phalaris too?”

“Because there's nothing there?” Ariel suggests, “Just a great big swamp. No old books or strange artefacts there.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Alex argues, “The message he wrote translated to “It was hidden where no child of Agoria could find it”. Just don't ask me what that's supposed to mean – I can translate the text, but that doesn't mean I understand it.”

Hidden where no child of Agoria could find it...

“Back when we first met, Major Ionescu mentioned that my father bought the service of some Galsean men,” you recall, “He needed them for some task, but they never returned to the settlement.”

“I suppose Galseans wouldn't be considered a child of Agoria. Does that mean that they could find something that none of us can?” Elle muses, “I wonder if Major Ionescu would let us borrow some of his men...”

It feels as if history is repeating itself. Once again, you're walking in your father's footsteps – wading into the same chaotic seas that swallowed him up.

“Back to Portsmaw so soon?” Ariel groans, “What a pain...”

>Back to Portsmaw, I'm afraid. We need to follow up on this Phalaris lead
>We've still got Professor Hodgeson's disappearance to look into. We'll start there
>I feel ready to return to the Demesne. I should be ready to move deeper now
>I've got a plan... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6117823
>We've still got Professor Hodgeson's disappearance to look into. We'll start there
The Phalaris land isn't going anywhere. The matter of this professor feels more urgent
>>
>>6117823
>We’ve still got professor Hodgeson’s disappearance to look into, let’s start there
Natural next move based on our priority guidelines
>>
>>6117821
>An Encounter (Reprise)
Damn the mom is a total bitch just dumping the kids and fucking off. It's a wonder Isambard and Gratia even got any real upbringing at all with how shit Gideon has been. Good thing Alex didn't follow the oracle's direction. He's been a better father to Isambard than Gideon has ever been
>>
“We've still got Professor Hodgson's disappearance to look into,” you remind Ariel, “We could start there instead. This Phalaris lead isn't going anywhere, but I don't want to put off the search for too long. The professor might actually still be alive somewhere.”

“And it would be nice to keep him that way,” Ariel nods, “Somebody refresh my memory – what do we know about the professor?”

“He studied folklore, ancient faiths and legends. It's not a particularly popular field these days, but even in that comparatively small pond he wasn't exactly a big fish,” Alex explains, rising and clearing away some of the breakfast dishes with a clatter, “He lives in the south-west, so you might have a bit of travelling to get there.”

“I'll pack a book,” you mutter to yourself, your thoughts already straying off topic. When Alex mentioned it before, you didn't make too much of it. Now, the talk of ancient faiths and folklore sends a chill running down your spine.

-

Of course, you wouldn't have nearly such a long way to travel if you could take a direct route. But, with the need to circle wide and far around the Mire of Phalaris, it adds a significant amount of time to your journey. For once, though, you don't begrudge the delay. As the carriage slowly crawls around the outer edge of the vast swamp, you lean out the window and gaze out across the blasted wasteland.

It's hard to imagine that once, long before you were born, this whole land was alive with factories and foundries. For a time, it seemed as if the Phalaris might ascend to become the greatest of the noble families, surpassing even the Teilhard and the Silvera. But then came the fall, and all their work was undone. No matter how brightly their star had shone, the mire swallowed it up regardless.

“I'll admit, I can scarcely believe that your father explored that place,” Elle murmurs as you sit back down, “Let alone that he found something there. It looks so... empty.”

“Well, it's hidden from us,” you point out, “Whatever it is.”

“Unless he was chasing after a delusion, another folly,” the oracle warns, “And I'll remind you – even if he did find something here, it was of no use to him.”

“I'm not him.”

-

After a long carriage ride, and a few stops for rest along the way, you start to approach the Hodgson Manor. He lives – or lived – in the former Tomoe lands, long since turned over to the Teilhard family. You can see the martial banners on every sentry post and checkpoint that you pass, as if they're making sure that nobody forgets that fact. Were you to keep heading west, you'd eventually arrive at the mountainous border with Rhyl.

These are places that, until not so long ago, you had only read about in history books. You're not sure if you preferred it that way.

[1]
>>
>>6117838

A cold wind nags at you as you walk up the path to the Hodgson Manor. The place has seen better days, but it's clearly been taken care of – it doesn't have the stifling sense of age that the Iron Keep had, or the feeling of decay that choked Daelman's manor. It's a house that has grown old gracefully, and will somehow be graceful even when it crumbles away to nothing.

You hear immediate footsteps when you knock at the door, and it's soon thrown open by a young man of about your age. His face immediately sinks into disappointment when he sees you, only to be covered up with a blank politeness soon after.

“Um, good day to you,” he says, not yet moving to invite you in, “Can I help you?”

“We're here about Professor Hodgson,” you tell him, “We understand that he's gone missing. Are you...”

“Ah, um, I'm his son. Will Hodgson,” the young man explains, reluctantly offering you a hand to shake. He doesn't look like much, but his grip has a decent strength to it. “Come in, I suppose. I had almost given up hope that anyone would come,” he continues, waving for you to enter, “I put out word that I was looking for help, but nobody seemed interested. We don't have the means to offer any kind of reward, so...”

“I know the house looks grand, but it's about the only thing we have. It's been in the family for generations,” he adds quickly, before you even have a chance to say anything, “I'm not even sure if it's worth much, these days. There's repair work needing done, and-”

“Master Hodgson,” you interrupt.

“Will, please.”

“Will, then,” you continue, humouring him for now, “We're not here to talk about the property. Perhaps you could start by telling us about your father instead?”

Will nods, only to hesitate for a moment. “My father was supposed to be gone for a few days. He planned to stay with an old friend up in the mountains, possibly venturing down into Rhyl if circumstances allowed. He had George, his... butler, I suppose... with him,” he says, once he's gathered his thoughts, “If anything had happened, or if he intended to stay for longer than planned, one of them could easily have returned to us to explain the situation. Yet, we've heard nothing at all.”

“I know what you're going to say,” he groans, “Why don't I venture up to check?”

“The question did occur to me,” you remark.

“I'm only one man. If they were in some kind of trouble, what use would I be?” Will protests, “And if my father really did cross the border to Rhyl, it may be more dangerous than he thought. I'm sure you know how unstable the country is these days. Oh, but I've done nothing but talk. I'm sure you've got... questions.”

>No need. Just tell us how we can help
>Could you tell us more about your father's work?
>I'm not too familiar with Rhyl. What do you know?
>This friend that you mentioned. Do you know him well?
>I do have questions... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6117868
>Tell me about his work
>Rhyl too
>>
>>6117872
+1

>>6117868
>>
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“Could you tell us more about your father's work?” you ask first, “I understand that he specialised in folklore, but I don't know much more than that. Was any of his work, for example, dangerous?”

“Well, ahem, there is always an element of risk in his line of work – assuming you actually try to do field work, as he does,” Will answers, a hint of pride shining through in his voice, “And yes, he focused most of his studies on folklore, folk religions specifically. Ah, come this way. Let me show you something. Come to think of it, I never asked-”

“Isambard Pale,” you interrupt, gesturing to your companions, “Ariel Teilhard, Elle Legrasse.”

You're vaguely pleased to see that your name doesn't spark any particular reaction him. A hint of recognition, as you might expect, but nothing more than that. If your father had been causing trouble around here, you doubt that he'd be so casual. Thinking this to yourself, you follow Will into a darkened study and gaze up at the shelves laden with curious stone idols.

“My father dedicated most of his research into pre-unification religions, the pagan faiths that our ancestors may very well have held,” Will explains, “My father believed that these faiths, in their primitive way, were also striving towards the same truth we now know – that the Godhead is the source of all. They worshipped aspects of it in many strange guises, but is that really so different to how we honour the Emanations?”

“Some of these idols look Galsean,” Elle remarks, standing up on the tips of her toes to get a better look at the highest shelf.

“Er, yes. Father has a theory that the Galseans are very much the same as our own pagan ancestors,” Will nods to himself, “That one is very much a work in progress, of course. Recent events have made it, um, difficult to get access to a lot of the Galsean islands. As you can very well imagine.”

“So he turned his focus to Rhyl instead, did he?” you wonder, “I'll admit, I'm not too familiar with the land. What have you heard about it lately?”

Will scratches his cheek, perhaps thinking how to explain in a tactful way. “Rhyl lacks a strong leader,” he says carefully, “They're being quite radical, in a way, with giving to much power and freedom to the lower orders of their society. But, um, the absence of a central authority has consequences. Local leaders get into squabbles, and drag the whole region down with them. Of course, cults and faiths that were long since driven from Agoria still thrive there for very much the same reason – it's an invaluable source of information.”

“For those willing to take the risk.”

“Well, yes,” Will admits.

[1]
>>
>>6117899

You're not especially pleased to realise that Will intends on joining you, although you're hardly in a position to blame him. After all, aren't you also chasing after a missing father? Of course, your situations aren't exactly the same – there's still a chance that Professor Hodgson might be alive.

“Master Pale? Or is Isambard okay?” the young man asks, hurrying forwards a few paces to walk beside you, “I just wanted to thank you for doing this.”

“Well, I wasn't busy,” you remark. If he notices the sarcasm in your voice, he doesn't give any indication.

“These mountains always scared me as a child,” Will continues, waving an arm across a wide arc to indicate the whole jagged ridge, “I'd sit in my bedroom at night and look up at them. Sometimes I'd see fires burning up here, up in the very highest peaks. I'd have nightmares about them coming down from the mountains, creeping into the house...”

A humourless smile slowly spreads across your face as he speaks. There's something very quaint about the idea of him fearing men lighting fires in the hills, when you know that there are things far worse out there.

“The path gets a little steep here, a little rocky,” he adds, “But we're making good time.”

With that, Will falls back and lets you march on ahead. True to his words, it's not long before you're struggling up a steep grade as you approach the top of the mountain ridge. When you finally reach the top, you get a chance to see the house for the first time. A strange circular house, made from bleached white stone, it stands in a low hollow surrounded on all sides by broken rocks. You gaze down at it for a long time as the others catch up, grunting and gasping from the climb.

“Nice place. Looks really friendly,” Ariel remarks, dusting down her clothes and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead, “Want to make a bet? I bet that it's deserted, like every other remote mansion or manor that we have the pleasure of visiting.”

“Hm. I feel like the odds are stacked in your favour here,” you muse, “What if you win?”

“Then we need to take a day off and do something nice together,” Ariel answers, giving you a teasing smirk, “And if I'm wrong... well, I'll think of that later.”

>No deal. This bet might as well be rigged
>Deal. If you win, we'll do something nice. Just the two of us
>Deal. If you win, we'll all go out and do something nice
>Other
>>
>>6117914
>Deal. If you win, we’ll all go out and do something nice.
Just need to telegraph an invitation to Juno
>>
You look down at the strange house below, mulling over Ariel's bet. “You've not been getting hints from Elle, have you?” you ask suspiciously.

“Nope. Oracles aren't allowed to use their powers for wagers. It's illegal,” Ariel answers, “Probably. Anyway, you're just looking for a way to wriggle out of this.”

“A gentleman only places his bet once he has the best information available,” you counter, “But you've got a deal. If you win, we'll all go out and do something nice. I'll even send Juno a message, just to make sure she doesn't feel left out.”

It's funny, watching the rapid succession of emotions that pass across Ariel's face – surprise, outrage, then finally a grudging amusement. “You're a funny guy, huh?” she remarks, “I suppose that's my fault for not being specific enough. Well, you win this round.”

“I usually do.”

-

When you run out of ways to procrastinate, you finally start the careful descent down to the house below. As you're passing through the jagged rocks that are scattered around it, you notice something glinting with reflected sunlight. Stooping down, you grope in the long grass until your fingers close around something cold and firm – a bullet, squashed and deformed from an impact against something hard. It doesn't take much searching to find more bullets in the same condition.

“Someone was shooting here,” you announces, gesturing around you, “No sign of blood or bodies, but a lot of shooting.”

“Target practice?” Ariel suggests, picking up a few of the bullets and shaking them in her delicate hand, “Mostly rifle calibre, these little ones are from revolvers. They were throwing everything they had at the problem, whatever it was.”

“Well, we won't find out any more from out here,” you sigh, gesturing for the others to stick close as you approach the house. The door hangs ajar, and you glance down at the lock as you nudge it open – no sign of damage, nothing to suggest the door was forced open. Inside, you take a moment to get your bearings. There's something incredibly disorientating about being in a circular house, you find. A single long corridor winds around the outer perimeter, the white stone occasionally yawning open in narrow window slits.

Rifle cartridges jingle underfoot as you approach one of the window slits. You can imagine someone standing at the window, spent cartridges piling up as they fire shot after shot through the empty slit. This wasn't target practice.

No blood, no bodies. But a lot of shooting.

“I think I win the bet,” Ariel murmurs as she wanders through the silent corridor, “But I really wish I hadn't.”

“Professor!” Win calls out, his shout causing you all to flinch in alarm. You turn, giving the young man a dark scowl. “Sorry,” he mumbles, noticing your glare, “But I had to try.”

[1]
>>
>>6117930
Ah darn, missed a chance to vote for a date-day with Ariel.
>>
>>6117968
That’s right Arielsisters, Junochads won this round
>>
>>6117959

The inner section of the house is just as peculiar of the outside. A single large room in the absolute centre, with several doors leading to smaller rooms lining the inner wall. Opening one door at random, you peer into the neat, austere bedroom. From the outside, you'd swear blind that there wasn't enough space for a room like this. But, apparently you were wrong. Closing the door with a sigh, you turn back to main room. A cold, gutted firepit dominates this room, ashes scattered haphazardly about the floor. And there, amidst the ashes, you spot something. Not a bullet this time, but a scrap of charred paper.

“Have lit a fire on the lowest of the peaks. Will watch at night and see if there is any response from those higher up,” you read aloud, “Eager to meet anyone who still holds to the old ways. Much to discuss with-”

That's where the fragment ends, the last few words ending in burnt black. Passing the scrap of paper to Will, he goes pale and nods. “That's my father's handwriting,” he confirms, “Why would he burn all his notes?”

“I don't know, but he did a pretty poor job of it,” you remark, gesturing about at the mess, “It looks like he was in a hurry.”

“There's more than one set of handwriting here,” Elle notices, comparing two scraps of paper before showing one to Will, “I would assume this is your father's associate, is that right?”

“Er, yes. I believe so,” Will nods, trying to sound more certain than he really is, “I've not seen a terribly large sample of Master Kingsley's writing, but this looks correct. I can't really imagine who else might have been leaving notes here.”

Silence falls as you carefully gather up the crumpled scraps of paper, smoothing them out as best as you can without doing any further damage. Few of the scraps have any way to date them, but you can tentatively order them by how panicked and frantic the writing is. Towards the end, some of them are almost illegible. It's a strange thought, imagining these two men desperately scrawling notes in their diaries as some terrible fate fell upon them, only to burn those notes later.

“Night after night, they come for us. Rifle fire has kept them away from the walls until now, but I fear that our ammunition supplies are growing low,” one of the later notes reads, “If not for Kingsley's leg, I would have left this place long ago. I will not abandon-”

You grow aware of a presence behind you as the others read the note over your shoulder. Looking back at their solemn, thoughtful expressions, you see one thought shared among them.

How long until nightfall?

>I'm going to pause early again – I need to do some prep work, wasn't quite able to do it today. Should hopefully be ready to run tomorrow
>Thank you!
>>
>>6117993
Thanks for running!

Dang, how many people survive exploring the wilderness in this world?
>>
>>6117993
So if we had gone here first, they might've still been there, just with no more bullets.

Now they're kidnapped or dead, and we can't be sure which they prefer. Should doublecheck if there's still a lot of firewood, maybe the notes were burned just to keep the fire going a little longer.
>>
>>6118013
But if we hadn't, then the Galsean settlement would be nuked offscreen by the government. I still think we made the right choice there
>>
>>6118016
Yeah, the fact that they were able to hold out for so many days relatively fine means this was the better scenario.

....as long as they don't have some super important information.
>>
>>6118016
>>6118021
We can only hope they're still alive, or we can find more intact notes at least.

>>6117993
Thanks for running!
>>
>>6117993
Thanks for running. Things are beginning to pick up now, I wonder when we'll get to meet dear Gratia.
>>
Update: I'm not super happy about my plans for this section of the story, so I think I'm going to postpone until Saturday. I should have time over the week to hammer things into a better shape. I hope this isn't too inconvenient, and I'm hoping to be back to regular updates by the weekend - Thanks for bearing with me
>>
>>6118553
No problemo I am rockin 4 hours of sleep right now and not ready to give this quest the DEEP THINK it deserves
>>
>>6118553
Planning that becah episode for when we have to keep that date we promsied Ariel? Fair.
>>
>>6119789
Isn’t it a group date, with Juno tagging along…?
>>
>>6119855
Just means we need bikini art of two-to-three girls.
>>
>>6119789
I can neither confirm nor deny that there will be a beach episode, but I HAVE been cooking
>>
>>6119930
>>
>>6119930
>beach episode
>in a society where showing off any bit of leg or shoulder or Godhead forbid CLEAVAGE is extremely risque and only for couples at most
Purity points lost, Calamity points won? I bet there'll be those old-timey swimwear involved
>>
>>6120173
>in a society where showing off any bit of leg or shoulder or Godhead forbid CLEAVAGE is extremely risque and only for couples at most
Maybe, but a young man traveling with a harem cohort of young women unsupervised is apparently fine. And one of these chicks is a Tomoe. You know she'll buck tradition.
>>
>>6120182
Well for one they're at "that age". For another, at least one of them is actual nobility and everybody knows all the nobles are above the law, right? And third, I really don't want Isambard to have a harem no matter how "special" his circumstances are as a protag and no matter how much of a massive bitch slut his mom was.
>>
>>6120186
A harem seems odd and OOC to me. Ogling some babes at the beach while he's still single? Nothing odd about that.
>>
>>6120182
>spends time with more than one woman
>it’s obviously a harem

Anon you spend too much time on the Hub. Or watching anime. The distinction between them can get blurry sometimes.
>>
>>6120266
Anon, it was a joke. Also, and this is key to the joke: our lad flirts with and has sexual tension with all or most of them, and we have a running gag about who we'll waifu.
>>
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Night feels very still in this isolated place, very silent. With your revolver kept close, you spend the first half of the night waiting by one of the empty window slits. A cold wind blows through the slit, and it doesn't take long before your face and fingers feel numb. No matter how long you wait, you don't see a single trace of movement outside.

But you see a fire burning somewhere far above, in the highest mountain peak. Seeing that flame reminds you of Will's nightmares, his fear that some unseen invaders would creep down and all upon his home.

But here, aren't you the invaders?

“Hey,” Ariel whispers, joining you by the window with her rifle held in a low grip, “Take a break. I'll keep watch until morning. Seen anything?”

“Yeah, the unwashed hordes descended upon us but I politely asked them to leave. Nice people, actually, when you get to know them,” you mutter, “No, nothing. Just that fire up high.”

Ariel leans out the window and peers up at the mountain peak. “That sure is a fire,” she murmurs, shivering a little at the cold wind, “Well, whatever. They can light as many fires as they like, so long as they stay up there.”

With a nod, you leave Ariel to her thankless task. You return a moment later with a heavy blanket, draping it over her shoulders. “Careful,” she tells you with a crooked smile, “If you keep this up, I might start thinking you've got a thing for me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” you shoot back, “I'd do the same for anyone else.”

“Even Will?”

“Maybe not Will.”

-

Morning arrives without incident, although you feel as if you barely slept at all. With plenty of fuel for the fire and ample canned food still in storage, you're able to hold your own supplies back in case of an emergency – although you shudder to think what might keep you stranded here for so long. The mood around the table as you eat is sullen and downbeat. It took a single night for Will to lose hope, a grave confusion creeping in to replace it.

“I had another look around last night,” Elle says, breaking the awkward silence, “I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd try and find a way of making myself useful. I found a few more scraps of paper in one of the rooms – I think they're more from Master Kingsley. If I had to guess, I'd say he tried to hide these from the professor.”

“What? Why?” Will protests, “They were colleagues... friends! They wouldn't hide things from each other, not in such a serious situation!”

“People always keep secrets from one other. Even from their closest friends,” you murmur, “Especially their closest friends.”

This hardly helps the oppressive mood, and soon the only sounds are the soft clatter of cutlery.

[1/2]
>>
>>6121431

After breakfast Will insists on taking a look around the surrounding area, as if expecting to find his father hiding behind some of the jagged rocks. Ariel volunteers to escort him, leaving you and Elle to search over the last of the rooms. Every so often, you return to the scraps of paper and search for some hidden meaning in them. The secrets of the universe might have been written here, only to go into the fire with everything else.

“I've got a map here!” Elle calls out from the other room. You leave the blackened scraps and move to join her. It's a fairly detailed map, covering the mountains and some of the lands either side of the border. A few annotations have been added, circling a town in Rhyl and a specific point about halfway up the mountains.

“That town there, it's got the symbol for a trading post,” you point out, “I assume that's where they were buying their supplies.”

“I wonder if the traders there know anything about what happened,” Elle muses, “If Professor Hodgson let anything slip while he was buying supplies...”

“I don't know. He seems like a secretive person. Why else would he destroy his notes?” you remark with a shrug, “I'm curious about this other marking here, up in the mountains. I assume it has something to do with the professor's research. Keep this quiet for now, but I saw a fire burning up on the mountain peak last night.”

Elle pauses. “You don't want Will to know?”

“I don't know,” you sigh, “I don't trust him not to do something erratic.”

“But he trusted us to help his father, with hardly any hesitation at all,” the oracle reminds you, “Trust him, Isambard, or at least give him a chance.”

“...I'll consider this.”

-

Later, when Will and Ariel are done with their walk, you get together in order to discuss your next moves. You show them the map, pointing out both highlighted areas and waiting to hear their thoughts.

“Two locations,” Will says slowly, “Perhaps-”

“I don't think splitting up is a good idea,” Ariel interrupts, shooting the young man a dirty scowl.

“Oh,” he pause, “Yes, I suppose not. Was there anything else?”

Ariel glances up at you, an unspoken question in your eyes. “Perhaps,” you reply, choosing your words carefully, “Last night, we saw a fire burning up in the mountains.”

Will tenses up, going very silent as he processes this announcement. “There... isn't any point in going up there yet. Not by day,” he suggests eventually, “But after dark, maybe...”

“We'll keep it under consideration,” you decide, looking around the table, “As for our next move...”

>Start with the Rhyl trading post. They might have learned something
>This spot on the map was obviously important. We'll check there
>I think we should cut our loses and leave. Your father isn't coming back, Will
>Other
>>
>>6121434
>This spot on the map was obviously important. We'll check there
First Will wants to split up, now he wants to travel up the mountains at night in spooky darkness? Maybe leave the planning to us bud
>>
>>6121434
>Start with the Rhyl trading post. They might have learned something
At the very elast, we can re-equip. Get mountaineering gear, maybe?
>>
>>6121434
>>This spot on the map was obviously important. We'll check there
Will sounds like he's ready to make some bad decisions
>>
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Before you can announce your decision, Elle holds up a hand for you to pause. Judging by the frown on her face, something must've occurred to her. You know her well enough to hold your tongue, so you gesture for her to speak.

“Will?” Elle asks carefully, “I don't think we should go hiking up the mountains after dark. I don't think that's a good idea.”

“But if we hike up by day, there won't be anyone there,” the young man argues, “These men, these groups, they come out at night to light their fires and hold their rituals. If we want to find them, it'll have to be by dark.”

“Why not go up by day and wait for them?” the oracle suggests.

“I highly doubt they'd show up,” Will insists, shaking his head with a stubborn frown, “I don't think... ahem. With all due respect, Miss, I don't think you understand. This is their territory. We're not going to sneak up on them, or ambush them, or anything else. Our best hope is to come to them by night, and HOPE that they let us find them.”

You're not entirely sure that you WANT to find them.

“That sounds like a decision for later,” you tell them both, “For now, I think we should check this point on the map. It was obviously important, or else they wouldn't have marked it down. It'll give us a chance to test out the mountain, too – we can see how tough the hike is, and how dangerous it seems. Then we can discuss our next moves. Fifteen minutes to get ready – I don't want to waste any more time.”

As your party splits up to gather their gear, you return to your room and glance down at the note fragments. Kneeling down beside them, you push a few pieces of the charred paper around. It's little wonder that nobody wants to discuss them – together, they paint a picture of madness and death. The thought that the same fate might be lying in wait...

“Hey, Bard!” Ariel calls out, a sly edge in her voice, “What happened to not wasting any more time?”

“Everything I do is important,” you sneer back, “So really, I never waste any time.”

-

The map doesn't seem too difficult to follow at first, until you realise that the mountain is threaded with countless narrow, winding paths. They cut through looming slabs of rock and twist madly back and forth. As you follow the map as best as you can, you feel the occasional stab of paranoia. Will's words keep coming back to you – this is THEIR territory, whoever “they” even are.

“If we just keep going uphill, we'll be going in the right direction,” Will announces, a brittle optimism in his voice, “Unless we go too high, and then we'll need to backtrack.”

“Great,” Ariel mutters, “How will we know if we're too high up?”

“Um...”

“Great,” she repeats, “What are we even looking for?”

“I think it might be a cave of some kind,” you answer, waving the map at her, “So keep your eyes open for some kind of entrance. We should be getting close... if I'm reading this map right.”

[1]
>>
>>6121443
>Our best hope is to come to them by night, and HOPE that they let us find them.”
If they’re so good at hiding they have to let us find them, why not go up during the day and hope they let us find them then?

>Everything I do is important,” you sneer back, “So really, I never waste any time.”
…Based
>>
>>6121443

“Wait,” you hiss, spotting a dark mark ahead. Gesturing for the rest of your party to hang back, you creep a little closer. A heap of blackened wood and ashes still lingers outside a narrow crack in the rock face, evidently the remains of a bonfire. Waving for the others to join you, you catch a foul smell in the air and grimace. It smells like something died – hopefully just an animal of some kind, but...

Fortunately, the opening in the rock widens out quite quickly, so you only have to squeeze past the immediate entrance. The stench of rot is thicker here, forcing you to clasp a hand over your face. Fumbling your pocket lantern on with one hand, you descend into the ever-thickening smell. It's not long before the cave widens out into a craggy hollow, the space dominated by a crude stone idol – a monstrous figure with a swine's head.

But you don't really notice the idol, your gaze drawn to the scattered corpses instead. A little more than a dozen in total, the bodies show signs of being cut or shot down. That's about all you can tell from the blackened, bloated cadavers.

A stifled gasp of horror sounds behind you, and you can't tell if it came from Elle or Will. The young man flinches back, while the oracle reluctantly creeps a little closer. Despite the stench of death, she slips past you and kneels in the centre of the hollow.

“What's she-” Will begins, but you gesture for him to stay silent.

“I approach with my hands raised, to show that I mean no harm,” Elle announces suddenly, her voice flat and monotonous, “These men do not speak my tongue, and I do not speak theirs. But there are ways. I try the ancient Aklo words first. They understand me, but pretend not to.”

“What's an Aklo word?” Ariel whispers.

“An ancient language. Pre-unification,” Will murmurs back vaguely.

“I cannot return without the answers I seek. I will make these men speak. I MUST make these men speak,” Elle continues, “There are ways. I invoke the secret names of Fire, but immediately I see my error. The savages howl like devils and draw arms against us. Kingsley fires the first shot, shooting down the man before him. His face is blank as he fights, shooting until his revolver is empty, then fighting with his knife. Then he falls, a wound in his leg. The men will tear him apart if I do nothing. I draw my own gun, and-”

With a thin cry of alarm, Elle jerks her head up and buries her face in her hands. You hurry over and help her to her feet, feeling her body tremble against yours. She says nothing as you guide her back up to the entrance of the cave, carefully helping her out. The air is a little cleaner outside, at least, and you see a slow calm return to her face.

“I don't think I'll ever get used to that,” she mutters at last, “That...”

“Blood and terror?” you suggest grimly.

Elle looks around to you in surprise, then nods.

[2/3]
>>
>>6121448

“I'll be fine,” Elle tells you after a long moment, “I just need some air. Really, I'm already feeling better. Go, check on the others.”

You hesitate for a moment more until she gives you an insistent smile, waving her hand towards the cave entrance. You're about to start squeezing through when Ariel emerges, her lithe frame making easy work of the passage. “I just needed some air too,” the pale girl explains, “I'll keep an eye on her. Better than staying out here on your own, right Elle?”

The oracle nods, and you're finally able to return to the cavern. Will is sitting by the entrance, his face pallid and sickly. “All those people...” he murmurs as you sit down opposite him, “My father... he wouldn't do a thing like this. He's not that kind of person.”

“To be fair,” you point out, “Kingsley was the one who did most of the work.”

You're not sure if that makes it any better, really.

“I don't...” Will continues, slowly shaking his head. You wait for him to finish that thought, the sickly smell of decay coiling around you as the seconds tick by. “I don't know what to say,” he admits at last, letting out a shaky little laugh.

>Then don't say anything. Let's get out of here
>What could've been worth killing all these people?
>Are you still keen to meet those people lighting fires in the hills?
>Will... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6121455
>Are you still keen to meet those people lighting fires in the hills?
If he tries the same thing, it'll end the same way.
>Would you happen to know if their burial rites are similar to ours?

So if we actually do find our guys, exfiltrating is going to be a terribly dangerous affair even during the day.

Also Aklo script, huh? At this rate, are we going to get a surprise cameo waifu?
>>
>>6121455
>Are you still keen to meet those people lighting fires in the hills?
>>
“So,” you say quietly, “Are you still keen to meet those people lighting fires in the hills?”

“What?” Will asks, the question taking him by surprise, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I figure they might be friends with these folk here,” you explain, gesturing back to the bloated, blackened bodies, “And they might not be keen to see any more outsiders.”

Will is silent for a long moment, forcing himself to look back at the bodies. “I still want to meet them, yes,” he says at last, his voice quiet but firm, “I still don't know what happened to my father, or Master Kingsley. Yes, it's possible that they were killed. Likely, even. But I need to know for sure.”

“And take revenge?”

Again, Will's eyes widen in surprise. “No... not revenge,” he answers, shaking his head, “That won't help anyone. I doubt my father would want that, either. But I want closure.”

This time, you're the one who falls silent. Though you won't say it aloud, you feel a sudden sympathy for the young man. You're two very different men, but you're both going through the same pain. “What do they do with their dead, these people?” you ask, hoping to fill the awkward silence, “Do you think their burial rites are that different from ours?”

“Well, um, they wouldn't really bury their dead. It's just not practical in mountains like this,” Will thinks for a moment, “I believe they'd usually leave their dead out for scavenger birds. Returning them to nature, that kind of thing. Are you suggesting we try to...”

“Not exactly,” you interrupt, looking at the scattered bodies, The thought of dragging them out from the cave and leaving them as carrion is less than appealing. You're really thinking about Professor Hodgson, and what might be left of him.

-

Descending the mountain is far easier, and definitely far quicker, than it was to climb it. Even so, you nearly stray from the path on more than one occasion as the rugged paths twist and diverge. The route looks completely different too, seen from the other side, which only makes things worse. At points, you almost feel as if the mountain itself is trying to thwart your retreat.

But, finally, you arrive back at the relative safety of the house. The illusion of safety doesn't last, however.

“Someone correct me if I'm wrong,” you announce, looking up at the ajar door, “But I'm fairly certain that I left that door closed when we left.”

“You did. I remember,” Elle confirms, “The door sticks a little. We needed to give it a tug before it would close properly.”

Drawing your revolver, you nudge the door open and cautiously step into the house. Ariel follows close behind you, her own gun drawn. Together, you sweep through the house before confirming that it's empty – if someone else was here, they're gone now.

[1]
>>
>>6121477
>Together, you sweep through the house before confirming that it's empty – if someone else was here, they're gone now.
Or really good at hiding :^)
>>
>>6121477

As you're returning to the main chamber, you notice a rock placed neatly in the middle of the floor. You barely glanced at it in your first sweep of the house, with your focus on searching out any waiting assassins, but now it screams out for your attention – not just the rock, but the paper pinned underneath it. Nudging the rock aside with your boot, you pick up the paper. Large letters have been scrawled on it, in the uncertain hand of one who reads and writes only rarely.

“Leave now,” you read aloud, “There is nothing here for you.”

“Well, that seems fairly unambiguous,” Ariel remarks, holstering her revolver and peering at the note, “At least they were kind enough to give us a warning.”

“I'm not leaving,” Will insists, looking each of you in the eye, “I won't ask you to stay, but I'm not leaving. They can do what they like with me. When night falls-”

“Why wait until nightfall?” you interrupt, “You said it yourself – you'll only find these people if they LET you find them. Day or night, it won't make any difference... except for the fact that you're less likely to fall and break your neck if you travel by daylight.”

Will says nothing for a moment as he thinks about this. Absurd as it is, you wonder if he's a little hurt by the suggestion – he probably has this image in his head of pagan rites held under a full moon, and seeing them by day might spoil the “magic” of it all.

Stupid. Damn stupid. You're not playing games here, and neither is he. Maybe he realises this, as he murmurs an excuse before slinking away to his room.

-

“So,” you announce, sitting down with Ariel and Elle, “Hodgson came out here looking for some secret knowledge, and tried to force the cult to talk. They reacted badly, and the researchers were forced to kill them all. Things went completely to shit after that, and now they've vanished. Does that about sum it up?”

“That about sums it up,” Elle agrees, “I wonder... were they really under attack? Aside from the fired bullets, there are no actual signs of fighting.”

“Bodies could be taken away, a hard rain could wash off the blood...” Ariel muses, “But yeah, it doesn't add up. This place doesn't FEEL like a battlefield.”

You all fall silent, the stillness only broken by the sound of a bedroom door. Will emerges a moment later, giving you a solemn look. “I'm going up to the mountain,” he says quietly, “I'm going now, before I lose my nerve.”

Having announced this, he pauses and waits for your response.

>Good luck, Will. I hope you find your closure
>We're not letting you go alone, Will. We'll go with you
>Other
>>
>>6121486
Playing hide-and-seek? See, they've already forgiven that little 'mass murder' faux-pas!

>>6121491
>We're coming with you. We have our own reasons to want to know what happened here.
Echoes of our father... Of the Galsean idol, of the Tomoe...
>>
As the silence draws out, you feel a strange blend of emotions. A strange, nameless dread first of all – not so much a fear for Will's fate, as a fear of what he might find. Beyond fear is something harder to name, an aching sense of familiarity. It feels, impossibly, as if you've walked these mountains and met with these ancient pagans before. These men are a distant echo of the Galseans you've met, and their macabre idols, just as the bloodshed is a distant echo of your father's own crimes.

All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again. Again and again and again...

“Isambard?” Elle whispers, nudging you with her elbow.

“We're coming with you,” you tell Will, breaking your long silence, “We've got our own reasons for figuring out what's going on here.”

“Oh, um, that's...” Will hesitates, “I wasn't actually expecting you to say that. Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly grateful, but... are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Now let's go,” you tell him with a smirk, “Before I lose my nerve too.”

-

There's a sense of grim finality as you march up into the hills once more. This time, you don't bother with the map – so long as you're heading up, you're heading towards your destination. Will says little as you walk, but you occasionally catch him giving you a guilty glance. He's realised that he might not live to see tomorrow, and he's accepted that, but dragging you all down with him...

Well, you hate to disappoint him but you have other plans. You very much plan on seeing tomorrow, and a great many days after that.

Without meaning to, you return to the narrow cave entrance and pause, staring up at the dozens of black handprints staining the nearby stone. After a moment, you all move on without comment. There's really nothing that you can say. But after that moment, you often see your travelling companions casting suspicious glances about the surrounding terrain. So far, you've not seen any direct sign of the cultists – neither, you realise, have you seen any sign of scavenging birds.

As you approach the peak, the path grows harder and harder. There are a few points when you have to scrabble up the rock, clinging to the steep slopes as you drag yourself further. You always expect Will to give up and turn back, but the young man always manages to find some new reserve of strength. The same can't be said for Ariel – faced with an especially long stretch of climb, she stops and stares up at it.

“Nope,” the pale girl announces, “I know when to choose my battles, and that is beyond me. You go on ahead, I'll be here when you're done.”

“I'll stay with you, Ariel,” Elle suggests, “I don't want to leave you alone. Besides, I'll ruin my dress if I keep this up for much longer...”

“Looks like it's just you and me now,” Will remarks with a grim smile.

[1]
>>
>>6121525

At first glance, you mistake the pagans for a group of statues – that's how still they are.

A half-dozen men standing in a loose half-circle, they stare out at you through masked faces and hunched robes. Dressed heavily in furs and leathers, wearing animalistic masks, they seem somehow less than human. A second glance slightly refutes that thought. One of them carries a rifle, perhaps stolen from Kingsley's house, although he holds it awkwardly, as if unsure how to really use it. Another leans heavily on a large staff, one leg wrapped in heavy cloth bindings. At their centre is a roughly carved stone throne, and in it...

A mummified corpse sits on the throne, blind eyes staring blankly into the empty space over your shoulder. Behind you, a soft gasp breaks the silence. Will stares back at the ancient corpse, his lips trembling.

“That...” he stammers, “That's him... that's my father...”

“What?” you hiss, grabbing his arm in a tight grasp, “That's impossible! Look at that thing, it's-”

“The hand, those tattoos on the hand!” Will insists, “Look!”

You force yourself to look at the faint black loops and whorls etched into the cadaver's papery skin. The symbols mean nothing to you, but they mean everything to Will. His eyes grow wider and wider still, until they seem as if they might burst from his head. A fleeting madness rushes through those staring eyes, the young man torn between an explosion of violence and a desperate flight. In the end, neither instinct takes hold – he merely falls to his knees, sapped of all strength.

Slowly, you take a step forwards and glance aside at the pagans. When they make no moves to stop you, you take another step forwards. Following some unnamed instinct, or perhaps some mad impulse, you approach the seated corpse. The world around you retreats, contracting to a single point as you lean forwards, raising your ear to the mummified corpse's lips. And then, with a voice that seems to originate somewhere other than the corpse's lips, you hear-

THE TALE OF THE CONDEMNED KING.

[2/3]
>>
>>6121531

For two long decades, you have guided your people as their king. The years have been difficult, riven with conflict and strife, but your capable hand has seen your people emerge stronger than ever before. A dozen of the outlying tribes have been brought under your control, added to your growing kingdom. The gods have been generous, granting you good health and many strong sons.

But just as the gods can give, so too can they take.

You have always been a faithful follower of the gods - The God of White Stone, who carved the first men from unyielding rock, The God of Beasts and Forests, who filled the first men with hot blood, and The God of Pale Fire, who placed a burning flame within the first men to give them life. Even now the gods whisper truths and guidance to their priests, who observe the ancient Accord.

A king shall be granted strength and a privilege life – but when the gods call, that king shall be given as sacrifice.

You've seen the fires burning in the hills, signs and omens that the time has come. Yet, you have doubts. Your people have grown strong under your rule, and when your people offer their prayers, they praise your name alongside the gods. The priestly caste swirls with whispers of discontent, and ill rumours have reached your ears.

A man can light fires, and read omens in the most innocent of things.

Already, some of your priests have announced that the time of sacrifice is nigh. With each passing day, more add their voices to the chorus. Soon, they will become a wave that will be impossible to resist. Yet, that time has not yet come – perhaps you have a chance to strike first, if only you have the strength.

>Whatever the priests may think, this may really be the will of the gods. You must go to sacrifice, as they demand
>Though it pains you to leave your kingdom, now is the time to gather your family and go into exile
>Your people still have need for a strong leader. A purge of the priestly caste will quell these rumours and secure your rule
>Other
>>
>>6121533
>Whatever the priests may think, this may really be the will of the gods. You must go to sacrifice, as they demand
Let’s piety max this time
>>
>>6121533
>Whatever the priests may think, this may really be the will of the gods. You must go to sacrifice, as they demand
Our children and family, as well as our closest advisors and aides should know the truth. We leave all we have to them, and it is up to them to either maintain what we've built or fail it all completely.
>>
In all your time as king, you have never hesitated to act when a strong hand was needed. When the neighbouring clans threatened your people, you struck them hard and shattered their armies. When plague gnawed at the outermost corners of your realm, you brought fire to burn out the sickness. Through your strong and decisive actions, you have achieved great things – yet now, of all times, you falter.

The priests may scheme, as they always do, but what if this truly is the will of the gods? To refuse their will would invite doom upon your kin, a far greater doom than anything your neighbours or rivals could offer. Who are you to judge the will of the gods?

No, you must go to sacrifice as your duty demands. You can but trust that the gods will look fondly upon you, and pick a worthy successor.

Once you reach this decision, there is no fear – no doubt or hesitation left in your mind. Instead, you feel a serenity unlike anything you have ever felt. Gathering your favourite wives and children close, you confirm what they already fear – you will be leaving them, and this world, soon enough. They greet the news with a stoic pride, shedding no tears for your fate. In your eldest son, you see the seeds of a strong leader. Should he take up your path, as you hope, he will go far.

“I place this kingdom in your hands,” you promise, “Where I go, you too will follow in time. Until that day, you must be strong.”

This is your pledge to them. With those words intoned, the priests descend upon your palace in their grim black hoods and cloaks.

You offer them no resistance.

-

One last pilgrimage, up to the highest peak in your domain. This is where it will all end. The skies above you are dark with circling birds, emissaries of the divine waiting to take your soul to meet with the gods. Their cries fill your ears as you strip off your clothes and stand naked before the priests, cold wind shriving your flesh. With solemn devotion, they smear black pitch upon your flesh with fine horsehair brushes.

When their job is done, you sit upon the throne and look up towards the sky. At the very edge of your vision, you see the flickering light of a torch approach. The flame touches your flesh with a wave of the purest agony you've ever felt, yet you endure it in silence. The pain does not last, quickly replaced by an impossible lightness of being as your flesh is cast aside. When the fire gutters out and fades, the birds descend.

You feel nothing as the birds tear into what remains of the flesh that was once yours, cutting it apart and bearing it into the sky. You feel your consciousness rise with the scraps and rags of flesh, carried up into the divine sky. Yet as you rise, your anticipation sours and turns to horror.

Where are the gods that you expected? Where is the glorious fate that you were promised?

[1]
>>
>>6121543

You lurch back with a gasp, dizziness and disorientation leaving your head spinning. Falling back hard, you rub your eyes and try to force your chaotic thoughts into some semblance of order. You feel... torn, caught between two different instances. In one, you sit atop a high mountain peak with Will Hodgson and the sad remains of his father. In another, you walk aimlessly through a vast, deserted city. Which one is truly real?

[Purity attunement increased by 1.]

Gradually, your heartbeat slows and you feel yourself growing calm. Opening your eyes, you look up to see the empty throne before you. Save for a few scraps of dry, papery flesh, there's nothing to indicate that anything was there at all. The pagans are gone too, you realise, leaving Will as your only witness. The young man's eyes are wide, and strangely rapturous.

“Will?” you murmur, “Will, are you still with us?”

“I think so,” he whispers back, limping over to you and offering a hand. “They said something to me,” he adds as he's helping you up, “It was... I don't know. They used the old tongue, the Aklo words. I don't know how to translate them.”

“Maybe Kingsley had a book, something that might help with that,” you suggest, “Maybe we should head back down and see.”

Will nods slowly, your “subtle” suggestion gradually seeping into his mind. Though he says nothing else, he follows you as you start to wander away from the throne. Your stomach grumbles as you walk, and wonder just how much time has passed. The sky is a tapestry of red and gold, but you can't tell if it's sunrise or sunset.

Will keeps murmuring the Aklo words under his breath as you descend, even when you shoot him a dark scowl and try to hush him. Abandoning your efforts to keep him quiet, you just focus on navigating the steep downward paths. Your hands and arms are numb, and the slightest slip threatens injury at best. Somehow, though, you manage to make it down to where Elle and Ariel wait.

“Isambard!” Elle gasps, “I...”

“Not here,” you whisper to her, shaking your head, “I just want to get out of here. We can talk later.”

-

The rest of the descent passes in a haze, each winding path and slab of broken rock blending together until they lose all meaning. It's only when you see the white stone of Kingsley's house that you feel your reason return.

“You stay there,” Ariel tells you firmly, drawing her revolver, “I'll check for any uninvited guests.”

You don't argue. Normally you'd balk at sending her in alone, but you're in no shape to watch her back right now. Anyway, it's safe – you can tell as much, although you couldn't say how you know.

It's over now. You could spend the rest of your life scouring these mountains, and you'd never see those strange worshippers again.

But they'd see you.

[2/3]
>>
>>6121562

When you wake up the next morning, Will is already pouring through what remains of Kingsley's books. You fix a light meal and eat it as you sit opposite the young man, waiting to see if he'll notice you. When your meal is finished and he still hasn't lifted his head, you clear your throat loudly. This finally gets his attention, causing him to jolt up in alarm.

“Oh,” he begins, “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Just a moment,” you lie, “Hard at work?”

“Er, yes. Though, without a tremendous amount of success to show for it,” Will pauses, frowning in thought, “I suppose you could've guessed this for yourself, but translating the Aklo words isn't very easy. Still, I think I've got something.”

You wait a moment as Will lapses into silence, eventually gesturing for him to speak. “Oh!” he yelps, setting aside one of his books and fumbling for a scrap of paper, “He has received wisdom.”

Four words, no more and no less. There's a strange ambiguity about them – they could refer to Professor Hodgson, but they could also refer to yourself. Without finding one of those pagans to question, you doubt that you'll ever really know for sure. Perhaps the truth, in this case, really doesn't matter.

The soft shuffle of footsteps causes you to look around. Elle stands at the threshold of the room, looking a little surprised to see you. “Early start, was it?” she asks, “What's our next move?”

“We're finished here,” Will answers, offering her an awkward smile, “I'm ready to head home. I've... got the closure I wanted. There's nothing here left for me.”

But he's wrong. There will always be a part of himself left in this place, in the mountains. One day it will draw him back here, and he will be swallowed up just as his father was. Perhaps by then he'll have a son of his own, and that young man will set off searching too.

All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.

>I think I'm going to pause here. I'll be continuing this tomorrow, hopefully with something a little more fun
>Thank you for playing along today!
>>
>>6121589
Thanks for running!

Until those last 5 sentences I was like wow, can't believe Will survived this little adventure. He had so many death flags.
>>
>>6121589
Grim. Poetic. I dig it. Thanks for running!
>>
So it's possible the worshipers are the ones who burned the papers, as a means to restrict wisdom.
>>
Interesting. I wonder how this vision, especially that ending, works into what we know of the emanations and the other gods of this world. Why an empty city?
>>
>>6122038
Might be the ideal city from the previous quest.
>>
>>6121589
>One day it will draw him back here, and he will be swallowed up just as his father was.

Should we voice these fears to him…or would they just be unsettling?
>>
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There is an understandably joyless mood hanging over you all as you return to the Hodgson Estate with Will, leaving him in the care of the now empty manor. You feel sorry for him, imagining the young man wandering aimlessly through the ancient manse with only a collection of pagan idols for company. You feel sorry for him, because you can imagine a world in which you fall into a very similar fate.

“I'll be fine,” Will assures you, seeing some small part of your dark thoughts in your face, “I've got some closure, as I said. Now, I just want to put this all behind me and get on with my life.”

“Well. Good luck to you, Master Hodgson,” you decide, with a silent inward shrug. You're certainly not going to force him to join you, if he's decided to do this by himself. Is he really that different to those men who devote their lives to plumbing the depths of the Demesne? He's chosen a different doom, that's all.

It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, all of it.

-

When you return to your home, you spend the first day or so in solitude. Much of it, you spend by a window looking out into the dense forest outside. Looking at the forest now, you automatically find yourself thinking about the mountains. Both are entirely indifferent to human affairs, both were ancient when men were young.

Eventually, your isolation is disturbed by a tentative knock at your door. “Isambard?” Ariel calls out quietly, “Are you decent? Or, failing that, are you fully dressed?”

“Fully dressed,” you reply, the glib response coming easily to your tongue, “Still working on the “decent” part.”

Ariel shows herself in, closing the door tightly behind her before sitting down on the edge of your bed with an easily familiarity. “I never want to go hiking again,” she announces with a low laugh, “It's been a while, but my legs still feel like they're about to drop off. I can't believe some people actually do this stuff for fun!”

You offer her a vague gesture in response. You know where this conversation is going.

“Speaking of fun...” she continues, “There was the small matter of our wager. You've not forgotten, I trust.”

“I've not forgotten,” you tell her, sitting down in a low chair at your desk and facing her, “Do you really think this is the time for something like that? A fun day out for everyone, doing... whatever it is that people do on fun days out. Really?”

“Yes, really,” Ariel insists, giving you a stubborn scowl, “It's a damn sight better than staying hidden away in your room like this. You need to get a bit more normalcy in your life, we ALL do. You'll lose your mind otherwise – and, if I'm being quite honest, you already look halfway there. Take a look at yourself in the mirror.”

Against your better judgement, you do as she asks – a haggard, wide-eyed ghoul stares back at you, gaunt and bloodless.

[1/2]
>>
>>6122156

You gaze at the mirror for a long moment, studying the ravaged face peering out from the glass. When was the last time that you looked at yourself, really looked at yourself, like this?

“What about a nice meal together? A proper meal, as fine as we can afford. Call it a... a family dinner, of sorts,” you suggest quietly, “I must confess, I'm not really sure what normal people do for fun these days.”

“You'll be shocked to know that I'm the same,” Ariel replies with an ironic smirk, “So I reached out to Daniel, to hear his thoughts on the matter. Ask the expert, you know?”

“Hm. And the verdict?”

“Try to show a little enthusiasm, will you?” she scolds, “He had a few ideas, like going to the capital for the day – hit up all the best places to eat and drink, no expense spared. Jan is flush with cash at the moment, apparently, and he's willing to pick up the bill.”

Very generous of him. He probably received quite the inheritance from his monstrous family, and now he's looking for a way to get rid of it. It's hard not to feel a little bit bitter, considering your own dire finances.

“Dan also suggested we take a trip to Lake Nibelung, which might be nice. There's a little cottage by the lake, and he could get permission from his father for us to use it,” Ariel continues, “Do you know it?”

“Daniel has mentioned it before. He spent a long weekend there a few years ago, swimming in the lake and such,” you recall, “He seemed quite fond of the place. He's probably looking for an excuse to go back there again.”

“Still, it might be fun,” she presses, leaning over and poking you with a slender finger, “You're not about to go and bail on our deal, are you?”

>I'm really not in the mood for this. For any of this
>We should keep it small. A dinner at the estate will be enough
>If Jan is offering to pay, we should definitely take the opportunity
>A trip to Lake Nibelung could be a good chance to relax. We'll do it
>I've got some ideas of my own... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6122158
>A trip to Lake Nibelung could be a good chance to relax. We'll do it
Look if we're not going for Ariel, then at least we can pair her (him?) with Jan, right? Better Ariel than some insane cousin
>>
>>6122158
>>If Jan is offering to pay, we should definitely take the opportunity
Look, I'm just saying, the last time we went to a vacation house we had to shoot and burn a monster siren tree.
>>
>>6122158
>A trip to Lake Nibelung could be a good chance to relax. We'll do it
Even if Jan is willing to pay for a group night out I’d feel bad picking it ourselves
>>
>>6122038
>>6122058
Or maybe the Demesne?

>>6122158
>A trip to Lake Nibelung could be a good chance to relax. We'll do it

>>6122160
When Ariel pulls cute, sweet stunts like this, it does make me consider going for them.
>>
>>6122158
>If Jan is offering to pay, we should definitely take the opportunity
Ya'll now something will be fucky in that lonely, isolated cottage
>>
“Give me your honest opinion,” you tell Ariel, “How likely is it that this lakeside cottage is haunted, invaded or otherwise somehow dangerous to us?”

“I'd say FAIRLY unlikely,” Ariel answers, “I know what you're thinking, but it's not some remote, isolated spot. From what Daniel said, it sounds like it's a pretty popular spot. I'm sure that someone else will be more than happy to snap up the cottage if we don't take it.”

Preying on the fear of missing out. Nice. Very subtle. Unfortunately, it's working.

“I'm going to hold you personally responsible if we end up fighting some hideous monster, but you win – I suppose a trip to the lake could be a good chance to relax,” you relent with a sigh, smiling a little despite yourself as Ariel pumps her fists in triumph. “There's just one last thing,” you add quickly, fixing her with a firm scowl, “How long have you REALLY been planning this?”

“No comment,” she replies with a grin.

-

“Lake Nibelung?” Elle remarks, her eyes widening a little, “I've heard it's very beautiful, but I've never had a chance to see for myself. Oh, that means I'll need to get a swimming costume... I hadn't thought of that. Ariel, would you like to help me-”

“Nope,” Ariel interrupts, shaking her head.

“Why not?” the oracle protests.

“Here's how it'll go. You'll try on about a hundred different things, and ask my opinion on all of them. Since I'm not even remotely interested in pretty clothes, I'll just say that all of them are “fine”. In the end, you'll buy something at random and leave it at that,” Ariel points out, tapping one finger on the table to the rhythm of her words, “Sounds accurate, right?”

“Are you sure that you're not an oracle?” you joke, causing both girls to laugh. “We can head to Castaigne first, do a little shopping, then take the train up to the Teilhard lands. That should give them a little more time to prepare for our arrival. Ariel, have you told them we're coming yet?”

Ariel nods. “I sent them a message. Daniel said he's looking forwards to seeing us,” a pause, “I also sent a message to Miss Tomoe, letting her know where we'll be, but she hasn't replied yet. I'm sure she's really very busy with, I don't know, plotting to destroy the world or something like that.”

“All the more reason for her to take a holiday,” Elle suggests, hesitating before quickly adding, “Well, um, never mind her. Ariel, do you swim much?”

“Me? No way. I can't even float,” the pale girl replies, shaking her head, “I'll make the tremendous sacrifice of staying on dry land while you kids play about in the water. No need to thank me – it's all part of my civic duty.”

“That's enough, you two,” you warn, “We should get a move on, if we want to catch that next train with time to spare.”

[1]
>>
>>6122189

After so much time spent in dismal caves, cold mountains and rainswept moors, the golden lands of the Teilhard family feel like a blessing. Warm sun washes over you as the open carriage trundles towards the glinting sapphire lake. Taking off your jacket and rolling up your sleeve, you peel back the bandage on your arm to reveal a faint line of scar tissue. The wound healed fast – but then, you always have.

“Bit of a war wound, Bard?” Daniel remarks, leaning forwards and nodding towards your scar, “It's about time. Fortunately for you, it doesn't ruin that pretty face of yours. It's the only thing you've got going for you, after all!”

“And what did I do to deserve this awful attack on my dignity?” you ask, rolling your eyes, “And here I was, kindly granting you an opportunity to have a relaxing day out at the lake.”

“It's good to see you again, though,” Jan adds, giving you a mild smile before turning to the girls, “You too, Miss Legrasse, Miss Teilhard. I don't know about Daniel, but I've been looking for a chance to get away from the city for a day or so. I really shouldn't complain, since my parents are doing all the real work, but this business with the family mines... well, it's exhausting just listening to it all.”

At least he's being well compensated for the trouble.

-

Compared with Lake Hali, back at the Pale Estate, Lake Nibelung is a completely different beast – smaller in actual size, by your estimate, it still seems larger by comparison. Perhaps it's the clear skies here, and the water so clean that it almost seems to glow. A wooden pier stretches out into the lake, while a modest little cottage sits close by the bank. It certainly doesn't look like the sort of place to house some inhuman horror, but you've learned that images can be deceiving.

“Do you boys want to get changed first?” Elle suggests, nodding towards the cottage, “When you're all done, I can get ready too.”

“There's no need to be shy,” Daniel jokes, “I don't mind sharing if-”

His sentence is cut off mid word as you stamp on his food, all but pushing him towards the house. He's still cursing as you quickly strip off, pulling on the swimming costume that you bought. A clinging pair of shorts made from a worryingly thin black material, you feel vaguely indecent wearing them – in some absurd way, you'd feel less exposed wearing nothing at all.

“I can't say that I approve of these things,” Daniel complains, tugging at his own shorts, “Back in the old days, men like us would just swim in the nude. Of course, we wouldn't have women around then.”

“The good old days,” you remark, sarcasm dripping from your voice, “I suppose that was before they invented women.”

“That's not-” Daniel pauses, frowning as he tries to figure out if you're making fun of him – which, of course, you are.

[2/3]
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>>6122195

Ariel and Elle don't know quite where to look as you emerge from the cottage, and Elle is quick to grab up her bag and hurry inside, out of sight, before you can catch more than a glimpse of her burning red cheeks. Long grass tickles at your bare shins as you walk over to where Ariel sits on a pile of rocks. She has a soft smile on her face, her gaze lazily wandering across the landscape.

“Aren't you too warm like that?” Jan asks her, looking Ariel up and down. Despite the warm sun, she hasn't even loosened her uniform tunic or taken off her cap.

“Oh, don't worry about me,” Ariel replies, waving away his concerns with a casual gesture, “Go and enjoy yourselves. If I get too hot, I'll slink away into the cottage for a while – I just need to wait for Miss Legrasse to work up the courage to show herself.”

“Can't you just go in and... well, whatever,” Daniel shrugs, leaving his thought unfinished, “Tell you what, Bard. Do you see that little island out there in the lake?”

“Calling it an island might be exaggerating a little,” you suggest, squinting your eyes against the sun. There's definitely something in the lake, an upthrust of rock with a single solitary tree clinging on for dear life, but it's not much to look at.

“I bet I can swim out there before you,” the soldier dares, “You too, Jan.”

“Well, that's hardly a competition. We all KNOW that you could beat me in a swimming race,” Jan points out with a self-deprecating smile, “But if it makes you feel better, I'll take the bet. Isambard, please pretend to be surprised when he beats me.”

>You're on. I never back down from a challenge!
>You go ahead. I'll stay with Ariel and be an impartial judge
>Maybe later. I want to get some time alone and warm up first
>Other
>>
>>6122189
>I also sent a message to Miss Tomoe, letting her know where we'll be, but she hasn't replied yet. I'm sure she's really very busy with, I don't know, plotting to destroy the world or something like that.”
Just the Kingdom, surely

>>6122195
>A clinging pair of shorts made from a worryingly thin black material, you feel vaguely indecent wearing them – in some absurd way, you'd feel less exposed wearing nothing at all.
Even in fantasy we can’t escape the speedo

>>6122208
>You're on. I never back down from a challenge!
Since Jan is participating we won’t suffer the embarrassment of being last
I hope
>>
>>6122208
>You go on your own, I'm going to see if the sun and lack of trains will make for a much nicer nap
>>
>>6122208
>You're on. I never back down from a challenge!
>>
>>6122208
>You're on. I never back down from a challenge!
>>
Before you can get a word in, you hear the cottage door open. Looking around, you see Elle peering out from the ajar door. Seeing you, she ducks back inside for a moment before tentatively pushing the door open and stepping out into the sun. Tugging nervously at the wide white sun hat on her head, she approaches and gives you a shy smile.

Granted, you're not an expert, but you never realised that swimming costumes these days showed so much skin – her costume is cut low in the chest, hinting at the elegant curves of her breasts, while the frilly skirt ends above the knee. Seeing your gaze, Elle blushes a little and touches the lacy costume. “It's too much, isn't it?” she says quickly, “I knew it, I should've gone with something a little more, um, modest, but it looked so pretty in the shop and-”

“Stop. Take a breath,” Ariel interrupts mildly, “You look fine. I don't think you'll hear anyone here say otherwise.”

“You really think so?” the oracle murmurs, looking back to you, “Too much?”

“I'm hardly in a position to comment,” you point out, gesturing vaguely at your own costume.

“Yes, um, it's certainly...” Elle pauses, her gaze dropping low before quickly snapping up to your face again, “Anyway! Um, what were you thinking of doing?”

“We were just going to have a race out to that island,” Daniel explains, waving vaguely in the direction of the lake, “That is, assuming Bard has the nerve for it.”

“Bring it on,” you tell him, a competitive fire lighting in your chest, “I never back down from a challenge!”

Daniel grins, and immediately marches across to the edge of the lake. You follow him, as Jan lets out a weary sigh and joins you. “I'll be cheering for you!” Elle calls after you, excitement creeping into her voice.

When Ariel gives the signal, you leap into the water and plunge forwards with a powerful stroke. It's been a while since you last went swimming, but the motions come back to you in an instant. Even as Jan falls back, you can see that you're unlikely to win – Daniel is a little taller than you, with a longer reach to match, and he's got a greater strength in his favour. Resigning yourself to limit the damage to your pride, you push through the water with renewed resolve as the island draws closer.

When you're about two thirds of the way towards the island, you see Daniel start to slow. There's a new clumsiness in his stroke now, his arm splashing roughly in the water. The distance between you closes in a matter of moments, and then you're pulling ahead. Pushing the last reserves of your strength into your arms, you lunge forwards and slap one hand against the warm rock of the island.

Victory is yours.

[1]
>>
>>6122227
>There's a new clumsiness in his stroke now, his arm splashing roughly in the water
worry
>>
>>6122195
>The wound healed fast – but then, you always have.
Literally some supernatural deity for a parent
>It certainly doesn't look like the sort of place to house some inhuman horror
Where is he
WHERE IS HE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfNH3E2u2I0

>>6122228
Is he okay? He didn't get injured too badly, did he?
>>
>>6122227
I see the trained piranha we released into the lake earlier in case of this exact situation has come through
>>
>>6122227

Pulling yourself up onto the rocks, you gasp for breath as Daniel catches up with you. Offering him a hand, you help him up onto the island and sit beside him for a moment. “Close one,” the soldier remarks with a rueful grin, “I would've won, if I hadn't got cramp.”

“Cramp,” you repeat, “Really?”

“Well, let's call it cramp,” Daniel whispers, even though it's only the two of you around, “I had to make you look good in front of the ladies, didn't I?”

You look out to the other shore, where Elle hops up and down in place and waves cheerfully. Raising your hand in response, you give Daniel a nod of appreciation. “I suppose the question I have now is, what are you going to ask in return?” you wonder, “Nothing too onerous, I hope. That means nothing too difficult, before you ask.”

“I'll just have to think about that. Maybe I just like having a favour over you,” he counters, but before he can say anything else his gaze is drawn back to the shoreline, “I say, who is that out there?”

Even without seeing the new arrival's face, you know exactly who it is. For one, there's only a limited number of people who know that you're out here. That aside, you can only think of one person with hair that colour. “The esteemed Miss Tomoe. I... may have invited her as well,” you tell him, “I didn't actually think she'd accept the invitation though.”

“Oh,” Daniel pauses, “If anything bad happens, I'm blaming you for this.”

“Naturally.”

Gasping and spluttering for air, Jan finally arrives at the island and claws his way up into dry land. “There, I made it!” he rasps, looking between the two of you, “Now what?”

“Now we swim back,” Daniel tells him with a laugh.

-

Since there's nothing riding on the outcome, you take a leisurely swim back towards the shore. Pausing halfway and treading water, you look back out to the beach. Juno is nowhere to be seen, and at first you assume she's in the cottage changing – that is, until a powerful hand closes around your ankle and yanks you down into the water. Struggling free from the grip, you push your head back above water and gulp down a lungful of air. A moment later, Juno surfaces beside you.

“Not paying attention, are we?” she taunts, “Very careless of you, Master Pale. Even in a place like this, anything could happen to you.”

“Yes, for a moment there I did wonder if there was some horrible creature lurking in this lake,” you shoot back, “And as it turns out, I was exactly right.”

“Oh stop, you don't need to compliment me like that. I already know how much you care for me,” Juno remarks, turning and kicking off towards the shore. Shaking water out of your hair, you follow her into the shallows and walk ashore.

“You know,” Daniel murmurs, studying Juno from behind, “Maybe the Tomoe aren't so bad.”

[2]
>>
>>6122189
>“Me? No way. I can't even float,” the pale girl replies, shaking her head, “I'll make the tremendous sacrifice of staying on dry land while you kids play about in the water. No need to thank me – it's all part of my civic duty.”
We're never going to find out what she's packing.

>>6122195
>“Bit of a war wound, Bard?” Daniel remarks, leaning forwards and nodding towards your scar, “It's about time. Fortunately for you, it doesn't ruin that pretty face of yours. It's the only thing you've got going for you, after all!”
Damn, might learn what DAN is packing, though...

>>6122227
Dang, she cute tho.
>>
>>6122239

“So, Miss Tomoe,” Jan asks nervously, looking as if just talking to Juno might get him in trouble, “What brings you out here? I mean, ah, I know that Isambard invited you, but what...”

“What made me actually accept the invitation?” Juno finishes for him, stretching out on a towel laid over the long grass. She leaves the question hanging, almost as if she expects someone to answer for her. You just hold your tongue, vaguely curious to see what she might say. She probably came out here because she knew how uncomfortable it might make Daniel and Jan.

She's certainly making you a little uncomfortable – her swimming costume is, if anything, even more daring than Elle's. Deep black in colour, the thin material dips low between in legs in a way that leaves her hips, and the full length of her long legs, entirely bare. It's the sort of attire that might cause a scandal in the right company, which is entirely the point.

“I suppose I just fancied some time off,” Juno says at last, giving you all an indifferent shrug, “Take a little break from plotting to destroy the world, or whatever it is that we Tomoe are supposed to be doing.”

“She's not actually plotting to destroy the world,” Elle quickly clarifies, giving Daniel a hasty look. You'd like to think that Daniel would be able to figure that out for himself, but there's no harm in making sure. “Well, um, I think I'm going to make some cold barley tea – it'll be nice to have something cold to drink on a warm day like this,” she continues, eagerly changing the subject, “Does anyone else want some?”

Daniel and Jan both nod, while Juno nods. “I'm going back for another swim,” the redhead declares, “I ought to enjoy the lake while I can. You know, before I destroy the world and all that.”

>I'll have some tea. I want to stay out and talk a little more
>I'll go with you, Elle. You might need a hand with making the tea
>I'll have another swim too, Juno. No racing this time, though
>I'll... (Write in)
>Other
>>
>>6122251
Dan is a total bro, and Juno is a fun friend. I really like this cast of characters. Good work, QM.

>>6122251
>I'll... (Write in)
>>Check on Ariel
This was HER wager, and yet she's seemingly having the least socialization time. Good idea to check on her, make her feel included.
>>
>>6122251
>I'll have another swim too, Juno. No racing this time, though
Wouldn’t be fair to make an amateur like her race against the swimming champ of Nibelung, even right after our completely valid victory against Dan and Jan
>>
>>6122251
>>6122256
Supporting.
This has been some fun downtime so far. Bard deserves the break with how much he's done.
>>
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“I'll be here if you need me,” you tell Elle, glancing aside to where Ariel sits a short distance away, “I've just got something I need to do.”

Elle gives you a nod and vanishes into the cottage to start making the tea. Juno wades into the water without another word, taking to the water with a great sweep of her arms. She swims like a natural, you notice, as if she was born to the water. Turning away, you approach Ariel and sit beside her on the warm rocks. “You okay?” you ask her quietly.

“Me? Sure, I'm okay,” Ariel replies, glancing around at you in surprise, “Why wouldn't I be okay?”

“You're just very quiet,” you explain, “This was all your idea, but I feel like you're the only one here who isn't enjoying it. Or, at the very least, getting much out of it.”

Ariel is silent for a moment, watching as Juno cuts through the water. “I guess...” she begins, only for her reply to fade into silence. You wait, letting the sun wash over you as the unhurried silence draws out. “I guess I do feel a little left out,” she admits eventually, “I never had the chance to do stuff like this when I was younger. You know, learn to swim or whatever. It never really bothered me before, but now I feel like... like there's so much that I'll never have the chance to do.”

“It's never too late to learn a new skill,” you suggest, “Maybe not today, especially if you don't have anything to wear, but another time.”

“It's not... that simple,” Ariel murmurs, shaking her head slightly, “I don't know, it's hard to explain. Have you ever felt like... like you know something that nobody else in the whole land would understand?”

You think of Gratia. Of the last time you ever saw her in person, and the scent of blood.

“I have,” you answer quietly.

“It's hard,” Ariel sighs, looking up as Juno waves to you from the lake, “Hey, shit, I didn't mean to bring down the mood. This was supposed to be a fun day out, a chance for us all to relax. Now I'm the one who's being sulky. Just... go on, don't worry about me. Go and have some fun. That's an order.”

“Since when do you give orders?”

“I'm still a Teilhard, you know?” she reminds you, “I might not march around like a toy soldier and bark, but I can still try. Now go on. Please?”

So much for giving orders.

-

The cool water makes a pleasant contrast to the warm sun, and you lazily swim out to where Juno treads water. She greets you with a cool smile, pushing back her long, wet hair away from her face. “I hope I'm not interrupting your conversation,” she says, nodding back towards the shore, “It looked like a very serious heart to heart. Very sincere.”

“Not that you'd know anything about that.”

“Oh, of course,” Juno agrees, with a mocking smile, “Well, you're out here now. Fancy a race?”

“I'll be merciful and decline,” you counter, “It wouldn't be fair, pitting you against the unbeaten champion of Lake Nibelung.”

[1]
>>
>>6122227
I will literally see this and type "wife"
>>
>>6122283

You relax, treading water as Juno rolls onto her back and floats beside you. Though you had been stubborn at first, now you really can see the merits of Ariel's plan. It may not be bringing you any closer to your eventual goal, but a day like this... it reminds you that you're still human, whatever else might be going on with your chaotic, confusing life.

“Thank you, by the way. It was very sweet of you to invite me out like this. Not many people would do that,” Juno mentions, her gaze firmly fixed on the sky above, “How was that? Did it sound “sincere” enough? I only ask, of course, because I know so little about the subject.”

“Very good. Very convincing,” you drawl back, “I actually believe you.”

With a silent laugh, Juno rights herself and peers out towards the shore. Daniel waves out to you, occasionally gesturing for you to come back. Sighing, you start to swim back towards when dry land to see what he wants.

-

“You know, there's a funny story about this lake,” Daniel begins, gesturing for you all to gather around in a circle, “There was an old noble lady of the Teilhard line by the name of, er, Melissa Teilhard. Yes, that's it. She was as beautiful and charming as anyone in the land. Anyway, she was pledged to marry an equally brave and handsome soldier. Before he went off to war, he gave her a ring. When he returned, he said, he would take back the ring and marry her.”

“Skip to the part where it all ends in tragedy,” Juno urges.

“Oh, please!” Elle groans, before looking around to Daniel, “It doesn't end in tragedy, does it?”

“Um,” Daniel hesitates, “Perhaps “funny” wasn't the best word to describe it...”

“It ends in tragedy, doesn't it?” Elle sighs.

“Just let me finish, okay?” he insists, “Anyway, so Lady Teilhard waits and waits. Then, eventually, she gets a letter telling her that her beloved was killed in action. So, she throws her ring into the middle of the lake and prays that the next person who finds it will have better luck than she did.”

With these last words, a silence descends.

“So?” you ask at last, “What's your point?”

“The point is, the ring is still down there!” Daniel groans, rolling his eyes, “Bard, why don't we see who can dive down and find it? I won't ask Jan, of course, since it won't be a fair contest, and-”

“I want in on this action too,” Juno interrupts, leaning eagerly forwards and flashing Daniel a wicked grin, “I'm quite the swimmer, as you've seen. It'll be more than fair.”

“What? No, you can't-” Daniel splutters, “You're a... a...”

“Yes?” she prompts, raising an eyebrow in polite curiosity, “A what?”

“Never mind,” the soldier mutters, his cheeks darkening slightly as he looks away, “This was a stupid idea, forget it.”

>I think we've all had enough competitions for one day
>No, this sounds fun. Let's do it
>Other
>>
>>6122306
>I'm almost tempted to back out just to watch you two go at it.
>>
>>6122306
>No, this sounds fun. Let's do it
>>
>>6122306
>No, this sounds fun. Let's do it
We could always use better luck
>>
“While I'm tempted to back out, just so that the two of you fight over it, I admit that this could be fun,” you tell Daniel, “Let's do it.”

“Really?” he asks, his disappointment turning to joy in an instant, “I'm warning you, Bard – I won't go easily on you this time.”

“Well, it wouldn't be any fun if you did,” you counter, “I trust you'll do the same, Juno.”

“Gentlemen, I want a good, clean fight,” Juno teases, rising to her feet and stretching out her long, toned legs, “That means no scratching or gouging the eyes, and only I'm allowed to hit below the belt.”

“Um...” Jan whispers to her, “I don't think it's that kind of competition.”

-

“Now listen up!” Ariel announces, striding back and forth along the shore, “I'm going to throw this pebble up in the air. When it comes down and hits the water, that's your signal to go. Don't worry, I've got really good aim, so it probably won't land on anyone's head!”

Probably?

Before you have a chance to question this, Ariel hurls the pebble as high as she possibly can into the air. You and Daniel both look up, following the rock as it arc through the air, and that's when Juno dives into the water. Cursing aloud, you and Daniel both jump in after her and start furiously swimming towards the centre of the lake. A second later, the pebble finally lands with a splash.

As Dan said, he's not going easy on you this time – you let him power on ahead, saving your strength for later. This is going to be a different kind of competition, with stamina and a keen pair of eyes mattering just as much as raw strength. With her head start, Juno is the first to arrive at the middle of the lake and dive down, with Daniel following shortly afterwards. You join them last of all, taking a deep breath before plunging beneath the surface.

Ahead of you, Juno's hair streams back behind her like a cape as she dives deeper and deeper. You follow after her, your sluggish motions feeling like something out of a dream. Far below you, the sand and silt of the lake's bottom stretches out like a canvas. When you think of finding a single ring in a place like this, you start to realise the sheer impossibility of your task.

Clouds of loose silt darken the water as Juno starts to rake through the muck, before she is forced to turn back and swim up towards the surface for a fresh gasp of air. Daniel is quick to chase after her, checking where she had been searching as if hoping to capitalise on her progress. You hang back, some instinct urging you to wait. Hanging serenely in the water, you wait until your lungs scream out for relief before finally, grudgingly, you return to the surface.

“Tough one, this!” Daniel gasps, floundering on the surface as he gulps down air, “Any luck, Bard?”

“Not yet, but it's still early,” you reply, “Thinking about giving up yet?”

“Not a chance!”

[1]
>>
>>6122324
Too bad no one brought any scuba gear
>>
>>6122324

This cycle repeats twice more, with you only occasionally searching through the loose silt with little hope or enthusiasm. You could do this all day, all week or all month, without success. The lake is simply too vast to find the ring through sheer blind luck. So, on your third attempt, you remain on the surface as Daniel and Juno work. When they rise back up to the surface, only then do you dive down. Stopping short of the lake's bed, you hang in the water and gaze around you.

With the churn of muck and silt having settled by now, the water clears and glistens with the sunlight – but something glints even brighter. Wedged between two rocks on a small pile of sand, a short distance away from where you had all been searching, you see something shine. Diving down before either of your rivals sees you, you tug the glinting little thing from where it has come to rest. With the last air left in your lungs, you take your prize and power to the surface once more.

“Here!” you call out, holding the ring high above your head, “Look here!”

“We have a winner!” Daniel laughs, “Putting those good Pale eyes to use, huh?”

Good Pale eyes and a pretty face... if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was making a move on you.

-

Back ashore, you examine the ring a little closer as your companions gather round. It looks... like a perfectly mundane ring, very simple in design with no real distinguishing features. You're a little surprised that Daniel recognised it straight away, although you suppose there can't be that many people throwing jewellery in the lake. Even so, it doesn't look that old – if you were a more cynical man, you'd think that Daniel had someone plant the ring when he knew you were coming.

“It doesn't look that old,” Juno remarks, “I think you planted the ring when you knew we were coming, Master Teilhard.”

“Is that you saying that you didn't want it?” Ariel jeers, “Because I'll have it, if you don't want it.”

“I'm not saying that,” Juno shoots back, before giving you a smirk, “Well? You're not going to be boring and keep that little trinket for yourself, are you?”

“Maybe I will keep it,” you remark, “I could certainly use the luck.”

“It's kind of a girly ring, though...” Jan points out, peering a little closer at it, “I mean, ah, I won't judge if that's what you're into...”

On second thoughts, maybe you shouldn't hang onto this thing.

>Give it to Elle. She's the only one who hasn't made a play for it yet
>Give it to Ariel. It is, supposedly, a Teilhard family heirloom. It's hers by blood
>Give it to Juno. It'll be funny, seeing her wearing some Teilhard family jewellery
>Other
>>
>>6122330
Damnit Jan, forcing us to give away the luck
You monster

>Give it to Juno. It'll be funny, seeing her wearing some Teilhard family jewellery
She actually competed for it too, unlike those other layabouts.
>>
>>6122330
>Give it to Ariel. It is, supposedly, a Teilhard family heirloom. It's hers by blood
>>
Update: I don't think I'll have time to write up the next section before I need to punch out for the night. Since this is CLEARLY an important issue, I'll leave the vote open for now and check later. I should have a concluding post finished on Wednesday this week, then back to regular schedule on Saturday.
>Thank you for playing today - I've had a lot of fun writing some more casual stuff for a change, been wanting to do something like this for a while. I hope it's not been too much of a change in pace
>>
>>6122350
Thanks for running!

>I've had a lot of fun writing some more casual stuff for a change, been wanting to do something like this for a while. I hope it's not been too much of a change in pace
I for one would enjoy an even higher proportion of lighthearted fun.
Only writing darkness and horror ends up desensitizing us, after all. Periodic shards of hope will greatly enhance the inevitable suffering.
>>
>>6122330
>Put it on our finger and act very girly to spite Jan
>>
>>6122330
>Give it to Elle. She's the only one who hasn't made a play for it yet
Contrarian vote!
>>
>>6122330
>Try it on ourselves first
>Give it to Juno. It'll be funny, seeing her wearing some Teilhard family jewellery

She fought for it - deserves recognition

I wonder if marshmallows have been invented in this world? Otherwise a lakeside bbq sounds good
>>
>>6122330
Give it to Gratia[/spoiler
>>
>>6122330
>Give it to Juno. It'll be funny, seeing her wearing some Teilhard family jewellery
>>
>>6122429
You just know that with how Isambard is a born special protag due to his special heritage, that Gratia also has her own ragtag bunch of friends and love interests. How do you think her players are doing in their own quest? Clearly nobody voted to meet back up with Isambard or return to the Pale estate for that. Something's up...
>>
>>6122330
>Give it to Ariel. It is, supposedly, a Teilhard family heirloom. It's hers by blood

I'm >>6122240 on mobile
>>
>>6122429
I (>>6122452) would also back this in a tie.
>>6122330
>>
>>6122449
Maybe they're trapped in the Demesne
>>
>>6122330
I'll support the contrarian vote
>Give it to Gratia when we find her
But also
>Just incase, wait for a full moon to look at the thing before fully committing.
>>
>>6122350
Thanks for running.
Giving a ring to a waifu is serious business, after all.
Bard getting to spend time with everyone normally was nice. He wasn't wrong to have doubts since basically every other trip did devolve into dealing with freaky cults or spooky monsters, but it was still funny how he was expecting things to go wrong. By the end of all of this he'll be a complete mess jumping at shadows unless he has someone to reign him in.
>>
Okay. Unless my dementia is playing up again, I think we're going with Juno - but I see some Gratia mentions as well, and they won't go unnoticed. I'll be aiming to have a concluding post up at some point today.
SIde note - I've been going back and forth on writing a short section from Gratia's perspective. I've got a few ideas of what that might involve, but I've not yet settled on them. I'll see how that one develops
>>
>>6123924
I think it's a tie.

>>6122337
>>6122410
>>6122433
Juno

>>6122458
>>6122809
>>6122429
Gratia
>>
>>6123926
Yep. I don't want to spoil too much, but since Gratia isn't around yet I've cooked up a plan. We're playing the long game here
>>
File: Ariel Teilhard - Casual.jpg (217 KB, 1024x1024)
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“I'm sorry, but I simply cannot make such an important decision without thinking it over properly first,” you announce, closing your fist around the silver ring, “So I'll have to leave you all in suspense.”

“How terrible!” Elle gasps with mock surprise, “I suppose we'll all have to find some way to cope. How about some food? I've always wanted to try cooking some food over an open fire, but I'll need a strong man to fetch some wood for a bonfire. Daniel, could you...”

“Oh, I'm not sure about that,” Daniel replies, flashing you a sly grin, “I think my cramp is acting up again.”

“I'll do it,” you tell her, feigning a sigh, “Just give me a minute to put some clothes on first.”

-

Going back and forth between the lake and the nearby forests, you slowly gather a hefty stack of firewood. When you're finally finished, Daniel helps to get a fairly large bonfire burning. Skewering sausages on long sticks, you take turns to try roasting them over the fire. More often than not, the sausages end up falling into the bonfire, but even these failures are met with good humour. Juno opens a bottle of rich, black wine that she brought, and glasses are filled.

At some point, emboldened by wine and suffering in the heat, Ariel strips off her uniform jacket to reveal a simple white undershirt. Without the armour of her uniform, she seems delicate and somehow awkward – as if unused to the shape of her own skin. You saw people like that at Coral House, boys on the cusp of becoming men. It'll pass – it always does. She might even fill out a little.

“What?” Ariel asks, her voice reminding you that you've been staring at her, “Something wrong?”

“I was just lost in thought,” you counter, “You should feel honoured that I chose to look in your direction while I did it.”

“Does that make me the chosen one, then?” she retorts, rolling her eyes, “Well, either way. I hope you weren't thinking about anything weird.”

“As if.”

-

Time passes, and the fire burns low. As it fades to the last embers, Elle rises to her feet with a yawn and wanders off towards the cottage. The sun has long since set, and the day's fatigue is starting to set in. She's not the only one who retreats to bed, and soon there's only two of you left sitting by the smouldering remains – Juno, and yourself.

Silence falls, save for the tiny gurgling sound as Juno pours the last of the wine into her glass. As the clouds above part, allowing a blade of silver moonlight to cut across the lake, you take the Teilhard ring from your pocket and examine it once more. The moonlight grants it a lustre that it didn't show by day, making it seem like so much more than a simple piece of costume jewellery.

[1/2]
>>
>>6124140

“Here,” you announce, tossing the ring across to Juno. She fumbles, but somehow manages to catch the ring without spilling a drop of wine. “You earned it,” you explain, seeing her curious eyes glinting with the last of the fire's light, “I imagine you would have found that soon enough, if I hadn't been there. Anyway, it's like Jan said – it's a girl's ring.”

“I don't know about that. I think it might suit you,” Juno teases, “It goes well with your eyes.”

“Yes, but not with my strong, manly fingers,” you counter, holding up a hand, “That ring was made for someone who hasn't done a day of hard work in their lives. Try it – I'm sure it'll fit.”

“You know, I could always throw this back at you. I've got a pretty good arm, I imagine it might hurt,” she warns, cocking back her arm as if getting ready to sling the ring at you, “I've got pretty good aim too. You might even lose an eye.”

“I've got a spare.”

“Then I'll take the ring back and throw it again,” the red-haired girl laughs briefly, although a solemn look quickly takes over her features. “There's someone else who deserves this ring more than I do,” she murmurs, setting her glass of wine aside and crawling around the bonfire's spluttering remains, “Isn't there?”

You don't reply, thinking instead of the woman in Daniel's tale. Her partner was taken from her too soon, rendering her forever incomplete – one half of a person, like an ever-bleeding wound. A spark of light winks at you as Juno sits down beside you, the fire's light catching on the ring on her finger. She leans a little closer, her shoulder brushing against yours. “I want you to do something for me,” she whispers, her fingers caressing your cheek as she turns your face her way.

“...No promises,” you reply, your throat suddenly feeling very dry.

“I want you to remember this day, and cherish that memory,” Juno continues, her red eyes fixed on yours, “There are difficult days ahead, Isambard. It's going to get worse. So remember – there IS light in this world, even if you have to search for it.”

“Will it all be worth it?” you ask suddenly, the question spilling unbidden from your lips, “All this pain and sadness... in the end, will it all be worth it?”

Your words are swallowed up by the night, seeming to vanish without a trace. If feels like an eternity passes before Juno gives you her response.

“No promises.”

>I'm going to close the thread here. My current plan is to continue on Saturday, and I'll probably start a new thread since we're sitting on page 9 night now.
>Thank you for reading along this far!
>>
>>6124141
Ominous yet sweet ending. I like it! Thanks for running. Don't forget to archive, when suptg is fixed up again.
>>
>>6124141
Thanks for running!

Surprisingly uplifting words from Juno there, we’ve broken through her thorny and sarcastic shell
>>
Quick update - I'm going to have to push the new thread back to next week. I've had a sow of a week, and I've not really had much time to prepare new material and I don't want to just wing it. So, I've decided to push things back for now.
I'll be back soon!
>>
>>6125667
Shame, hope this week goes better for you
>>
>>6125667
Understood. No worries, QM! See you soon.

Suptg is fixed, by the by.



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