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>>6129649

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

In comparison with the glorious weather around Lake Nibelung, it would be impossible not to feel a little glum upon returning to the Pale Estate. A thin misty rain hangs in the air, while vast leaden clouds crawl sluggishly through the sky. You assume that the same sun is hidden somewhere behind those dense clouds, but that theory will have to remain unproven for now.

“You go on ahead and get settled. I've got a few messages I need to send,” Elle says as you enter the estate, “It's nothing exciting – I want to send Master Teilhard a letter of thanks, naturally, and I wanted to send a message to King Albrecht. The Demesne, you know...”

“I know. It's waiting for us. For me,” you murmur, shaking your head slowly. Elle vanishes into the office in order to send her messages, leaving you to wander into the dining room and sit in a random chair. You're on the cusp of entering the fourth layer of the Demesne. If old Kalthos was telling the truth, Gratia should be waiting for you there. Even as the thought sends a pang of yearning through you, it also stirs of a faint tremor of fear. After all these years, what if she...

You still that thought as Alex enters, giving you a friendly nod of greeting. “Welcome back, Isambard,” he begins, “How was Lake Nibelung.”

“I enjoyed myself,” you admit, as if confessing some dirty secret, “How were things here?”

“Uneventful. Oh, but there was one thing,” Alex recalls, “It was strange, actually. I was doing a little shopping in Castaigne and ran across an old friend, but do you know what? He completely ignored me! I met his gaze for a moment, so I know he saw me, but he quickly turned and hurried away before I could say hello. It was quite odd, I must say!”

“Could you have done something to offend him?” you suggest.

“I can't imagine so. We've not seen each other for some time,” the older man shrugs, “Well, perhaps he was in a hurry and didn't want to get drawn into conversation. I shouldn't overthink it. Speaking of shopping, actually, I wanted to talk with you about something. That map your father left, leading to the Mire of Phalaris. Were you thinking of following up on it?”

“It's a possibility,” you reply cautiously, “Were you going to try and talk me out of it?”

“I know better than that, lad,” Alex laughs, “No, I just wanted to warn you to bring plenty of supplies if you do. You're looking at a day's march at best, and that's just to reach the rough area on the map. You could be gone for quite some time, and there won't be much chance to resupply once you're out there.”

>I'll keep that in mind, but I'm heading to the Demesne first
>Then we should stock up now. The Mire of Phalaris was my next lead
>Don't worry, I had other plans... (Write in)
>Other

>>6129650
> Then we should stock up now. The Mire of Phalaris was my next lead
ANYTHING BUT THE DEMESNE

>>6129650
get a sitrep on the party.

Only Elle is officially working for the King, everyone else has their own duties. Or school. They good with those?

Also, seeing how they've been with us the longest, have Ariel and Elle received their own Lessons in all these misadventures? What do they think of that, and the pace Bard is keeping with these trinkets?

>>6129650
>Then we should stock up now. The Mire of Phalaris was my next lead
I'm all antsy about Gratia now... maybe if we show up with more lessons, we can finish whatever she's started and get her out of there?

Welcome back, btw!

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“We should probably stock up while we can, in that case,” you decide, “You're right, I was thinking of investigating the Mire of Phalaris. I don't know what my father found there, but if I'm going to follow in his footsteps...”

Alex sighs, giving you a weary smile. “It's selfish of me, of course, but I do wish you'd stay put for a little longer. Sometimes, I think you forget that this place is your home.”

“I know, Alex, but I'm close. I'm so close now,” you murmur, leaning back in your chair, “Gratia, my father... I feel like they're both within reach now.”

“But you want to go wading around in a cursed swamp instead,” he points out carefully. You wince, his words cutting straight to your core. “Ah, forgive me. It's not my place to question your decisions,” Alex continues, shaking his head, “Tell you what. I'll write up a list of supplies that you might need, you go and take some time off.”

“Even though I just came back from some time off?”

“I'd hardly call it “time off”. A few days at most, that's barely a long weekend,” Alex scoffs, “Now go, run along and leave the shopping list to me!”

-

Starting with Elle, you knock at the office door before showing yourself in. Elle jolts around in surprise as you enter, fumbling with the slips of paper scattered out before her. It looks as if she was deep in thought, until your unexpected interruption.

“Sorry,” you tell her, “I can come back later.”

“No no, it's fine,” the oracle assures you, shaking her head, “I was just... um, I was wondering if I should send a note home or not. I don't really know what I'd say, though... Do you think I should just leave it?”

“You're probably asking the wrong person, but I'd say just leave it,” you answer, closing the door and sitting down beside Elle, “The Mire of Phalaris. What do you think?”

“Huh? I think it sounds... swampy?” Elle suggests, her eyes widening, “Is that our next stop? I thought-”

“I know, the Demesne will have to wait a little longer. I'm sorry,” you remark, giving her a slight shrug, “At least it'll give King Albrecht plenty of time to consider your request for admission.”

It's strange, the mingled look of relief and disappointment that flashes across Elle's face before vanishing completely. “I understand,” she says quietly, bowing her head ever so slightly, “I am bound to follow your orders, Master Pale.”

She's teasing you, of course. Juno really is a bad influence on her.

“Speaking of the Demesne, though, I was curious about something,” you continue, “Your Lessons – how far into the Demesne do you think you'd be able to get?”

Elle considers this. “It's hard to say. Not far,” she admits, “But I might, just barely, be able to reach the third layer.”

[1]

>>6129664

“Really?” you remark, raising an eyebrow. If your calculations are correct, and they usually are, that would leave her with, at most, the Sixth Lesson. Considering her studies, and her role as a Royal Oracle, you expected more than that.

“Believe it or not, most people find it quite difficult to attain even a single Lesson,” Elle reminds you, leaning a little closer to study your face, “We're not all like you, you know. When it comes to the Demesne, you're... quite remarkable.”

A brief silence falls, and then she hurriedly leans back. “What I meant to say is...” she quickly adds, “Um... I don't actually know what I meant. I wasn't really thinking.”

“I have that effect on people.”

Flustered now, Elle tugs at the high collar of her dress and struggles to gather her thoughts. As she struggles to find the right words, you suddenly recall Melinda's description of the Magna Mater's children – blessed or cursed, but destined for great things. A shudder runs through you, reaching all the way down into the pit of your stomach.

“I don't know. I can't explain it,” Elle says at last, shaking her head, “Let's just count ourselves lucky – otherwise, we'd be old and frail before finding Gratia.”

You nod slowly, although you sense a strange reticence in her words.

What isn't she telling you?

-

Leaving Elle to mull over a possible letter to her parents, you go and search out Ariel. You find her in a quiet parlour, stretched out on a low couch and gazing up at the ceiling. “I'm just wondering what's so interesting about this,” she remarks as you clear your throat, “Daniel seems to spend plenty of time lying like this.”

“Usually because he'd hungover,” you point out, “You're not hungover, are you?”

“I assume not,” Ariel agrees, sitting up and brushing her hair back into place, “You've got a very serious look on your face. What kind of trouble are you getting us into now?”

“How does the Mire of Phalaris sound?”

She lets out a low whistle. “Yes, that does sound like trouble. At the very least, it sounds like a lot of hiking,” she pauses, “Maybe too much hiking for little old me. I'm still not totally recovered from all that mountain climbing.”

Calling it “mountain climbing” is a bit of an exaggeration, but you see her point. “You don't have to come with us if you don't want to,” you assure her, “I'm not keeping you here, after all. If you ever want to go back home...”

“Where's “home”, though?” Ariel points out, “Seigfried House is nice and all, but it's not HOME. Fort Venger isn't an option, and going back to my direct family DEFINITELY isn't an option. If I wasn't here, I honestly don't know where I'd be. Is that weird?”

>A little weird, but it's none of my business. Stay where you please
>Not at all. I'm perfectly happy to have you around
>I do think you should see your real family more often, though
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>6129676

>A little weird, but it's none of my business. Stay where you please

Kinda curious about the senpai but they did do her dirty

“A little weird,” you admit, with a shrug, “But it's none of my business. Stay where you please.”

“I would have thought that it WAS your business, considering that I'm staying in your house,” Ariel counters, “Or is this you trying to be all cool and aloof? Some girls might like guys who are distant and cold, but I disagree.”

“What I mean is, there's plenty of spare rooms here. You don't take up much space, and you don't leave a mess.”

“That just makes me sound like a pet. Some girls might like that too, but-”

“Please don't finish that sentence,” you interrupt, your protests causing Ariel to grin broadly. You weren't even aware that you were playing a game, but it seems like she won. “Anyway,” you stress, giving her a glare, “Alex was writing up a list of supplies, so I should see how he's getting on.”

“Non-stop excitement, that guy,” Ariel muses, “But I suppose he's steady and reliable. Some girls-”

“I'm leaving.”

-

“Right. Supplies,” Alex begins, clapping his hands together, “First of all, I suggest getting some good quality tents. If you have to cheap out on everything else, spend the extra money to get good tents. Even if you find some solid ground to camp on, you'll wake up in the middle of the night with damp seeping in if you go cheap. Trust me.”

“It sounds like you've got some bad memories there,” you remark.

“That's because I do,” he grunts, “I used to camp out a lot as a boy. Every lesson I learned, I learned the hard way. But that's enough about me. The food on the list, that's per person per day. Be careful with the weight, it adds up on you. Now, water...”

With an attention to detail that borders on the maniacal, Alex goes through the shopping list. Nothing seems particularly unusual or difficult to find. Carrying it all, though, is another matter entirely.

“We should be able to pick this all up in Portsmaw,” Elle suggests, peering at the list, “I just hope that Major Ionescu is able to spare a few men for us. If the cipher on this map is correct, we'll need a Galsean to find... well, whatever it is that your father was looking for. No “child of Agoria” can find it, after all.”

“The Major certainly owes us one, after everything we've done for him,” you point out, “But if all his men are busy hunting down the rogues... well, we'll just have to go and ask him directly. I just hope...”

You just hope that there isn't some new disaster looming in Portsmaw. You don't dare give that thought words, for fear of somehow conjuring it into being, but as you glance at Elle you can tell that she's thinking the same thing.

“It'll be fine,” she assures you, and herself, “I'm sure it'll be fine.”

[1]

>>6129687

The train rattles as it hurtles towards Portsmaw, but despite the steady progress you can't help but feel impatient. Now that you've set your mind on exploring the Mire of Phalaris, you're keen to get stuck in. The thought of uncovering some vast mystery, hidden from the rest of the known world, has a tantalising appeal. For years now, men have wondered about the true fate of House Phalaris – usually in hushed tones, as if afraid to be caught discussing such things.

“All this time, there's been something out there. Hidden from all of us,” you murmur, “I can scarcely believe it. What about you?”

“I'm keeping an open mind,” Elle answers cautiously, “And before you ask, no. Even we oracles don't know anything more than anyone else. House Phalaris retreated into the depths of their great fortress and sealed the doors. They locked themselves away, and then one day their fortress was simply... gone. As far as anyone could tell, they were swallowed up by the mire.”

No matter how many times you hear it, the old story always sends a chill running down your spine. After everything you've seen, at the Iron Keep and beyond, you suspect that the truth is far stranger than anyone could guess.

-

There's a certain novelty to seeing a small group of Galsean men lingering on a street corner, talking quietly amongst themselves. The Portsmaw locals give them a cautious berth as they walk past, but there's no sign of open hostility. The Galseans all wear red armbands over their scruffy, mismatched clothes, perhaps as a vague nod towards a uniform. They give you respectful salutes as you pass, pressing clenched fists to their chests.

Though there is still a sentry standing guard at the entrance to the Galsean enclave, he seems especially relaxed. Barring another incident, you doubt he'll be here in a few weeks time. Entering, you quickly retrace your steps back to the Major's hovel. As you walk, you notice a general improvement in the conditions – many of the houses show signs of recent repair and improvement, while the previous air of tension and suspicion has somewhat lifted.

“We did this,” Elle whispers to you as you walk, patting you on the arm, “Maybe not all of it, but we certainly helped.”

“Now imagine what we'd be able to do if we really set our minds to it,” you mutter back, “We'd be running this whole kingdom.”

“I hope not. That sounds like an awful lot of hard work.”

“True,” you concede. Before you can say anything more, you spot Major Ionescu sitting outside his home – an uncommon sight. Raising a hand in greeting, he gives you a solemn nod and gestures for you to approach. “Major Ionescu!” you call out to him, “Always a pleasure!”

“Master Pale,” the Galsean replies in his doleful voice, “You want something from us, do you not?”

You tense up, only to relax as he breaks out in a rare laugh.

[2/3]

>>6129696

“Come. We have never shared a meal, have we?” Major Ionescu asks, leading you into his home, “Our meals are not luxurious, but it would please me to share what little we have. Sit. Eat. We can talk business afterwards.”

Murmuring thanks for the hospitality, you sit as a silent Galsean woman lays out a selection of dishes before you – thick slices of black bread, salted cuts of meat, and bowls of sour pickled vegetables, served with small glasses of some potent Galsean spirit. There's no particular formality about the way Major Ionescu eats, picking at each plate as he chooses.

“As you have seen, our lot in life has improved. Perhaps more than I had hoped, even in my brightest of dreams,” the Major remarks, “But not all of the news is good, I fear. Do you recall the man you captured, the Black Wanderer?”

“It would be hard to forget.”

“He has vanished,” the Galsean says bluntly, taking a sip of his liquor, “He was put in a carriage and sent north, to your capital. He never arrived. The carriage was found, attacked and burned, but no bodies. A strange case.”

“Oh dear...” Elle sighs, going pale, “Should we... is there anything we can do?”

Major Ionescu shakes his head. “My best men are... how do you say it, on the case? If there is a trail, they will find it. You would only get in their way,” he explains, “Besides. You have your own duties, do you not? You do not need further distractions.”

He's not wrong there. “We need to borrow some of your men, Major Ionescu,” you tell him simply, “As you've said, they are excellent trackers. We need to find something, and I think that only a Galsean can do the job.”

He considers this, slowly tugging at his moustache. “Your father once said much the same thing to me, Master Pale. I lent him some of my men, and they never returned,” he recalls, with a faint note of bitterness, “You would ask me the same thing?”

>I think you owe me a favour at this point, don't you?
>I'm a better man than my father. I'll bring your men back alive
>I know the risks, Major, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important
>I... (Write in)
>Other

>>6129704
>I know the risks, Major, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important
I wish we could promise to bring them back alive
At least it’s likely they won’t ALL die?

>>6129676
>Not at all. I'm perfectly happy to have you around
Would have been my vote, though I'm not averse to our boy being aloof and tsundere.

>>6129704
>I know the risks, Major, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important
I suppose you could say we're staking our life on it, eh?

“I know the risks, Major, and I can't promise that I'll be able to bring all of your men back in one piece. I wish I could, but then I'd just be lying to you,” you tell the Major, “But I wouldn't ask you this if it wasn't important. This isn't something that I ask lightly – after all, I'll be walking into the exact same dangers.”

Major Ionescu lets out a low hum as he thinks, finishing off the last few pieces of his meal. He's making you sweat, and enjoying every moment of it. You don't try to rush him. You are, after all, asking him to offer up some of his men to an uncertain fate. That's a little more significant than asking to read some of their old scrolls.

“I will ask for volunteers,” the Major says at last, downing the last of his liquor in a single gulp, “I will make no promises. If no men step forwards, I will not force them to join you. But if my men wish to accompany you, I will not stop them either. The choice will be theirs.”

“I see,” you reply slowly, carefully. That's not exactly the response you had been hoping for.

Maybe the Major can see that, because he lets out a low laugh. “You are a friend to our people, Pale. I do not think you will be disappointed,” he tells you, “But I will need time to share the word. Come back tomorrow, and we shall see who has answered your call.”

You nod, a little heartened by his assurances. “That'll have to do,” you decide, “Until then, Major.”

“Another drink?” he offers as you're getting up to leave, gesturing with the bottle.

“We'd better not,” Elle tells him, giving you a serious look, “We've still got business to take care of.”

-

“Volunteers...” you think aloud to yourself as you're leaving the enclave, “I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a little bit worried. What if nobody turns up? Or some people do, but they're of such low character that we'd be better off without them?”

“Or,” Elle suggests pointedly, “What if we get a good number of strong, healthy volunteers with good moral character?”

“Oh, I see. You're being optimistic again,” you remark, “Quite the enviable talent.”

Smiling softly to herself, Elle just walks on towards the city centre. Soon, you're searching out shops for the various supplies on Alex's list. There's no real sense of urgency, though, and you spend more time just idly wandering the city streets. After a while, though, you can tell that there's something distracting Elle. Cutting your search short, you enter a quiet teahouse and retreat into the privacy of a booth.

“So, are you going to tell me what's up, or are you going to make me guess?” you ask, “I should tell you, I don't like guessing.”

“It's...” Elle begins, her voice faltering almost immediately, “I've... not been entirely honest with you, Isambard.”

[1]

>>6129719

These words send a cold chill running down your spine. Not entirely honest about WHAT? And for how long?

“My parents are... Niceans. They believe very strongly in the Nicean Prophecies, and I was raised to believe them too,” Elle explains, picking her words carefully, “But they have a very particular set of believes. Niceans believe that the Godhead will, one day, give rise to a new deity – God, a loving and protective force that will bless mankind. Ah, um, I don't need to explain this to you, do I?”

“I'm aware of the prophecies,” you remind her, “God, the Godhead, even the wounded woman. What do your parents believe, exactly?”

“They believe that God already exists, hidden away at the very deepest depths of the Demesne. Only when someone is able to reach the lowest depths, will God be able to ascend to the world above,” the continues, “There's an old family prophecy, passed down from one generation to the next. It says that our family, the Legrasse family...”

“You'll be the ones to find this... God... and set it free?”

“No,” Elle answers, shaking her head, “But we'll serve and guide the one who will.”

You consider this in silence for a long moment, thinking back to your earlier conversation – your “remarkable” progress through the Demesne. “You think I'm the one in your prophecy,” you reply at last, “And you've been helping, encouraging me to delve into the Demesne because of that?”

“Not just that!” she insists quickly, shaking her head, “I didn't even believe it at first. I... I joined you because of King Albrecht's orders, to fulfil my duty to you. It's only recently that I've started to wonder if... if it might all be true. At first I didn't know how to explain it to you, but I felt so bad not saying anything. I couldn't keep it from you any longer.”

A long silence.

“I don't... want there to be any secrets between us,” Elle continues, her voice growing hushed, “I know that you probably think I have some ulterior motive now, and maybe I do. But I hope you can still find a way to trust me.”

>Of course I trust you. This doesn't make any difference
>I want to trust you. But now, I'm not so sure
>You've been using me for your own purposes. I can't just forget that
>I... (Write in)
>Other

>>6129719
>“I've... not been entirely honest with you, Isambard.”
Oh no...

>>6129730
>Of course I trust you. This doesn't make any difference
My father's corpse is said to lie in the fourth layer, and Gratia is also roaming somewhere on that layer. I don't know if I'll have any reason to be made to reach the furthest depths of that place afterward, but I'm certain somebody or something will inevitably give me that excuse. (sigh) If it were this easy to groom a lackey solely to reach the end of the Demesne to face the Godhead or retrieve God, you'd think the King or some other shadowy cabal would have achieved it long ago.

>>6129730
>Of course I trust you. This doesn't make any difference
Just don’t mention this to the rest of your family, they might get weird

Perhaps you've become jaded from your recent adventures, because you find yourself remarkably unmoved by Elle's confession. Of all the dark, terrible secrets she might have been keeping, coming out with something such as this feels like... nothing. Your immediate thoughts could be summed up by two simple words - “that's it?”

“Of course I trust you. This doesn't make any difference. This changes nothing,” you assure Elle, reaching across the table and touching her hand. It's a fleeting moment of contact, your fingers barely brushing together, but it's enough to make her eyes widen in surprise. “My father died in the fourth layer, and Gratia is supposedly hiding out there too. I don't see why I'd have any reason to go any deeper than that, but I'm sure someone or something will be only too happy to give me an excuse,” you sigh, “But I wonder if it'll really be that easy. If it was, I imagine someone else would've done it by now.”

“I don't know. I don't even know how true it all is. Not all prophecies are, um, correct. There's nothing malicious about it. Over the generations, rumour and myth can take on a life of their own,” Elle pauses, smiling nervously, “My parents... had really high hopes for me, you know. They say I was born under all sorts of favourable omens. So when I left the Choir, they nearly disowned me. If the prophecy really did come true, and I was the one to usher it in...”

“Your parents might finally be proud of you?”

“That's... that's not why I'm doing this!” she yelps, only to let out a little laugh as she realises that you're just teasing. “Although...” she continues, allowing herself a tiny smile, “I admit, I would like to see their reaction when they found out.”

“I'd rather they didn't find out. It would just be awkward for everyone involved,” you remark, “I've got enough problems, without having to worry about your family's strange cult.”

A pause.

“No offence intended,” you add.

“None taken,” Elle assures you, her smile growing a little more confident, “They ARE strange – I just never realised it until I left home. But then, I think most families are like that.”

“No kidding,” you laugh, “I'll tell you what, I'll make you a deal. So long as you don't try and get me involved in weird cult business, we'll say no more about this whole thing. We'll pretend that this conversation never needed to happen.”

“I'll take that deal.”

-

Elle seems like a different person as you leave the teahouse, her gaze firmer and her head held high. She had hidden it well, but now you realise just how much the tiny secret had been weighing on her. With her conscience unburdened, you can return to your shopping with renewed focus. Soon, you're looking at waterproof boots and backpacks as if nothing at all had happened.

[1]

>>6129730
>Of course I trust you. This doesn't make any difference
We thought she was doing one duty. Turns out she's doing two. We already knew she was religious, too.

I would like to mention that if Calamity allows a perosn to shortcut their way down, it implies weird things about any savior at the bottom...

>>6129773
drat, I'm late...

>>6129773

“I think we should get a good lantern too,” Elle says suddenly, “Gas or voltaic, it doesn't really matter. It's not on Alex's list, but I think it'll be dark, wherever we're going.”

“I think so too,” you reply, your voice perfectly neutral, “Especially if it's night.”

“You know what I mean,” she pouts, examining a particularly large lantern. Nodding with apparent approval, she adds it to your growing pile of supplies. It's getting to be quite the haul, and you've only covered two people. Depending on how many volunteers Major Ionescu is able to scrape together, you might end up needing significantly more. “Now, tents,” Elle continues, “Gosh, they're certainly not cheap!”

“Alex did say they're worth the expense,” you remind her, “I don't want to wake up with a wet backside. I'm willing to tolerate a great many hardships, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Mm, I know. But still, maybe we can save a little money. Here, look at this,” she points, “This tent should fit two people, and it's a good deal cheaper than two individual tents!”

A silence falls as you look up to the tent she points you, reading the measurements listed. While it might claim to fit two people, you'd practically be sleeping on top of each other. Looking at the measurements again, then looking back to Elle, you can see that she's thinking the same thing. The silence draws out, each of you wordlessly daring the other to make the first move.

“...I'm just kidding!” Elle laughs at last, her nerve breaking first, “The budget can easily stretch to two tents, it's no worry at all!”

“Who said I was worried?” you counter, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, no, I wasn't...” fumbling for words, Elle slowly turns red.

“Excuse me!” you call out to the shopkeeper, even as Elle flails and stammers, “We'd like two tents please!”

>Going to pause here, I think. Scheduling is a big crap this weekend – I won't be able to run tomorrow, but I should be back online for a session on Monday. Next week should be better though
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>6129784
Thanks for running!
Praying the Legrasse family has very little in common with the main Martense branch right now

>>6129784
Elle remains best girl, in spute of strong efforts by Ariel and even Juno.

Thanks for running, QM!

>>6129784
Cheers! Also, we should definitely ask Alex about that old friend he ran into, something interesting there for sure...

>>6129784
Thanks for running.
That's 3/4 who have some kind of baggage thanks to a prophecy. Juno did say that the four of us are similar, so Ariel could likely have one guiding her too. There's also a daddy issues joke in there.

>>6129939
Ariel does uncannily resemble a Pale more than a Tielhard...

>>6129994
We could make her an honorary Pale after all this, if she lives. How would Gratia like having a Teilhard cousin that's actually nice and not an edgelord like the rest of the Pales?

>>6129997
+1, she really can stay over at our horse forever.

>>6130022
We don't have a horse yet

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For all your talk of moving on, of putting the matter of Elle's strange family behind you, you keep wondering. Could there really be a God slumbering in the lowest layer of the Demesne? As impossible as it might seem, it's no more or less likely than any of the other wild theories you've heard. Until someone actually reaches those final depths and returns to tell the tale, the possibility cannot be discounted.

Could that person be you? It seems likely, or at least possible, that your father was trying to reach those final depths. Are you supposed to inherit his mission too? And if the stories are true, and God truly does lie at the bottom of the Demesne, would it look fondly upon someone like you, who has embraced the power of Calamity to force their way forwards?

Always questions, never answers. This, perhaps, is the curse of Insight – no matter how hard you search, you can never find the truth.

-

When you return to the Galsean settlement, you see that your fears were unfounded. Three volunteers stand waiting for you, milling about with a kind of restless energy. One of them you recognise as Mihail, but the other two are strangers to you. The first is a large man, larger than most Galseans, with a shaven head and the face of a thug. The other is a young woman, as sharp and pointed as a dagger.

“You are popular indeed, Pale,” Major Ionecsu murmurs, studying the volunteers from afar, “At first, there were far more than just these three. I have done you the favour of selecting the best. Most of the others were young pups, unskilled but eager to prove themselves. Enthusiastic, yes, but a poor choice for travelling companions. These three, though, should suffice.”

“Mihail too?” you ask quietly, nodding to the young man.

“Hrm,” the Major grunts, “I asked for him to stay, but he insisted. Should you wish to take him, I will not object. Whatever my wishes, it is his choice to make.”

“And who are these others?” Elle asks, looking at the other two.

“Usik,” the Galsean begins, gesturing to the man, “He is, perhaps, not the best tracker amongst all our people. But he is strong, and determined. When I asked for volunteers, and warned of the risks, he wished dearly to be chosen.”

He certainly looks like he could be useful for carrying the supplies, at least. Judging by the size of him, he could could probably carry the weight of two men.

“And this is Alina,” Major Ionescu continues, nodding towards the young woman, “She is a skilled tracker and hunter, if a little rash. She wished to join the Rangers, like so many of our men, but was denied. Now, I think, she wishes to make herself useful.”

Rash, impulsive... that might be dangerous, where you're going. “Can I talk with them?” you ask.

“By all means,” he assures you.

[1/2]

>>6130268

“Friend!” Mihail calls out, greeting you with a cheerful wave, “I hear that you are going on an adventure!”

“I'm not sure I'd call it that,” you warn him, “It could be dangerous. This isn't a decision to take lightly.”

“I know, I know,” he admits with a foolhardy smile, “But when I heard that you were looking for help, I could not say no. We Galseans owe much to you, Pale, and I will be happy to return the favour. Besides...” He pauses here, and gives you a wink. “I have always wanted to see more of your land. This, finally, will give me a good reason.”

You give him a non-committal grunt, then move on. Usik watches you carefully, his piggish eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring you up. “Master Usik,” you begin, “Why did you volunteer?”

“I do my duty,” he rumbles, his voice like rocks grinding together, “You are a friend to our people, as your father was. When friends ask, we answer.”

“...Did you know my father?” you ask carefully, something in his voice catching your attention.

“I know OF him,” Usik answers, falling into a sullen silence.

Sensing that you're not going to get anything more from him, you move on to Alina. She snaps into a curt salute as you approach, slamming one clenched fist into her breast. “Master Pale!” she announces, a stilted formality in her voice, “I would be honoured to be your guide!”

“I understand that you were rejected by the Rangers,” you mention, the words causing her eyes to harden, “Can you tell me why?”

“I can track and fight as well as anyone else, but they would not accept me because I am a woman,” she answers, a suppressed anger causing her voice to shake, “In the home islands, it would not happen. But here, I am bound by your rules. Your customs. You travel with a woman too, I see. You would not reject me so easily, I hope.”

“We'll see,” you tell her. While you can't fault her enthusiasm, there's something faintly abrasive about her. It's like she holds a grudge against the whole world – not that you can really blame her.

With a final nod, you return to Major Ionescu. “Well?” he asks quietly, “If you so wish it, I can release all three into your service. Many of my best men are occupied elsewhere, but I believe these three will suffice.”

>I'll take them, all three of them
>I won't need all three of them, just... (Who?”
>There's something else... (Write in)
>Other

>I was able to get some time for a single post today – I'll leave the vote open and check back tomorrow to see how things look. We can bring along one, two or all three of the Galseans, as you see fit.
>See you all tomorrow!

>>6130269
>I'll take them, all three of them
The more the merrier?

>>6130286
+1
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMFFfsXLlbA

>>6130269
>>I won't need all three of them, just... (Who?”
Usik and Alina

Mihail seemed plenty uncomfortable with the idol business last time, this is looking to be even worse.

Unless we want to grab that girl working in the museum, these two will do.

>>6130031
*house
Autocorrect wants us to be a wandering, homeless cowboy or knight.

>>6130269
>I'll take them, all three of them

>>6130269
>I'll take them, all three of them

Our retinue grows - as befits the Lord of a great house

>>6130269
>I'll take them, all three of them

>>6130269
>I'll take them, all three of them
What an interesting group we're turning into.

File: Mihail Ionescu.jpg (254 KB, 1024x1024)

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“What do you think?” you murmur to Elle, “Anyone catch your eye?”

“Hmm,” she muses, studying Usik with a dubious eye, “I'm not sure about that one. He seems... violent.”

“We are, by nature, a violent people,” Major Ionescu points out, “I know Usik. When the Lliogor descended upon the home islands, he fought as well as any man. There are many here who may not have survived if not for him.”

“I didn't mean-” Elle stammers.

Major Ionescu silences her with a gesture, shaking his head. No offence was intended, and no offence was taken. Before you can get distracted even further, you return to the three volunteers as they talk quietly amongst each other. They all turn as you approach, looking your way with a bland curiosity. “Good news. You're hired,” you tell the trio, “Get your supplies ready, and we'll leave at noon.”

-

Leaving Portsmaw, first by train and then by carriage, you find yourself sneaking glances at the Galseans. Considering that this is their first time seeing the wider world outside their enclave, their reaction is strangely muted. You suspect that it's a kind of natural caution, a reluctance to draw too much attention to themselves. They attracted more than a few curious stares on the train, although fortunately that was all.

The carriage can only take you so far, of course, before the difficult terrain so typical of the Mire of Phalaris makes further travel impossible. You stop at a tiny village on the very edge of Pale territory, a place called Waycrest, and haggle with one of the locals for the use of their spare rooms for the night. It's a surprisingly large house for such a tiny village, perhaps the last remnants of some faded noble family. Whatever the reason, it gives you plenty of space and a solid roof over your head. Considering that this might be your last taste of civilisation for a while, you plan on making the most of it.

As the Galseans are settling into their borrowed rooms, you catch Mihail on his own. “I know it might be a little late to be saying this,” you tell him quietly, “But it's not too late to change your mind. Where we're going, things could get... strange. If you're not prepared for that-”

“No. I can do this,” Mihail interrupts, shaking his head, “One day, perhaps, I will need to be a leader for my people, yet I have had scant experience. Not good, yes? So you see, I have to do this.”

“I won't pretend to know how things work in your homeland, but I think I understand,” you reply, “It's difficult, having to live up to a family name.”

Mihail nods slowly, lapsing into a thoughtful silence. “Well, anyway,” you continue, changing the subject before the mood can sour any further, “How's Melinda?”

“Ah. Busy, always busy,” the Galsean answers with a rueful smile, “I told her that you were looking for volunteers – never have I seen her so scared!”

[1/2]

>>6130898

The next morning, you bid a reluctant farewell to the trappings of civilisation and set out for the Mire of Phalaris. Alina leads the way, occasionally glancing at a copy of your maps, while you carefully follow her path. You had thought that you were prepared for a difficult journey, but within the first few hours of travel, you realise that you were wrong. The ground underfoot is soft and clinging, and you find yourself having to tug your feet free with every step you take. Faced with such exhausting work, you're very glad that Ariel had the good sense to stay behind.

You have to trust that Alina knows where she's going, for there are seldom few landmarks to guide you. The land stretches out around you like a monotonous canvas of rank decay, occasionally broken by a dead, hollow tree or a lumpy boulder rising out of the swamp. A heavy mist clings to the ground, cutting your visibility down even further. More than once, you think you catch a faint glimpse of movement from within the thick fog, but every time to turn to look there is nothing to be seen.

Time means little in a place like this, but gradually you see the light fading from the sky. Alina seems to read your thoughts, gesturing towards a slightly raised section of ground. Hurrying as best as the cloying mud will allow, you follow her lead and arrive at a section of mercifully solid ground. “We should camp here,” she announces, breaking her long silence, “Might not find another chance before we lose the last of the light.”

“Agreed,” you tell her, “Settle in, everyone. Make yourselves comfortable.”

-

You're able to salvage enough wood from the surrounding mire to build a campfire, although is burns with a damp, listless flame. Setting up the tents is a farce all of itself, but you finally manage to get them up before the daylight fails completely.

Elle retires early, too exhausted for words, and leaves you with the Galseans. They sit far apart, barely looking at each other let alone talking. Alina sits by the fire, toying with an old revolver, while Usik lurks at the very edge of the camp, staring off into the blackness. Mihail is the only one who seems to notice that the others exist, casting the occasional nervous glance at them. The pressures of leadership, such as they are, are starting to weigh on him.

>It's late, and you have another long walk tomorrow. Better to rest while you can
>It looks like Mihail could use someone to talk to. It might ease his nerves
>Usik hasn't said a word since you departed. Perhaps you can coax something out of him now
>Alina has been guiding you so far. Maybe you should check in, see how she feels about the journey
>Other

>>6130899
>Alina has been guiding you so far. Maybe you should check in, see how she feels about the journey

>>6130899
>Usik hasn't said a word since you departed. Perhaps you can coax something out of him now
Learn something before the inevitable

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If you're going to be travelling with these people, you decide, you should probably try and get to know them a little. At least then you'll be able to properly mourn them when things go horribly wrong. You're exaggerating, of course, but the possibility remains. Considering that Alina has been guiding you thus far, you should start with her. Maybe she's uncovered some wondrous insight while you've been walking.

“Miss Alina,” you begin, sitting down opposite her, “What do you think about the journey so far?”

Alina looks up, peer at you through the dancing campfire flames. “This place is good for us,” she says, her voice quiet and clipped, “Flat land, few obstacles or cover. Even with the fog, it would be hard for anyone to ambush us.”

“Oh. That's... good,” you remark, “I hadn't actually considered the possibility that anyone would put in the effort to ambush us all the way out here. I'm not even sure who WOULD ambush us. Someone with entirely too much time on their hands, I suppose.”

The Galsean woman just stares at you, as if your words had passed entirely over her head. “Maybe we won't be ambushed,” she concedes after a long silence, “But maybe we will.”

Those two possibilities do, in fact, cover things pretty well.

“Back in the home islands, I found a strange place. I was just a girl, roaming the forest. The place had been burned. It had happened a long, long time ago, but nothing grew there. I told my parents, and they ordered me to never visit that place again. It was a BAD place,” Alina continues, the words suddenly spilling from her lips, “This place, it reminded me of that. This is a bad place too.”

As you're processing these words, Alina gets up and slinks away into her tent. You watch her leave, then feel a prickle as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Turning, you see Usik staring out at you from the outer edge of your camp. The firelight just barely reaches him, half shrouding his face in shadow.

“Do you think this is a bad place too?” you ask, moving a little closer, “Like she does?”

“Yes,” he says bluntly, “But it makes no difference. Many places are bad, haunted. Many people are bad too.”

“And haunted?”

“Haunted too,” Usik nods slowly, then falls silent.

His stillness, his silence, reminds you of some ancient statue. Looking at him now, you can almost imagine moss crawling across his impassive features as they slowly, slowly crumble away to dust. “Major Ionescu said you fought the Lliogor with him,” you state suddenly, saying the first thing that comes to mind in order to break the silence.

“I did,” Usik answers, in his usual unhurried pace, “You haven't.”

“No. The last time the Lliogor reached our shores was before I was born,” you agree, “Fortunately for me, I suppose.”

[1]

File: Usik.jpg (345 KB, 1024x1024)

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>>6130918

“You, your people. You think the Lliogor are savages. Barbarians. You're wrong,” Usik continues, raising a hand to point one fat finger at you, “They are smart. They learn. When they first landed on the home islands, they died in the forests. They died alone, and in fear. But they learned. They used the forests against us. You could not imagine it, being hunted in your own homeland.”

A deep anger throbs beneath Usik's words, and for once you're left grasping for a snappy response. “No,” you admit at last, “I couldn't.”

Usik just grunts, turning away to stare back out into the night. You linger for a moment more, to see if he's got anything else to say, then retreat to your tent.

-

The next morning, you have a quick meal drawn from the supplies you brought and set out for another long slog. It's brighter than the previous day, at least, with much of the mist having dispersed overnight.

Before arriving at the Mire, you vaguely wondered if you might be able to hunt some game in order to bolster your supplies. Now, you see that you were wrong – the birds and beasts seem to have abandoned this place entirely, and even insects are nowhere to be seen. It's not just that this place is dead, it seems to reject the very idea of life.

Mud squelches underfoot as you follow Alina's trail, the monotonous process of walking soon numbing your thoughts. Losing track of time, you couldn't say how long it is before something rouses your attention once more.

“I must confess, I've been having... doubts,” Elle admits, lurching a few steps forwards to stand beside you, “What could your father have been looking for out here?”

“I've been asking myself the same thing. Some lost secret of House Phalaris, perhaps?” you suggest with a shrug, “I can't even say that we'll know it when we see it because, well-”

“We won't see it,” she finishes for you, nodding ahead to Alina, “She will, I hope. But what if she doesn't know what to look for? Even with the map, we may still be as good as lost.”

“Let's wait and see before having a crisis of faith, okay?” you tell her, gesturing around at the mire surrounding you, “Just relax a little. Enjoy the stroll through this wonderful scenery and let me worry about everything else.”

“Wonderful scenery? That's-” Elle repeats, but she doesn't get the chance to finish her thought.

“Got something ahead!” Alina hisses, holding up a clenched fist. Even before you join her up ahead, you see what she's talking about – the faint silhouette of ruins, blocky buildings and a listing, half-collapsed tower. “This is not on the map,” she remarks, waving the paper at you, “Was this what you were looking for?”

“No, I don't think so,” you murmur, studying the map, “The remains of some old Phalaris town, I suppose. Long, long abandoned.”

[2/3]

>>6130927

You see a few more signs of life – albeit life that has long since departed this place – as you approach the ruined town. A few wooden posts jut from the swamp, the remains of some raised bridge or footpath, and on one occasion you find a toppled signpost. Time has since erased anything written on the sign, but you still feel vaguely encouraged by the sight. At one time, people travelled through this area and used the sign for guidance.

As you arrive at the decayed settlement, you see that there was more to it than you originally thought. Many of the houses are half-sunk into the mud, their own weight inexorably pulling them deeper into the more, but a few of them, perhaps built on firmer ground, remain. Time has been unkind to them, of course, but they haven't collapsed completely.

“Might get a good view from that tower,” Alina suggests, pointing to the leaning monument.

“Yes, perhaps,” Mihail points out, “And you can enjoy that view as you fall to your death, yes? It does not look stable to me. Not safe at all.”

Usik, as you expected, offers no opinion on the matter.

>We're getting distracted. We need to forget this place and move on
>Alina, go up to that tower and take a look. See what you can find
>We should search the village. It'll take time, but there might be something left behind
>Other

>>6130930
>Take the time to reinforce a building. Even if we don't use it as a fort for an ambush, having a sturdy place to camp will be good for the trip back.

>>6130930
>>We should search the village. It'll take time, but there might be something left behind
No tower climbing, we can’t lose Alina so early

“This place might be of use to us,” you decide, looking around at some of the more intact dwellings, “A base of operations, of sorts, if we can't find anywhere else to set up camp. We might not need it now, but it might be useful on our way back out. And if we do run into trouble, whatever form that trouble may take, we could take shelter in the houses here. Some of them look sturdy enough.”

“Is he normally this paranoid?” Mihail whispers loudly to Elle, his words causing Alina to let out a tiny snort of laughter.

“I think it is wise,” Usik argues, giving the other Galseans a scowl, “Do you really think this place is safe? It has swallowed some of our people already, yes? Or do you think they are hiding here, living happy lives?”

His words shock the rest of the Galseans into silence, causing them to cast uneasy looks about each other. “Okay, you heard the man!” you announce, “Let's get to work. We'll search the area and find the best house, then see what we have to do to fix it up. If we have to camp out here tonight, so be it. Alina – leave the tower. I think Mihail is right, I don't trust that thing not to collapse completely once you set foot inside it.”

“Yes. Understood,” Alina answers, with a faint hint of relief.

-

There's something eerie about the ruined settlement, but you can't put your finger on exactly what. There's no suggestion of violence, nothing to indicate that the people here were driven out by conflict, yet you can't shake the feeling that something terrible happened here. Maybe not here in this exact settlement, but across the whole region.

A bad place, like Alina said.

You decide to focus on the largest intact house in the village. You assume it belonged to some local leader at some point, because it seems to be build stronger than any of the other homes. The ceiling has collapsed in a few places, causing the upper level to pool with damp, so you limit yourselves to the ground floor. It actually has a functional door, although the wood feels soft and spongy to the touch – it's hard to imagine it stopping a determined attacker.

“Isambard?” Elle calls out softly from within the decaying manor. You find her in a darkened room at the rear of the manor, staring at the degraded remains of an oil painting. You can't make out what the painting is supposed to show – buildings, perhaps, blandly functional towers of grey stone and glass. They look a little bit like some of the tenements in Portsmaw, albeit stripped down to the brutal minimum.

“To my faithful retainer, from Lady Phalaris,” Elle reads aloud, squinting at the tarnished brass plaque set into the frame. Then, with her eyes growing unfocused and her voice deepening, she continues. “Were the Phalaris driven into exile?” she wonders aloud, “Or did they choose to leave?”

[1]

>>6130927
I'd take tye Lliogar to resemble the Mongolian Geeat State/Golden Horde and tye Galseans to be Slav anaalogues, but this description reminds me a lot of the Chinese and Japanese incursions into Taiwan and the surrounding Austronesian islands.

>>6130959

You don't sleep well, that night. You don't think anyone does. On more than one occasion, you're woken by the faint groan of rotten floorboards creaking underfoot as someone wanders through the deserted manor. At one point you wake to the faint scream of night owls, the sound seeming to come to you from some vast distance. When the first hints of morning's light appear, you find yourself letting out a sigh of relief.

“Did anyone... hear anything strange last night?” you ask carefully, setting aside your half-eaten breakfast.

“You probably heard me,” Elle answers with an apologetic smile, “I just couldn't get settled. I was roaming about, looking for... well, um, I don't actually know what I was looking for. I thought that the Emanations might provide guidance, but...”

“Giving you the silent treatment, huh?” you remark, shaking your head, “Fine, whatever. It doesn't matter – we'll just have to get by without them.”

-

You take the cautious decision to leave some of your supplies behind in the manor, allowing you to move on ahead with lighter packs. You hardly imagine you need to worry about thieves or scavengers in a place like this, and it'll help you cover a little more ground. The Galseans are quiet as they march, as they normally are, but Elle seems more withdrawn than normal. Her expression is thoughtful, uneasy. It might be the atmosphere getting to her, or...

“Something on your mind?” you ask quietly, lowering your voice so that the others won't overhear.

“Mm, that's right,” she murmurs, “Last night, when we were looking at that painting... I've never heard the Emanations like that before. It was as if THEY were asking ME a question. That's... well, I shouldn't need to tell you that it doesn't work that way.”

“Maybe they're just as curious as we are,” you suggest, forcing a smirk, “I mean, it's a good question. Where are the Phalaris now?”

If the Emanations don't know the answer to that, it would suggest that the Phalaris are somewhere, or somehow, outside or beyond the natural order. Whatever that means.

-

“We're here,” Alina announces simply, coming to a halt so suddenly that Mihail walks a few paces beyond her before stopping as well.

“Here?” he repeats, “Where is here?”

“Here, on the map,” she explains, waving the paper map and gesturing around here, “This is it. This is what you wanted to find.”

You look around, searching for any hint of anything beyond the endless expanse of swamp. Logically, you know that – if your father's cipher was accurate – you won't actually be able to see anything, but you search for it nonetheless. “Spread out, you three,” you order, “Search this whole area.”

“Search it for what?” Mihail asks, casting Alina a nervous glance.

“I don't know!” you snarl, frustration creeping into your voice, “Anything and everything!”

[2/3]

>>6130967
*I'd taken the
*Great State

>>6130976
I guess a big sign saying treasure here was too much to hope for

>>6130269
>I'll take them, all three of them

We are using the powers of devil worship to free God. This cannot possibly explode in our faces.

>>6130980
Bit late to that vote, anon.

>>6130976

Setting down your backpack to use as a rough cushion, you sit and watch as the Galseans wander aimlessly around the swamp. As they walk, you try and look for anything out of the ordinary. Even if you can't see it directly, whatever IS is, you still hold out a vague hope that you might be able to sense something – or perhaps even the absence of something.

But no. The ground here is, perhaps, slightly more uneven than the otherwise flat swamplands, but even that might just be a trick of the eye. Perhaps it was always this bumpy, and you're just looking for something that isn't there?

With a soft sigh, Elle sits down beside you. There's no use in her searching too – as a fellow child of Agoria, she's just as blind as you. You're vaguely relieved to see that she's just as frustrated as you are, even if she IS hiding it a little better. “Be honest with me,” she whispers, “Was your father the sort of man who would send people chasing off after a false lead? Is that the sort of thing that would amuse him?”

“I don't think anything amused him,” you answer, letting out a heavy sigh, “I don't know. If he left a false lead at all, it would've been big and obvious – a very clearly worded diary entry, left right where we could find it. This map was well hidden in the Demesne, and it was in a code that only his closest friends could decipher. No, there's something here. We just... we just need to be patient.”

“Mm,” Elle agrees softly, “...I should've brought a book.”

“I think that was the only thing Alex DIDN'T put on his list,” you remark with a wry smirk. You start to say something else, only to bite off your words as you see Mihail frantically waving to you.

“Hey, HEY!” he calls out, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting to you, “Stairs! We've found STAIRS!”

>It's a bit early, but I'm going to pause things here – it's a convenient stopping point. I'll be running again on Saturday, same approximate starting time
>Thanks for playing!

>>6130990
Thanks for running!

Why’s it always gotta be the spooky underground caverns

>>6130997
The truth is buried beneath ages of manufactured history.

>>6131010
Wasn’t there some element of this in Moloch’s last quest too?

I vaguely remember an entire city being stolen away by spirits. Anyone who managed to look upon it would also be taken. Maybe something similar happened to the Phalaris, since they apparently share a world.

>>6131022
That would be more on the side of the demense and the emanations.

This one is sounding a bit more like the ancient city with the ritual for creating a new god or something.

File: House Phalaris.png (1.09 MB, 800x1200)

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A long silence descends as you glance towards Elle and meet her eyes. You see confusion in her gaze, but also curiosity. She's thinking the exact same thing that you are – how could there be stairs here, of all places?

Then, without a word being said, you both leap to your feet and snatch up your backpacks. Hurrying down from your perch, you run towards Mihail only to slow your pace as he frantically waves his arms at you. “No no no, wait wait wait!” he yelps, “Not safe, friends, slow down!”

Slowing to a halt just a few paces away from him, you realise something very strange – he stands partly submerged in the mud and filth, the tops of his boots hidden from sight, but he doesn't seem the least bit troubled. Oblivious to your confusion, Mihail extends his hand to you. “Here, friend. Take my hand, then slowly – SLOWLY – walk. One step at a time, and not too fast.”

“Don't believe your lying eyes,” you mutter to yourself, grabbing Mihail's arm and allowing him to guide you forwards. Mud squelches under your first step, then your second, but your third step...

It's impossible to describe the exact feeling, the sensation of two contrasting feelings happening all at once. You feel soft mud under your boot, exactly as you might expect, but you also feel hard stone as your foot sinks deep into the filth. Mihail nods silently, gesturing for you to move forwards. You do so, stumbling and nearly falling as you find that the solid ground is nowhere near where you expected it to be. Though the surface of the mire remains unchanged, your foot sinks far deeper than you thought possible.

“Stairs,” Mihail repeats, “Ah... perhaps it might be easier to close your eyes?”

-

With Elle clutching tightly to your arm, and Mihail leading you, you step blindly into the abyss. A shrill panic nags at you as you descend, the rational part of your mind reminding you that – as far as your eyes could see – you should be fully submerged in the mud by now. Despite what your body is telling you, though, you certainly don't FEEL as if you're drowning in mud.

Eventually curiosity gets the better of you, and you open your eyes to take a peek. The stairwell is surprisingly unadorned, surprisingly... normal looking. If not for the fact that you marched through a vast swamp to get here, you'd think you were in a dark, slightly plain house of no particular character.

Elle gasps softly from behind you as she too opens her eyes, looking about in confusion. She says nothing else, though, as Mihail leads you down the last few steps and arrives at a door.

“Should we knock?” he asks, forcing a grin. When you shake your head, he shrugs and slowly pushes the door open.

[1/3]

>>6133992

While it may be convenient, for a mansion long submerged in mud and filth to still have working voltaic lights, you're understandably disturbed by the sight. Stepping onto the upper balcony above the atrium of a tastefully decorated, if a little aged, mansion, you creep around the outer edge of the room before descending another staircase. For the first few moments, you're held frozen by indecision before you slowly look around.

Doors, first of all. One wall has a large, elaborate door that you assume was once the main entrance. Now, a heavy set of iron bars has been mounted over them to block any attempts at entrance or exit. Directly opposite the “entrance” is another set of doors, these ones leading deeper into the manor. These doors are just as strange, with no handles or obvious means to open them. Usik brushes past you and pushes against the doors, but even his straining muscles aren't enough.

Stepping back from the doors, you turn around and look up. A decorative clock is mounted above the door, the hands fixed on midnight. Even waiting for a few minutes, counting down the seconds in your head, the clock doesn't show any signs of movement. It's one of the few pieces of decoration on the walls – here and there you see faded marks where portraits and paintings might have once hung, but they must have been removed a long time ago. Taken deeper into the manor, perhaps? You imagine the family in desperate retreat, taking whatever treasures they can and fleeing deeper into the manor. But fleeing from what?

“Look,” Elle murmurs, touching your arm before pointing back to the floor. You walked over it without even looking, but now you see it – an intricate mural set into the marble tiles, depicting a cavorting bull beneath an inscription in Classical Agorian. “By human hands alone,” she translates, “That's... an old motto used by the Phalaris family. Very old, before they were blessed by the Ingenuity. That means...”

“This is their fortress,” you finish for her, “When House Phalaris sealed themselves away, they didn't vanish from the world as we thought. They were right here the whole time.”

“Then...” Elle asks softly, “Where are they?”

“Further inside, maybe,” Alina suggests, nodding towards the inner door, “Questions later, especially questions with no easy answer. I saw other doors. Here, see?”

You turn to follow Alina's pointing finger. Hidden in the shadows beneath the balcony, you see two more paths – one with the door hanging wide open, the other sealed tightly shut. Peering through the open door, you see a decidedly shabby space compared with the main hall. Servant's quarters, you assume. Moving to the closed door, you reach out to the handle but Alina catches your arm before you can try it.

[2/3]

>>6133993

“Wait,” she whispers, pointing down to the tiled floor, “That symbol, see?”

You take another look at what you first assumed to be a meaningless scratch or scuff on the floor, finding a new sense of purpose in it. It's too structured to just be some random damage.

“Trail signs. Galsean,” the tracker explains, giving her colleagues a look, “No? Nobody else recognised it? Mihail?”

“I, ah, my attention was elsewhere,” Mihail stammers, waving his hands in a frantic gesture.

“Useless,” Alina mutters, shaking her head, “Our people were here, definitely, and left this sign. It means “sacred place”. A place best left alone.”

“Dangerous?” you ask carefully.

“No. Not necessarily,” the dark-haired woman shakes her head, “But a place to be respected. If we should enter, it may be an act of trespass.”

A brief silence meets this announcement, and it falls on Elle to speak first. “It must be a chapel,” she suggests, “It's hardly uncommon for a family to have their own private chapel, especially in an entrance hall like this.”

“So the neighbours could see it, and know how pious the owner was?” you remark, your words drawing a nervous grin from Mihail. “Well, whatever is is, we need to do something,” you add, “We didn't come all this way just to sit in an entrance hall and bicker.”

>We shouldn't go too far. Let's focus on a way to get that inner door open
>We should search the servant's quarters. They may have left something behind
>Even if we are trespassing, we should investigate this “sacred place”.
>I've got an idea... (Write in)
>Other

>>6133995
>We should search the servant's quarters. They may have left something behind

>>6133995
>We should search the servant's quarters. They may have left something behind

>>6133995
>We should search the servant's quarters. They may have left something behind
People who flee on the spot will always leave something behind in exchange for their lives

Admonished into silence, your companions say nothing for a brief moment. Alina scowls, seemingly doing her very best impression of a sulky teenager, while Mihail shifts his weight from one foot to another. Usik, naturally, says nothing – there's a part of you that wants to draw your gun and fire it at his feet, just to see if it might get a reaction from him. You won't do that, of course. You have some measure of restraint, after all.

“We should search the servant's quarters,” you decide at last, “They may have left something behind. Something we could use, or something that tells us what happened here.”

“I will go first,” Alina offers, shooting Mihail one last glare, “I can check for any dangers.”

If there are some booby traps left behind, for whatever reason, you suppose that it's better if she triggers them rather than you. Nodding for her to take the lead, you follow behind her as she creeps through the open door. Inside, the corridor stretches out for a short distance with several more doors waiting for your attention. Some are closed, but most hang ajar. Starting with the closest open door, Alina hesitates.

“This door was forced open,” she explains, kneeling down and pointing to some faint marks on the floor. “No lock on the door. They tried to brace it with something. That,” she murmurs, pointing to a broken wooden chair lying nearby before gesturing back into the hallway, “Something... someone was dragged out.”

You all stare at the scars on the floor for a while longer, all lost in your dark thoughts. Even with the barred door, something got inside to drag away the servants – unless the danger was already inside with them.

“They didn't know what was happening,” Elle whispers as you move to the next door, “Some of them played along, some of them tried to resist. It didn't make any difference.”

“Played along with what?” Mihail asks, his voice low, “Resisted what?”

Elle bites her lip, then shakes her head. “I don't know. I can just feel... I can feel their fear, their confusion,” she replies, “It left a scar on this place, no different to those marks on the floor.”

“Let's keep moving,” you tell her softly, touching her shoulder, “There's nothing we can do for them now.”

With a nod, the oracle moves on ahead of you. Alina lets her go, pretending to be busy with examining the marks on the floor. You follow a few paces behind Elle, only to lunge forwards at the sound of her scream. She recoils back out from one of the bedrooms as you approach, practically falling into your arms. She clings to you for a moment before her composure returns, and she lets out a nervous little laugh.

“I'm fine, I'm... okay,” she assures you, stepping back and gesturing towards the bedroom, “I just got a little bit of a fright, that's all.”

That's an understatement.

[1]

File: Discarded Mannequin.jpg (237 KB, 1024x1024)

237 KB JPG

>>6134026

Peering around the door, you see what frightened Elle so much. Lying on the bedroom floor is a discarded mannequin of some sort, lifelike in that eerie way of theirs. Kneeling down for a closer look, you move it around a little bit. It's heavier than you expected, with metal pieces beneath the porcelain skin. Judging by the complex, articulated joints, it would have been quite flexible – a child's toy, really, only scaled up to full human size.

“What is it?” Elle asks, “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

“It looks like a mannequin,” you tell her, stating the obvious, “I don't know, what else can I tell you? What it's for, what it was doing here... those are questions that I can't answer.”

“Ugh,” she murmurs, “I hate-”

Before she can finish that sentence, a grating shriek rings out from the main entrance. Instantly forgetting the mannequin, you leap to your feet and rush back to the hall. At first, you don't see any sign of what could have made such an unsightly sound, but then you look up towards the ceiling. Mounted high up in the corners are several human heads, all crafted from worn brass. Their mouths are sculpted to be wide open, with a dense metal mesh visible between their jaws. The screech continues for a moment more before dying suddenly, cut off to be replaced by a harsh, atonal voice.

“More visitors, is it?” the voice snarls, robbed of any identifying features by the grating, metallic quality of it, “My, it's getting very busy here all of a sudden.”

“Who are you? Show yourself!” you shout back, before glancing aside to Elle with a vaguely foolish feeling, “Do you think they can hear us?”

“Of course I can hear you!” the voice replies immediately, “Did you really think that you could escape my notice? You, who creeps and crawls through my corridors?”

Did they really have to make it sound so... weird?

“But I am a gracious host, and you have aroused my curiosity,” it continues, perhaps softening slightly, “Proceed. But remember, I will be watching you.”

With those final words, the brass heads let out another screech before lapsing into silence. That silence is soon broken by a groan of the inner doors grinding open, the clock above moving until the hands read one.

“It's funny, isn't it?” you remark, staring at the open door, “Before, I was wondering how we might get that door to open. Now, I almost wish it had stayed closed.”

“Stop whining,” Usik grunts, moving on ahead through the open door. You follow him with a muttered curse, stopping in your tracks once you see what awaits you within. Even Usik seems shaken, staring up at the ceiling in confused awe.

The entrance hall had been somewhat normal, almost too normal given the circumstances. But this inner chamber is anything but normal.

[2/3]

>>6134041

A short distance in front of you is another mannequin, this one bolted firmly to the floor. Like the mannequin you saw earlier, it has numerous complex joints set throughout its body. Unlike the other toy, however, this one has thick wires strung through metal loops across its body. Like a puppet's strings, the wires stretch up towards the ceiling, then loop down towards a set of cranks and wheels on one wall. To manipulate the puppet's limbs, you suppose, posing it like a doll.

But really, the mannequin is hardly the most impressive thing in the chamber. Emerging from the ceiling, suspended by great bundles of wires, is a massively oversized arm. It reaches down to point at the mannequin, a finger almost as long as you are tall stabbing out towards it.

Nobody speaks for a long while, each of you taking in the strange sights in your own ways. Thanks to the silence you can hear a distant sound of machinery, like a train's engine, throbbing somewhere else in the manor – further inside, deeper beneath you, all around you even. You strain your ears, trying to hear the sound a little more clearly, but then another metallic shriek rings out.

“We were nothing before the Ingenuity descended, whispering to us in our dreams and granting us inspiration,” the voice snarls, “That is how the history books remember us, is it not? That is, when they mention us at all. What you see before you is a... a representation, of sorts. Imagine it, honoured guests. Imagine how we felt, to be granted such a... blessing.”

“Are they testing us?” Alina asks, her voice taut with fear, “It's not fair... How are we supposed to know that?”

You leave her question unanswered, drawn over to the control on the far wall. The puppet jerks into life as you move a few of them, causing one arm to jolt up until it hangs, suspended, at waist level. It's clumsy work, but you think you could get the hang of it. All the while, you wonder what this is REALLY about. Does this voice, whoever it is, really care if you get the answer right or wrong?

Maybe not, but you don't see much choice other than playing along. Another sealed door lies at the far end of the room, and you expect that your unseen host is the only one with the means to open it. With that in mind, you start to pose the mannequin.

>Raise the puppet's hands in a gesture of pious gratitude
>Reach out the puppet's arms in a motion of grasping avarice
>Lower the puppet's arms in a gesture of stoic indifference
>Something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>6134047
>Slump the puppets arms in a pose of apathetic hopelessness

>>6134053
Clever. They sound bitter, yet they went along with it.

+1 to this.

>>6134047

>>6134053
+1

As you fiddle with the controls, you wonder again about what your host really wants. Perhaps they're just curious, seeing what they can learn from you with this strange experiment – a form of art therapy, in its own way. If you were to base your answer on the history books, then it's obvious. The puppet would be rapt with awe and joy, praising the Godhead and the Emanations with all its might. But you highly doubt that the truth was really so simple.

With that thought in mind, you quickly turn wheels and adjust levers until the puppet hangs slack. With its torso bent forwards and the arms hanging limply by its side, it casts an image of despondency – a sense of hopelessness, and apathy. Acceptance too, perhaps, the acceptance of one facing an inevitable fate.

Stepping back from the levers, you stare up towards the hidden speakers and gesture vaguely towards the puppet. Even when you're prepared for the grating shriek that follows, it still sends a shiver down your spine.

“Interesting, very interesting. I see that we have a cynic among us!” the voice spits, “I wonder – does that reveal more about YOU than it does US? Well, no matter. You've done as I asked.”

Even before the voice has finished speaking, the next set of doors swings open. As you start to approach, you see the clock advancing towards the second hour. You don't know what happens when the clock reaches twelve once more, and you'd rather not find out.

“We were building, and inventing, long before the Ingenuity revealed itself to us,” the voice adds suddenly, speaking slower now, “What did it teach us? Nothing. It taught us nothing. But suddenly, the high and mighty families were willing to accept our work. They welcomed us into their lands to build factories and lay railroads, safe in the knowledge that our work was sanctioned by the Godhead. Even as a child, I wondered – did the Ingenuity make us who we are, or did we make the Ingenuity?”

“Is this part of the test too?” you call out. Your question is met with a crash of metallic noise that might be a laugh, but nothing more. Grunting softly to yourself, you lead your companions through the next set of doors. Another hall awaits you, identical in design to the entrance hall you first saw, but... decayed, degraded. The walls have crumbled in some places, revealing churning metal machinery behind them. Pistons pump and gears whir, but the exact purpose remains unknowable. Perhaps the machinery has no function at all, but then why build it in the first place?

“Do amuse yourselves for a little while,” the metallic voice urges, “Make yourselves at home. I'm afraid that I won't be able to offer you anything to eat or drink, but I assume that you would have refused it regardless.”

An entirely correct assumption, in this case.

[1]

>>6134074
>despondency
God damnit
This was the word I was looking for when I wrote that in but it just wouldn’t come to mind

>>6134074

Picking a spot on the floor more or less at random, you sit and take out some of your rations for a quick meal. The bland food does little to raise your spirits, but it offers you a faint touch of normality. No matter how strange things might seem, you still need to eat and drink. You just hope you don't have to find a way of using the bathroom in this nightmarish place.

“I think, perhaps, we should consider... leaving,” Mihail suggests tentatively, already wincing as if anticipating your response, “This place is very... not good.”

“Very bad,” Elle corrects him.

“Mm, yes. Very bad,” he murmurs, nodding to himself, “Bad things have happened here.”

“Go if you want. I won't,” Usik grunts, raising one meaty fist in a half-hearted threat, “I still have a job to do, Mihail Ionescu. I will not abandon it.”

Mihail pales a little, then glances aside to Alina for support. She doesn't notice his pleading eyes, too focused on her own inner thoughts. She's just as afraid as he is, you can see that much without her needing to say anything, her stubborn pride doesn't allow her to show it openly. As if reaching some decision, she hurriedly stands. “I want to have a look around,” she announces, “Perhaps there are more trail signs. If our people made it this far, they may left us some clues.”

You and Usik join her, although Elle stays sitting with Mihail. “Don't go too far,” she warns, giving you a serious look, “And definitely don't go wandering off on your own.”

Flashing her what you hope is a reassuring smile, you follow Alina as she prowls around the second hall. Like the first hall, it has a closed door at the far end – a heavy metal door, with no handles and a clock above – and a pair of smaller doors on the side walls. You don't even bother with the large door, trusting that your host will open it when the time comes. Alina pauses at the door on the left, staring at a tiny symbol carved into the surface.

“This means...” she hesitates for a moment, “It is complicated, hard to translate exactly. I think “shelter, but signs of danger” would be close.”

“This seems to be the guest bedrooms,” you remark, pointing to a brass plaque set into the door, “That would fit with “shelter”, I suppose, and the “danger” part goes without saying.”

Alina lingers by the guest room door as you check the opposite end of the hall. The second door is unnamed, or rather the name has been obliterted from the brass plate set into it. When you try the door, it remains stuck firmly in the frame. Usik brushes you aside, planting his shoulder against the door and giving it a firm shove.

>>6134108

Confronted with the Galsean's massive strength, the door pops open on the first attempt. A stinging scent wafts out as the door opens, a faint medicinal smell that reminds you of your time in the Portsmaw infirmary. There isn't much to see, though, just a short length of corridor that ends in a second door.

“You're welcome,” Usik grunts, nodding vaguely towards the open door, “Try the next one yourself. I must check the bedrooms - our people were here, and I want to know what happened to them.”

Understandable. You're a little curious about the medicinal smell, though. It seems entirely out of place in a noble mansion, even one as strange as this. Were it the smell of machine oil or gunsmoke, you wouldn't have been surprised, but medicine... that's a whole other matter.

Glancing back towards the main hall, you see Elle locked in a hushed conversation with Mihail. The young Galsean looks a little calmer, but you wonder how long it might last. He's out of his depth, but then, aren't you all?

Enough procrastination. You need to do something. How else are you going to “amuse yourself”?

>This medicinal smell is curious. You should investigate
>You ought to stay with Elle and Mihail, see how they're holding up
>You should check out the bedrooms with Usik and Alina
>Other

>>6134120
>This medicinal smell is curious. You should investigate
If Mikhail is getting cold feet he can stay there or even go back up to the surface. Hell, we might not even need any Galseans now that we’re inside

>>6134120
>This medicinal smell is curious. You should investigate

Standing at the threshold, with the astringent smell tingling in your nostrils, you feel your curiosity grow. Mihail doesn't need you to hang around and babysit him, you decide. He can always return to the surface if he really feels the need – now that you've found your way into this place, he's served his purpose. You'll let him make up his own mind. For now, you've got a strange smell to investigate.

Entering the short corridor, you find that the inner door is also stuck. Fortunately it's not too bad this time, and you're able to open it with just the small cost of an aching shoulder. The medicinal smell grows stronger as you enter, blinking at the sudden brightness. The room is painted a faded white, the voltaic lamps above burning with a cruel intensity. Cluttered with various stacks of mouldering books and cases of medical instruments, the room immediately strikes you with a sense of unease.

You barely make it a handful of paces inside the room before the speakers above let out their customary groan. This time, though, it's a little quieter. You get the feeling that the others, back out in the nearby hall, are not part of this conversation.

“I have always believed that one can only learn so much by studying virtuous and lofty things,” the voice muses, “If you truly wish to understand the world, you must see both sides of it – the good and the evil, the natural order and unbound Calamity. We are raised to shun that which is rotten and foul, but why?”

“Consider decay. Putrescence,” it continues, “This is the inevitable fate that awaits all living things, yet we shy away from it. We treat it as something loathsome. Cowardice, really.”

You say nothing, focusing on picking a path through the makeshift infirmary. There are numerous dark stains on the floor that you take great pains to avoid, and racks of sharp tools bristle everywhere you look. At the far end of the room, you see the unmistakable shape of a body laid out beneath a white sheet. You start towards it, only for the voice to stop you dead in your tracks.

“Your father thought much the same as I do,” the voice mentions, almost casually, “Young Master Pale.”

“You spoke with my father?” you ask aloud, “What-”

“Later, Master Pale. Later. We'll continue this discussion later, when we can talk face to face,” it answers with a faint mocking note, before a blurt of static ends the conversation.

With nothing left to be said, you cautiously approach the body and draw back the sheet. The body has been cut open with surgical precision, the sight of the dry, faded viscera causing you to grimace. The corpse's face is not one that you recognise, but something about it is familiar to you. The blank, faintly artificial features are ones you've seen before – in the Demesne.

This body isn't a real human. It's a Denizen.

[1]

>>6134126
+1 to offering Mihail an out, privately, or publicly if he insists

>>6134120

>>6134143
Spooky, and fascinating. I somehow assumed the denizens were unable to leave, voluntarily or otherwise.

>>6134143

You stare down at the dissected Denizen for what seems like an eternity, forcing yourself to take in as many details as possible. You're no expert in anatomy, but even you can recognise that the Denizen's internal organs aren't... right. The heart is oddly shaped, bulging in all the wrong places, while the intestines are an aimless tangle. These are not organs that could sustain normal, natural life.

But that doesn't answer the important question – how could a Denizen be HERE, outside the Demesne?

-

Your head is still spinning when you return to join the others, sensing a thunderous mood hanging over them. Usik scowls deeply, as if his worst fears had been confirmed, while Alina casts the occasional nervous glance his way. The next door stands open, while the clock above the door stands at the third hour.

“I thought I told you not to go off on your own,” Elle scolds, giving you her best attempt at a stern frown.

“I don't think we're ever alone in this place,” you counter, gesturing vaguely towards the ceiling, “Anyway, I'm back in one piece. What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Usik answers bluntly, “Are we ready to move?”

“Almost. Just one little question. Mihail?” you nod back towards the entrance, the young Galsean nervously following you over for a more private conversation. “Are we good?” you ask him simply, “Because nobody is forcing you to be here. If you can't handle this, it's best that you leave while you still can. I don't think things are going to get any easier.”

For a moment, just a moment, Mihail looks as if he's about to accept your offer. Then, with a deep breath, he shakes his head. “No. I have to do this,” he insists, “You are here because of your father, friend. So am I. I would... lose face if I turned back now. Some things, when lost, are very difficult to get back.”

“Hm,” you murmur, lowering your voice a little more, “What's with Usik?”

“Ah,” Mihail looks vaguely glad to be changing the subject, “He found something, in the bedrooms. A pendant, I think. It belonged to a friend of his. That man, he is sure, is now dead. He is, ah, very angry. Be careful – he blames, I think, your father. Which means, in a way, he blames you too. Be very careful. And, ah, don't tell him that I told you. Please?”

You frown, carefully unsnapping your holster and making sure your revolver is close to hand. You'd rather not use it on the heavyset man, but if he forces your hand...

“Let's move,” you announce, returning to the others and waving an arm towards the open door ahead, “I'm sure our gracious host has something wonderful prepared for us. It would be a shame to keep them waiting.”

[2/3]

>>6134158

The second “test” is somewhat less grandiose than the first one. No giant limbs this time, at least, although it's no less uncanny. The grinding sound of machinery is louder here, immediately providing an irritating distraction. Ignoring it as best as you can, you focus on the mannequins spread out before you. A single Mannequin stands close to the entrance, confronted by a number of them standing in a semicircle. They are all posed as if in applause, exaggerated masks of happiness clamped to their faces.

“Ah yes. Acceptance,” the voice sneers, “Whereas before, we were troublemakers and upstarts, the arrival of Ingenuity changed everything. We were a noble house, fit to rub shoulders with the great and the good... so long as we turned our efforts towards the benefit of those who had once scorned us.”

As the voice pauses, you look around for the “task” prepared for you. The single mannequin – representing the Phalaris, you assume – is currently faceless, while a vast number of broken, scrapped mannequins litter the surrounding room. Many of them are smashed almost beyond recognition, but you see some with intact faces – all sorts of expressions are represented there, from shining joy to snarling rage. Others are grimmer, with faces like bare skulls, or disfigured beyond expression. More than one has a hinged jaw hanging slack, sharp metal teeth bristling.

“I trust that you've figured it out by now?” the voice asks, “How do you think we FELT, upon our ascension to the lofty ranks of nobility?”

The voice cuts off with a final snarl of static, leaving you to scavenge up a suitable face. You've got plenty of “willing donors”, but where should you start?

>A joyous expression. There seems to be plenty of those
>An expression of sorrow. You can see a few of those lying about
>A furious expression. You're sure you can find one of those
>You'll see what else you can find... (Write in)
>Other

>>6134163
>A furious expression. You're sure you can find one of those
Our host sure SOUNDS angry.

>>6134163
>A furious expression. You're sure you can find one of those
What made the Phalaris seem to be "troublemakers and upstarts" to the others if they were that small or minor in the first place? Doesn't seem to add up. Did they have all these fancy tech and progress ideas from the start, and only with "Ingenuity" having come to them were they even allowed to talk or be paid attention to? There's some contradictory vibes here with the information we're given and can deduce

>>6134163
>You'll see what else you can find... (Write in)
Fury seems too strong here, do they have just plain old annoyed

>>6134181
There WAS a democratic revolution in the country next door...

>>6134163
>You'll see what else you can find... (Write in)
Annoyed.

They should potentially also be relieved if they were provided a consistent stream of resources, representing hope that they could establish a truly independent existence.

File: Broken Mannequin.jpg (327 KB, 1024x1024)

327 KB JPG

Looking at the semicircle of mannequins, you feel a shudder running through your entire body. You can practically hear them congratulating you, showering you with smug applause even as the fake smiles twist their faces. How did the Phalaris feel? How would ANYONE feel?

Without a moment's more thought, you march across to the piles of discarded mannequins and start searching for a suitable furious expression. Pushing aside countless puppets with idiotic grins, you finally spot what you're looking for – buried under a pile of broken toys, you see a face twisted with rage. Wading in, you start methodically moving the mannequins aside as you dig for your treasure. The others remain at the entrance, watching you with cautious, curious eyes.

“No no, don't all rush to help me,” you mutter to yourself, “There's no need. I've got this all... Shit!”

The curse blurts from your lips as one of the mannequins convulses at your touch, the previously slack jaw snapping at the empty air like a vice. Recoiling back, you waste no time in bringing the heel of your boot down on the mannequin's skull. Your first stamp dents the skull, while the second causes it to cave in completely. Gasping for breath, you step back and watch with distaste as murky fluids leak from the mannequin's shattered skull. Why would a puppet... bleed?

You're not sure if you want to know the answer to that, actually. It might only make things worse.

Kicking aside the limp body, you finally reach your target. Fumbling with the clasp, you pull the raging mask free and carry it back to the faceless mannequin. Putting the mask into place, you step back and wait.

“Ah, anger. Is there anyone here who doesn't feel anger burning within them?” the voice ask, “I think not. You, oracle, who labours under the weight of impossible expectations. You, soldier, who was helpless to stop his friends walking to their deaths. Should I continue?”

“That won't be necessary,” you call back, watching with some unease as Usik's hands ball into fists, “Perhaps we could hurry this along?”

“So impatient!” the voice scolds, although the door opens nonetheless.

Alina scuttles towards the opening door, with the other Galseans following soon after her. Elle starts to follow, then glances back towards you. “Isambard?” she asks, “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing. Well, yes. Everything about this place is wrong,” you admit, shaking your head, “I just need a moment to gather my thoughts. Go on ahead, I'll catch up in a minute.”

Elle hesitates for a moment more, then turns and hurries after the Galseans. You let out a sigh once you're alone, setting your backpack down and sitting on it. “Okay,” you say, looking up towards the ceiling, “We need to talk.”

“...Do we now?” the voice asks after a long silence, “Well, I suppose I can spare you a few minutes.”

[1]

>>6134200

“What's this really about?” you ask wearily, gesturing around you, “Troublemakers and upstarts?”

“What else would you call anyone who challenged the status quo?” the voice replies, “In that regard, we're no different to the Tomoe. Our weapons meant that the lowest peasant could fell the highest noble with just the pull of a trigger. Our factories meant that those weapons could be made at scale. We could've put a rifle in the hands of every man in this nation, and made a second Rhyl. What would you call a family with that kind of potential, if not troublemakers?”

“But you did none of that. You didn't arm the workers and bring down the monarchy,” you point out, “Why not?”

“Because my ancestors were weak!” it snarls, “All it took was the faintest flicker of recognition, of feigned respect, and they sold their souls. It fell to me to correct their mistake.”

“And you? Who ARE you?”

The voice hesitates. “Later,” it insists, “Don't rush me, Master Pale. I'm starting to like you, and I would so hate for that to change.”

-

With each new hall you pass through, the manor seems to degrade even further. The facade has almost entirely fallen away now, the walls having peeled away to reveal an endlessly churning machine. Even passing through a short corridor is a terrible thing, with grinding cogs always ready to snatch up an outstretch limb or a loose sleeve. The next door is already standing open when you arrive at the hall, joining your companions as they linger uneasily on the sheet metal floor.

“Isambard!” Elle calls out, rushing over to greet you, “The door was open when we got here, but I didn't want to move too far ahead. I thought... I felt like this place might swallow you up if we were separated for too long.”

“Are we all ready to move on?” the voice asks, and you can imagine the unseen speaker rolling their eyes, “This next question will be for you, oracle. Call it a matter of professional curiosity, from one colleague to another. Go on, see what I have prepared for you.”

“An oracle?” you murmur. Your host must be starting to trust you, if they're willing to let a detail like that slip. That, or they don't expect you to walk out of here alive.

“I never wanted to be an oracle,” the voice recalls as you pass through the door. This room is the largest yet, so large that you struggle to see the far wall against the gloom. “Iron and steel, coal and oil... these were the things that I understood. These were things that men could control, could bend and shape to their will. Steel is honest. It has no ambiguity. I respected that about it,” your host continues, “But, regardless of what I wished, I was afflicted with visions – always visions of a terrible future. Something was coming, I was told. Something very bad indeed.”

[2/3]

>>6134221
>I respected that about it
past tense?

>>6134221

“Something coming?” Mihail asks, awkwardly looking around as if unsure of how to talk to your unseen host, “You mean the Lliogor?”

“No, not them. Well, yes actually. They're coming too, and you're not remotely ready for them,” the voice answers, with an ugly laugh, “And that brings us to my final question. I have seen what is coming, the war that will one day descend upon this land. The Lliogor will come, and they will bring with them blood and terror unlike anything this land has ever seen.”

“So, oracle, I must ask you this. What would you do?” they continue, “You could provide weapons, great and terrible weapons, to those who once scorned you, arming them for the war that is to come. Or... you could turn away and leave them to their fate. There will always be quiet corners of this world for those willing to hide. So I ask, what-”

“Oh, will you just STOP!” Elle interrupts, her eyes and fists both clenched tightly shut, “I am so SICK of your games! I am SICK of your awful voice, your ghastly puppets, and your mocking lectures! If you've got something to say to us, just come out and SAY IT!”

The last of these words seems to echo around the room for a very long time, gradually fading until the only sound left is that of the oracle panting for air. You stare at her in amazement, utterly lost for words. Slowly, the realisation of what she just did dawns on Elle, and a deep red blush of embarrassment starts to spread through her cheeks.

“Oh no...” she whimpers, “I've ruined everything, haven't I?”

Before you can answer that question, you hear the next door opening with a slow – and somehow petulant – groan of metal.

“Maybe not,” you tell her quietly.

>I think I'm going to take a pause here – closest thing to a good stopping point that I can think of. I'll be continuing this tomorrow, starting from the same approximate time
>Thanks for playing today!

>>6134231
Based Elle is truly the best of bestgirls.

Thanks for running!

>>6134231
Thanks for running!

Extremely based move from Elle there

>>6134231
Elle best girl, putting the retarded vagueposter anime characters in their fucking place

>>6134231
Thanks for running!
Based Elle putting the seething Phalaris in their place.

>>6134231
Based. What she did was show what kind of person she was, which was exactly what Phalaris was looking for, while also calling out the pretentious actions he was mocking the church for.

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“Do you think it's true?” Elle asks softly, her voice barely audible over the sound of machinery, “Do you think there's... something coming?”

“If we're talking about the Lliogor, then yes. I think it's almost inevitable that they'll return to our shores sooner or later. They attacked the Galsean Islands, it's only natural that they'd continue on to Agoria,” you reply slowly, choosing your words carefully, “As for, well, whatever else she was talking about, that's too vague. Our best chance is to try and squeeze some more information out of her. Maybe I should get you to give her a good telling off.”

Covering her face with her hands, Elle lets out a low groan. “Please don't remind me,” she complains, “Honestly, I don't know what came over me.”

“It worked, so I'm not going to complain too much.”

Lowering her hands and giving you an awkward smile, Elle nods. “We'd better not lag too far behind,” she says after a moment, “Or our host might change her mind and make us do this the hard way.”

-

You're not exactly happy to see a mannequin awaiting you in the next hall, the puppet posed with one arm extended. You keep your distance for a moment, studying the small metal object glinting in the outstretched hand.

“You've been a very cooperative test subject... for the most part. Certainly more cooperative than our previous guests,” your host announces in a groan of static, “So, I've prepared a reward for you – although, really, this is more like returning your own property to you. Go on. Take it.”

Cautiously, as if expecting the mannequin to lurch into motion as soon as you get close, you reach out and snatch up the metal emblem. Taking a closer look at it, you see your own family insignia gazing back up at you.

[Pale Family Emblem: +1 Insight Attunement, +1 Ingenuity Attunement.]

“We're almost at the end now. I'm eager to look you in the eye and shake your hand. I'm sure you feel the same way,” the metallic voice sneers, “But before we do, I think your colleague wants something.”

The voice dies with a last wail of static, leaving you to look around at your companions in confusion. Mihail hastily shakes his head, while Alinda remains sullenly silent as she gazes towards the floor. Usik is the only one who meets your gaze, his eyes as flat and lifeless as those of the mannequin beside you. “Need your help with something,” he says at last, tilting his head towards one of the side doors, “Saw something. Wanted to check it out.”

Remembering Mihail's earlier warning, you feel a sudden thrill of danger cut through you. Yet, you have a feeling that backing down would be no less dangerous.

“Sure,” you tell Usik slowly, “The rest of you, wait here. This won't take long.”

[1/2]

>>6134712

With a heavy, leaden pace, Usik leads you across to the side door. Some of the machinery has broken here, collapsing down to block the doorway with a thick brass pipe. With a grunt, Usik bends down and lifts the pipe up just enough for you to crawl underneath. You hold it up as best as you can while the heavyset man squeezes through the gap, just barely making it through before the pipe comes tumbling down again.

You stand, panting for breath, as Usik clambers to his feet, casting an impassive gaze around the narrow corridor. There's barely enough room for him to stand upright without brushing against the whirring gears and cogs jutting from the broken, decaying walls, but he doesn't seem to notice the danger. He just looks over your shoulder, staring at the door ahead.

“...Follow me,” you tell him quietly, surreptitiously lowering your hand to the butt of your revolver as you turn towards the door. With taut nerves, you approach the door and wait for the right moment. When the heavy sound of Usik's footsteps falls silent, you know that the time has come.

Whirling around and snatching your revolver from its holster, you turn to face Usik just as he's bringing his own gun up. Your speed catches him by surprise, but he's quick to recover.

“What's this about, Usik?” you ask, your finger hovering a fraction of an inch away from your revolver's trigger.

“We're all going to die down here,” Usik replies, his voice sullen, “Your father brought his men here, but he was the only one to return. You're the same.”

“I'm not the same as my father,” you argue, coldness seeping into your voice.

“It doesn't matter,” the heavyset man grunts, “Your father is gone, but the blood of my people still cries out for vengeance. We're all going to die down here, but I'll be damned if I die without seeing you pay.”

It's ironic, in a way. All this time, you were worried that Mihail might be about to crack under the pressure. Yet, for all his bluster, you can sense a trace of doubt and hesitation in him. After all, he hasn't pulled the trigger just yet.

>Lower your gun. It'll keep him doubting himself
>Try to talk some sense into him. He's not totally lost yet
>Take the shot. You can't afford to play his games
>Other

>>6134712
err, wrong item I think

>>6134713
>If only it was that easy to make him pay. I've lived with him for years, and I couldn't tell you what it is the man cared about. Even if I managed to drag his body out for you to mutilate, it'd be a mild annoyance at best.
>But know this: I am not my father. I will not abandon anyone on these maddening tasks. I won't separate anyone's family to reconnect with my own.

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>>6134729
Absolutely the wrong item. There's no coming back from this one, time to retire as a QM forever

>>6134713
>Try to talk some sense into him. He's not totally lost yet.
Usik, we all knew we were going into danger when we agreed to come. We all volunteered. But THINK, man: don't you think this sort of shit might be how our host turned the others against one another? Are you really going to return to the Major alone, a traitor and a coward? Or are you going to come back, with answers and dragging the ACTUAL perpetrator along with us, head held high?

>>6134713
>Try to talk some sense into him. He's not totally lost yet
If he wants vengeance he should take it on whatever actually killed his kinsmen, maybe this place itself, but not us.
>>6134734
Embarrassing!

So we're 10 effective Insight, and need solitude and sovereignty to reach 6 in all stats.

That's probably plenty to just go diving in the demense for a week.

“You're not a stupid man, Usik, or at least I don't think you are. You're smart enough to know, deep down, that you've got a better chance of surviving this place with me than without me,” you tell the Galsean slowly, the unwavering barrel of your revolver pointing towards his gut, “Otherwise, why else are you hesitating?”

Usik grunts, a faint tremor running down his arm. A tiny movement, but he might as well be waving his gun around for how significant it really is.

“We all knew we were going into danger when we agreed to come here, Usik. Whatever our reasons were, we all volunteered to come here. Maybe you came here for vengeance, but you're pointing your gun at the wrong man,” you continue, “Did you ever stop to think that this.. this hysterical behaviour is what got your men killed in the first place?”

“But my men would never have come here if not for-”

“For my father? Sure, maybe. But you're not going to make HIM pay, unless you want to track down his body and put a bullet into it – and I really don't think that'll bother him very much now,” you sneer, “Put your gun down, man. Save it for the real culprit here. You could leave here as a coward and a traitor, or you could leave with your head held high. It's your choice.”

The last of your words echo out for what seems like an eternity before Usik slowly lowers his gun. “You are wrong, Pale. Whatever you think, I will not leave this place. I know this,” he mutters, the words rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest, “I have know this from the moment I volunteered.”

“I'm not the same as my father,” you repeat, “I won't abandon you here.”

“It does not matter,” Usik says, shoving his revolver back into his belt and turning away from you, “I died along with the home islands. My body just hasn't admitted it yet.”

-

A groan of metal echoes out as Usik lets the heavy pipe fall back down to the ground. Rising to your feet and brushing dust from your clothes, you nod a greeting to Elle just before she throws her arms around you in a desperate embrace. Almost as soon as the embrace begins, she leaps back. “Stop worrying me like that!” she scolds, “What were you even doing?”

“Just having a private conversation,” you tell her, casting a glance aside to Usik, “Man to man. You wouldn't understand.”

Elle pouts, but lets the matter drop. Mihail cautiously approaches and touches Usik on the arm, steering him away from you and whispering something to the man in their strange, alien language. “We had a look around while you were gone,” Elle says quietly, “Alina says there aren't any trail signs around here. She thinks... well, she thinks that's bad new.”

“You think the rest of them didn't make it this far?” you ask, “I don't understand. What we've seen so far... it's been strange, but not so dangerous.”

“Unless your father was being, um, uncooperative,” she suggests, “You heard what our host said.”

[1]

>>6134754

You move on, glancing up at the clock as you pass through the next set of doors. It stands at six, meaning... what, exactly? You've used up half of your allotted time in this place? The unspoken threat nags at you, more of an annoyance than a source of fear. Without knowing the consequences of running out of time, it's hard to be appropriately terrified, after all.

“I think we're getting close now,” Elle tells you, her face scrunched up into a thoughtful frown, “This corridor up ahead should... Oh God!”

Her thought turns into a startled yelp as she peers into the corridor itself – a spectacularly narrow corridor, the walls lined with a series of cages, each one holding a slumped mannequin. A far cry from the mannequins you've seen so far, these new puppets are works of demented art – their bodies bristle with metal spikes, gleaming teeth jutting savagely from their yawning mouths and claws thrusting from their malformed hands. Just the sight of them is enough to cause Elle to stagger backwards in fear.

“Maybe... we do not have to go this way,” Alina suggests, “There are other doors, back on the side walls.”

“I doubt it. All of the other side rooms we've seen so far have been dead ends. I don't see why these ones would be any different,” you reply bleakly, “What do the rooms say?”

Alina scurries away to check the ajar doors, then returns. “That one is the workshop,” she says, pointing one way and then the other, “The other is the oracle's chambers. Maybe we should take a look anyway?”

Anything to delay the inevitable, you suppose. Looking down the final corridor, you're struck again at just how thin the passage is. Between that, and the rigid arms thrust out between the cage bars, it's all too easy to imagine being tangled up in those bladed hands.

>We shouldn't waste any more time. We're moving forwards, no matter how bad it looks
>We can spare a little time. I'm curious to see what they've been doing in the workshop
>We should be thorough, and search through the oracle's chambers too
>Other

>>6134765
>We should be thorough, and search through the oracle's chambers too
Maybe we can learn a little more about our unwholesome host.

>>6134765
>We should be thorough, and search through the oracle's chambers too
An oracle of the Phalaris, huh... Surely whatever he's been receiving isn't all doom and gloom and the future being bad

>>6134743
>10 insight
Do you think eventually we'll hit Bloodborne rules and start seeing some spooky shit on a daily basis that not even oracles can see?

>>6134765
>We should be thorough, and search through the oracle's chambers too
the timescales seem off. If they were already inventing stuff before the houses were established, is the current church of Emanations actually quite young?

>>6134765
>We should be thorough, and search through the oracle's chambers too
Let's not walk into the death trap without searching around first.

>>6134769
>Surely whatever he's been receiving isn't all doom and gloom and the future being bad
Our host seems to be implying that they could have easily just armed everyone but became a shut-in since they're still seething about never being accepted until Ingenuity came in.

>>6134765
>We should be thorough, and search through the oracle's chambers too

>>6134773
No doubt

“I think we should take a look in the oracle's chambers,” you suggest, pointing towards the waiting door, “You know, to be thorough.”

“Yes, of course!” Elle agrees quickly, “We'd be failing in our duty if we didn't explore all options. Our host mentioned that she was an oracle, after all.”

It's nice that you're both pretending to believe the excuse, even if neither of you is fooled. Still, not one of the Galseans objects to the decision – quite the opposite in fact. They eagerly follow you to the door, but that's where they pause. “Ah, friend. I think... this is a sacred place for you, yes? I think, perhaps, we should not intrude,” Mihail suggests, “We can wait out here. Shout if you need us – just, ah, try and shout louder than all these machines.”

“Don't wander off,” you warn them, before leading Elle into the corridor beyond. You immediately notice a difference here – the walls are fully intact once more, the surging machinery hidden from view. Even the noise from outside seems deadened, reduced to a dull throbbing. Elle takes your hand, and you slowly approach the next door on the far end. The scent of incense wafts over you as you open the door, stepping forth into the bright light beyond.

Shaded voltaic lamps are mounted all around the room, bathing it in a constant soft white glow that lends the room a hazy, dream-like feeling. The room itself is not large, most of it taken up by a raised platform shrouded by gauzy white curtains. A shape is silhouetted behind the curtains, something almost – but not entirely – human. You can hear Elle breathing softly beside you, each breath short and tense. Gently freeing yourself from her grip, you approach the platform and draw back the curtain.

Elle doesn't scream, but she comes close. Even you let out a strangled gasp as you see the incomplete thing propped up on the platform. It would seem crude to describe the thing as a mannequin, insulting to compare it to the monstrous creations outside, but you can't think of any other name for it. A true work of art, the puppet body is crafted from glossy dark grey porcelain, adorned with fine gold decorations. The thing is limbless, with a steel rod for a spine that extends down into the platform to hold it upright. It has the face of a skull, but a mane of what you hope is artificial hair. It's hard to imagine the time and effort that went into creating something so beautiful, yet unsettling.

As you stand and stare, Elle slowly approaches the platform and reaches one trembling hand out towards the mannequin. Carefully, as if the thing might collapse into pieces at the slightest touch, she brushes her fingers against the puppet's cheek.

And that's when it moves.

[1]

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>>6134809

With a slow, fluid motion, the puppet's head rolls away from Elle's touch before straightening up, the hollow eyes gazing blindly over her shoulder. The short, unfinished arms waver slightly before falling still, as if the puppet thought, for one brief moment, that they were a complete being. Seeing something so obviously artificial moving like a living thing is repulsive, and you find yourself automatically reaching for your gun.

“Wait!” Elle hisses, grabbing your arm, “Wait, please!”

“I was dreaming,” the puppet says, each word slow and measured, “What would you ask of me?”

It has a soft, melodic voice, although it is laced with the same metallic static that your host has. You could never mistake it for a true human voice, but it's close.

“What... have you dreamed?” Elle asks tentatively, “Can you tell us your dreams?”

“I dream of the eclipse. It is always there, no matter what I dream,” the puppet answers, “I hear the cries of night owls, and the thunder of artillery. I see great trenches cut through the mud, and men who live in them like rats. This will be how our world dies.”

“Oh God...” your own oracle whispers, clasping her hands over her mouth.

“Who... what are you?” you ask, stepping forwards even as Elle staggers away, “What happened to this place?”

The mechanical oracle is silent for a moment. Just as you're about to get Elle to ask your question for you, it speaks. “I am an oracle,” it states simply, “This is Miss Phalaris' Demesne. She created it.”

“Why?”

Another silence. You can actually see intricate mechanisms whirr within the puppet as it “thinks” about an answer. “Miss Phalaris required a place outside of the natural order so that she could conduct her experiments in peace,” it says at last.

“And those experiments were... what, exactly?”

“I am sorry, I cannot answer that question,” the oracle states, an eerie, almost cheerful note entering its voice, “I would like to dream now, please.”

“Isambard, can we... leave it be?” Elle whispers, tugging at your arm, “I think Mihail was right, I don't think we should've intruded.”

You nod slowly. Somehow, you don't think you'll get much more out of the mechanical oracle. As you're turning away, though, it speaks once more. “My...” it says, the voice flickering as if uncertain, “My shawl...”

You look around in confusion before your eyes fall on a scrap of white lace peeking out from beneath a stack of faded papers. Glancing at the inscrutable designs penned on the worn papers, you move the stack aside to examine the shawl beneath. You can sense a dormant power within the ancient lace, Lessons imbued into it by the former owner. Was the oracle offering you the shawl, or asking you for it?

>Leave the shawl alone. You don't even want to touch it
>Take the shawl for yourself. You can use its power
>Place the shawl around the oracle's shoulders. It's the least you can do
>Other

>>6134841
>Place the shawl around the oracle's shoulders. It's the least you can do

>>6134841
>Place the shawl around the oracle's shoulders. It's the least you can do
We still might need help from this oracle

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Reaching down, you pick up the shawl and run your fingers across the delicate lace. It feels virtually weightless, as if you were holding some ephemeral thing. Just holding it leaves you with a sense of sadness, of loss. Elle stares at it, a thin sheen of tears glistening her eyes even as she is unable to tear her gaze away.

With the shawl held out before you like a funeral shroud, you brush aside the gauzy curtains and drape it over the mannequin's shoulders. It shifts slightly as you do, like someone stirring in their sleep, but soon falls still once more. After making a few more minor adjustments to better hide the truncated stumps that pass for arms, you step back to examine your handiwork. It still looks grotesque, and more than a little depressing, but you feel a little better about yourself.

“...Thank you, Isambard,” Elle whispers as you're leaving, “That was a good thing you did. I hope, in some small way, it brings her better dreams.”

“I hope so too.”

-

The Galseans don't say anything when you return, and you don't need to say anything. Anything that needs to be said, they can see it written on your face. You brush past them, ordering them to stay close with a curt gesture. The clock above the door now stands at the seventh hour, and you're about ready to see the master of this demented place. You're just not sure what you'll do when you see them.

A ripple of movement runs through the caged mannequins as you enter the narrow corridor, reminding you once more of a person shifting in their sleep. Turning sideways to narrow down your already slim profile, you awkwardly shuffle past the first few mannequins. The next puppet has its arms outstretched, forcing you to squat down low before inching past it. Glancing backwards as you do, you see the others following in your wake. Alina slips through easily, as if she was born for this, while Elle tries her best to match the lithe Galsean's motions. Usik comes in behind this, his bulky frame causing him obvious problems in such close confines. Mihail, you assume, is bringing up the rear, but it's hard to tell with Usik blocking so much of your view.

With the muscles in your thighs burning, you gradually ease yourself back upright again and move on. The end is in sight now, and you feel an urge to quicken your pace. Fighting back the urge, you look back once more. Alina and Elle have made it past the outstretched arms, while Usik is just about through.

“Come on,” Elle whispers, offering the heavyset man an encouraging gesture, “You're almost there.”

With a groan, Usik pushes himself back upright, but too soon. He jostles one of the outstretched arms as he stands, and the reaction is immediate. With a sudden blaring shriek of static, the mannequin begins to thrash within its cage with the others soon following suit.

[1]

>>6134894

With a nightmarish crash of metal ringing in your ears, you hastily worm your way through the last of the narrow corridor, grabbing Alina and dragging her out as Elle squeezes past her. As the oracle collapses to her knees, gasping and shaking, you hear Usik let out a loud bellow of pain. One of the mannequin has a hold of him, bladed claws sinking deep into one meaty shoulder. As you reach for him, the puppet lunges forwards and sinks its needle teeth into the side of his neck. Blood spurts, and the Galsean's yell becomes something terrible – something wet and guttural.

Snatching your revolver from your holster, you fire a single shot into the mannequin's head and blast it back. It falls away from Usik and collapses sideways, ribbons of flesh still trailing from its teeth. Blood squirts from Usik's neck as he drops to his feet, his hands flailing clumsily at his throat. Reaching under his shoulders, you pull as hard as you can and drag him free from the corridor.

“Oh no, oh no no no...” Elle stammers, trying to put as much pressure on Usik's wound as she can. The blood still bubbles up from between her fingers, but not nearly so much. Alina pushes Elle aside, pressing a gauze pad into the wound and fumbling with a length of bandage.

“Is it bad?” you breathe, watching as she works on his wound.

Alina looks up, meets your eyes. “Bad,” she says simply.

-

Alina does the best she can, but there's only so much she can do with limited resources. Between you and Mihail, you manage to get Usik upright again but you highly doubt that he'd stay upright for long without your help. The woman flutter around you, their movements uncertain and aimless. “We need to keep moving forwards,” you announce, your order causing them both to freeze in place immediately.

“Go forwards?” Alina repeats.

“Well, we can't exactly go back can we?” you argue, jerking your head back towards the thrashing, screaming mannequins, “No. We keep moving. We've got to... we've got to salvage something from this mess. Something. Anything.”

The Galsean woman looks dubious, but says nothing. “I hear... music,” Mihail murmurs as you drag Usik towards the gilded, ornate door ahead. Straining your ears, you hear it too – delicate string music, the pretty sound rendered harsh by more of that metallic buzz. Shaking your head, saying nothing, you carry on forwards. Alina throws the door open, and soon you're stepping into a well decorated drawing room. Sitting on a sofa with an expectant smirk on her face is a young woman, dressed all in black.

“Well, you certainly know how to keep a girl waiting,” the young woman purrs, “But I suppose you're here now. Yulia Phalaris, at your service. It's SO nice to finally meet you.”

[2/3]

>>6134911

“Yulia Phalaris?” you repeat, “But she was head of the Phalaris family when they vanished, and that was-”

“Quite some time ago, I gather. You'll forgive me if I don't recall the exact date. I'm looking good for my age, aren't I?” she interrupts with a smirk, “We'll talk about that later. I can see that you've got a more pressing matter on your hands. Put that gentleman down, will you? Just looking at him is giving me a sore back. Actually, give him to me. I can find a use for him.”

She actually seems a little offended when you don't immediately drop Usik at her feet. “What do you mean “find a use for him”? What use?” you demand, “What are you going to do with him?”

“I can always use fresh material for my experiments, and he's exactly what I've been looking for,” Yulia answers, shaking her head, “Look, he's dead already. He's lost too much blood, and the infection is already setting in. He's gone, but I get some use from him.”

“If you think I'm going to just-”

“Oh, I see how it is. I understand,” Yulia nods to herself, “You'll get something out of it too. You're seeking Lessons, aren't you? I can offer you something in return that you'll find VERY useful. It's a no-brainer, really. Everyone wins!”

Everyone except Usik, obviously. As for her offer, you suspect that anything she might have to offer will no doubt be steeped in Calamity, in corruption. The kind of power she has to offer will always come with a price.

>Let her have Usik. His wounds are too great, there's no sense in being stubborn
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this
>Other

Update: I think I'm going to pause and leave this vote open until tomorrow - I've got a few errands to run, so I don't have much more time to write.
Until then, see you tomorrow!

>>6134915
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this
We promised we wouldn't abandon him
Plus it's her fault he's like this anyway with those murderous mannequins

>>6134961
Supporting this

Were better than our father…plus we have too much Calamity already

>>6134915
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this
It's tempting to just shoot Yulia right now, but that might be too hasty. I can't see us leaving with her still alive though. Gideon might have still felt some kinship with her even after all of this or maybe he simply fled with his life, but our boy Bard clearly has urges to kill sometimes and she hasn't given us a good reason for her to be spared.
I'm guessing Yulia either modified her body and is part mannequin or Denizen or she somehow managed to emulate the Demesne's effect on aging.

>>6134915
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this

>>6134915
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this
We promised.

>>6134915
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this
Why is every single girl besides Elle and Ariel (?) such a bitch?

>>6134915
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this

>>6135089
>Why is every single girl besides Elle and Ariel (?) such a bitch?
Because, as the protagonist, we get the best girl(s?).

>>6135089
>>6135109
Juno only pretends to be a bitch for the sake of her rep, seemingly. And the Major's daughter at the museum was nice. Alina seems okay and has a hot goth thing going on too.

>>6134915
>"What infection? Be specific, I don't expect you mean tetanus from the blade."

Surprised no one has commented on this. You'd think the knife through the neck is what's getting him, but she specifically referred to an infection setting in. Maybe it's related to his behaviour.

Spitballing: the Phalaris built an artificial Demesne to ride out the doom Yulia prophesized, but something about Demesne's causes people injured within them to be converted into denizens. The Phalaris tried to mitigate this by uploading themselves into artificial bodies, the Mannequins, but that's obviously turned out poorly too. Maybe Yulia here wants a newly turned denizen body to work out how to restore her sister's humanity or something.

>>6135089
Deranged mad scientist waifu has been introduced too late for real contention in the waifu wars, but she doesn't seem that bad so far. Guess we'll see if she lets us go without a fight against the unspeakable horrors of the Phalaris estate ( I doubt it).

>>6134915
>You won't let her take Usik. Even if his wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than this
The infection does sound important, but I'm not sure what the nature of it would be yet.

Yulia seems to have some control of the doors, but it's still a tossup if the mannequins are entirely produced by her or the demense.

>>6135193
It's a strong theory to be sure. I'm wondering if the infection plain turns them into mannequins though. This could be a Demense of ONLY Ingenuity or something.

>>6135089
In hindsight, the funniest part about our trip to the mental asylum was that the doctor was completely right to refuse us since Teufel was only ever attacked again because of our actions. We probably won't ever visit the place again, but Bard was definitely checking the doctor out too.

>>6135193
I didn't think much of the infection, but having it be one that turns the injured into a Denizen might be possible.
Though it looks more like Yulia plunged the manor into this artificial Demesne and have everyone else but her killed solely to further her experiments. It's been close to a century since Phalaris disappeared. She had little reason to hide since she probably would already be dead from old age at this point if it weren't for her unnaturally extending her life.

>>6135193
>"What infection? Be specific, I don't expect you mean tetanus from the blade."
Good shout.

>>6134915
>>6135051
I'll back that, too.

>>6135193
+1 this too alongside not leaving Usik behind

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“That's not going to happen,” you tell Yulia, carefully shifting Usik's weight onto Mihail's shoulder. The young man staggers a little under the additional burden, but somehow manages to keep his comrade upright.

A slight frown crosses Yulia's face. “Are you sure?” she asks, tapping a finger against her chin, “He's no use to you now.”

Snatching your revolver from its holster, you bring the gun up and press the muzzle against Yulia's temple. “Don't make me repeat myself,” you snarl, cocking back the hammer, “Even if these wounds are fatal, he still deserves better than... than whatever butchery you have planned for him.”

Reaching up with one finger, Yulia gently pushes your revolver away. “There's no need to be rude,” she says with a smirk, “And while I'm sure that shooting me might be satisfying, it really wouldn't achieve anything aside from being an inconvenience... for both of us. You wanted to talk, didn't you? Then set your man down and come over here – we've got a lot of ground to cover, so you should probably sit down.”

You hesitate for a moment, then lower your revolver. Mihail lowers Usik to the ground at your nod, kneeling down beside the wounded man. “Keep an eye on him,” you tell him, “Try and... I don't know. Try and make him comfortable.”

“Don't worry about him bleeding on the carpet, it'll wash right out,” Yulia adds, gesturing over to a set of plush armchairs, “Shall we?”

-

“Gosh, where to start?” the black-haired woman asks herself as she sits, casually throwing one arm over the back of her chair, “You'd think I'd be better prepared for this, considering how long I kept you waiting, but I've never been the most organised-”

“What did you mean, “the infection”?” you interrupt, “What infection?”

“Oh, that,” Yulia grimaces, “It started to seep into my puppets a few years back. Years? Decades? It's hard to keep track. Anyway, it was such a shame – they started getting disobedient, even fighting with each other. The more they fought, the more it spread. In the end, I had to scrap almost all of them. All that work, wasted!”

A pause.

“This is the part where you're supposed to feel sorry for me,” she adds.

“That's not going to happen.”

“So cold!” Yulia gasps, “You really do take after your father, don't you?”

“Miss Phalaris, perhaps you could explain what those puppets... actually are?” Elle suggests, speaking up before you can say something you might regret, “Are they some kind of machine that you created?”

“Not quite,” Yulia answers with a smirk, “But before I can explain THAT, we need to take a step back. I mentioned that there was a great threat looming, remember?”

“The Lliogor?” you recall.

“Not them. Not really,” Yulia shakes her head, “I'm talking about the Stryx.”

[1/2]

>>6135455

You feel your mouth go dry at the sound of this word, your heartbeat quickening. Even though you keep your face impassive, Yulia seems to sense your reaction and smirks. “So you know them too,” she muses, “Perhaps we should compare notes?”

“I only know the name,” you answer, shaking your head, “I'm hoping that you know more.”

“As far as I've been able to learn, the Stryx are a threat from Outside. They are drawn by blood and feed on terror, growing fat on horror. Your father first called out to them, albeit unknowingly. The vanguard have already arrived, although they are few in number and have not yet adjusted to our world,” she explains, her hand twitching in time with her words, “The vast bulk of them are yet to force their way in, but it's only a matter of time before something draws their attention.”

“Something like a full-scale war with the Lliogor?”

“Exactly!” Yulia's eyes widen, her lips drawing back to show a sharp-toothed smirk, “Which presents a question – how do you fight something that feeds and grows stronger on fear? The answer, on paper, is simple – we must set aside our fear.”

You let out a humourless laugh. “Easier said than done,” you point out.

“Correct. A few carefully cuts to the brain will do wonders to dull fear, but I find that the results make for poor soldiers – sluggish, passive, insufficiently capable of violence,” Yulia shrugs, “But I am, if nothing else, persistent. I kept experimenting, stripping away more and more, replacing what I took with steel and porcelain. You've seen the results, of course. All useless.”

“Useless?”

“Oh yes. Fascinating experiments, but quite useless for opposing the Stryx. Not only that, but they seem unfortunately susceptible to outside influence – which brings us back to the “infection” we were talking about earlier,” the madwoman shrugs, “I suppose it's my own fault. I created an empty vessel, it's only natural that something else would fill it up.”

“But Master Usik isn't an empty vessel,” Elle points out, “Could he be... immune to this infection?”

“I don't know, but I'm fascinated to find out!” Yulia declares with a laugh, “You know, I was pretty annoyed when you wouldn't hand him over but it might prove to be a blessing in disguise.”

You're so glad for her. Really.

“Oh, don't give me that look!” she protests, “I'm just talking about observing his condition, that's all.”

Maybe you should try and change the subject before she gets any funny ideas.

>I told you the first time. Stay away from Usik
>Why did my father really come here to speak with you?
>I'd like to know more about your experiments. What did you have planned for Usik?
>I've got some more questions for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>6135457
>Do you have any prosthetics that can replace the part that's been cut? Even if he fights off the infection, that's no good if he bleeds out.
>Did my father manage to help you with any of this? It's starting to sound like he spent a lot of time and money not getting much closer to fighting these things.
>The Denizens. Are you thinking of using them against the Stryx too?

>>6135457
>Why did my father really come here to speak with you?

>>6135459
These are all good questions too

Also, we should contend with the possibility that Bard's dear sister is currently possessed by a Stryx. Elle is definitely not geared to face her, but even if Bard is mentally prepared for it, we don't yet have a plan to get the Stryx out.

>>6135459
>>6135470
+1 to these four. I'd personally prioritize
>Why did my father really come here to speak with you?
and
>Do you have any prosthetics that can replace the part that's been cut? Even if he fights off the infection, that's no good if he bleeds out.
if we have to pick

>>6135457

“If you're going to observe him, you'll probably need him to survive for as long as possible,” you point out, tilting your head over to where the Galseans cower and wait, “Have you got anything that might be able to put him back together, and perhaps stop him from bleeding out?”

Yulia leans back in her armchair, savouring your question. “So now you're the one coming to me for help, hmm?” she remarks.

“The way I see it, it's a no-brainer,” you reply, offering her a cold smile, “Everyone wins.”

“Oh, funny. Very funny,” she giggles, demurely covering her mouth as she laughs, “Well, when you put it that way I might be able to do something for him. Just don't complain about my methods, okay?”

If she hadn't said those last few words, the thought wouldn't have crossed your mind. Without another word, Yulia leaps from her chair and marches back through to the main room. Mihail and Alina look up in alarm as she enters, but she brushes straight past them without even glancing around. Vanishing through a white door, she emerges a moment later with a bulky syringe and a vial of some deep red fluid.

“This is Azoth, the culmination of all my experiments,” Yulia says casually, drawing a small measure of the thick liquid into the syringe, “Fabulous stuff, Azoth. You can do all sorts of things with it. It's malleable, that way. It's just a shame that it's so hard to harvest without all sorts of... moral outrage.”

“So where did you get it from?” you ask, “Wait, do I even want to know?”

“Azoth is the primordial material of life. So, naturally, it comes from living things. Animals have some, but not enough for any practical purposes,” the scientist explains, “I made this dose from the last lot of guests.”

“Excuse me,” Elle yelps, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

You watch, transfixed with revulsion, as Yulia peels back the bloody gauze strapped to Usik's throat and sinks the syringe straight into the open wound. The flow of blood seems to slow, then stop, as she presses down on the syringe. Though it may just be your eyes playing tricks on you, you could swear that his flesh is writhing.

“Right, we'll leave that to cook,” Yulia announces, wiping her hands down on her black trousers, “Where were we?”

-

Together, you carry Usik over to an examination table and lay him down where Yulia can keep an eye on him. For all her talk of observing his condition, she barely glances across at him. Rather, her gaze remains fixed on you. It's actually quite uncomfortable, and you like to think of yourself as someone with a high tolerance for such things.

“Tell me,” you ask her, “Did my father manage to help you with all this? It feels as if he spent a lot of time, and even more money, to achieve precisely nothing. Why did he even come here?”

“I'd like to think that we helped one another,” Yulia replies, with an ambiguous smile that you don't like very much at all.

[1]

>>6135491

“For one thing, it gave us a chance to compare notes. Some of my visions made a lot more sense after talking to him. For his part, just talking about his little Stryx problem brought him some measure of comfort – it let him know that he wasn't completely mad,” Yulia continues, “We talked a lot about what to do. Whether there was any way to stop what was coming. Or, failing that, how best to survive it.”

“I'm going to assume you weren't very successful on the either part.”

“You don't have a very high opinion of either of us, I see. Well, I suppose you're half right. We agreed that there was no practical way to stop what was coming,” she laughs, “Convincing the Lliogor to set aside their conquering ways and live a life of peace isn't TECHNICALLY impossible, but the probabilities aren't favourable. As for the second part, well, your father was convinced that the answer lay in the Demesne. That's why he first came to find me. I don't like to brag, but I was able to reach pretty far down. He wanted to know my secret.”

“And...” you pause, “What IS your secret?”

Yulia leans forwards, her dark eyes boring into yours. “I think you already know,” she murmurs.

Calamity, of course. While you've tried to be careful, merely dipping a toe in that black ocean of corruption, you see now that Yulia is drowning in it. Where else could her diseased genius have come from?

“I've got a question for YOU, actually,” Yulia announces suddenly, her voice jolting you from your reverie and causing you to flinch back, “Do you know HOW your father managed to find me? I thought I was fairly well hidden, but apparently not hidden enough.”

“I don't know,” you answer, shaking your head, “He had a map leading here, and he knew that he needed a Galsean guide. Why would you let them find you, by the way?”

“I had this wild thought that one day, far off in the future, someone might find me down here,” she muses, a wistful smile forming on her lips, “Some stranger from a strange land, here to wander amidst the ruins of some long-dead civilisation. As they roamed this land, peopled with silent, stupid Denizens, they might stumble across my little abode, and I would have such tales to tell them!”

Her words have a triumphant ring to them, but they're met with a cold silence. “Well, it's just a little fantasy I have,” she confesses, pouting slightly, “It's not a prophecy or anything like that.”

“Do you really think the Denizens will remain, even after we're gone?” you ask, trying to change the subject, “Were you thinking of using them against the Stryx too?”

“Considered it, but they're even worse than my puppets. Utterly useless. They're not even good as a source of Azoth,” Yulia complains, “I suspect that's what separates us and them. We've got something that they simply... don't.”

[2/3]

>>6135512

With those words, Yulia seems to decide that the conversation is over. Getting up from her armchair, she wanders away and starts to examine a strange device with a large brass horn atop it. The soft music dies suddenly as she pulls a black disc free from the machine, replacing it with what seems to be an identical disc. With a few more adjustments, a different piece of music starts to play. Humming along to the tune, Yulia ambles away to check on Usik's condition.

You really ought to keep an eye on her, but for some reason you trust her not to harm him – not out of any goodness or sincerity on her part, but purely because he's more interesting to her alive.

“What...” Elle begins, before lowering her voice to the lowest whisper she can, “What are we going to do about her?”

“What do you mean?” you murmur, although you know full well what she means.

“I mean, are we going to let her... keep on doing this?” she asks, “What if she does something worse?”

>You're right. We have to do something to stop her
>So long as she's willing to let us leave, I'm willing to leave her be
>I know how you feel, but I'm not sure if there's anything we can do
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>6135527
>I know how you feel, but I'm not sure if there's anything we can do
>>At least, right now

>>6135527
>Seems to be a situation no different from how it normally is with the Phalaris. For all our complaints, they're preparing a lot more against a common enemy than most of the people we've contacted.
>The Teilhards won't immediately fall into a panic, but we can't just tell their men to stop fearing.
>Just about the best thing we can do is suggest an idea that's more useful AND less abhorrent.

Has she considered more manually controlled mannequins? They're puppets, surely there's a way to guide them from a distance. From there we have quite a bit more leeway to put SOMETHING between our soldiers and the Stryx that fear can't travel through.

Or full on mobile suits. They can get through airtight suits, but we can reduce the number of soldiers at all to the hardened elites.

>>6135527
>So long as she's willing to let us leave, I'm willing to leave her be
She seems plenty capable and is a far lesser evil than the Stryx, while also working against them

>>6135527
>I know how you feel, but I'm not sure if there's anything we can do

>>6135527
>I know how you feel, but I'm not sure if there's anything we can do

“I know how you feel, but I'm not sure if there's anything we can do to stop her,” you reply quietly, peering around the edge of the door and watching as Yulia paces back and forth. She glances around as if sensing your gaze, giving you a friendly wave before going back to her work. Shuddering, you draw back and give Elle a grimace. “Not yet, at least,” you add, “And as much as I hate to say it, she might still prove necessary.”

“Necessary how?” the oracle asks, frowning a little at the idea.

“Let's assume that she's right, and there IS some great threat coming. Whether it's the Stryx or the Lliogor, or both at once, it doesn't really matter. We're not prepared,” you explain, “Maybe she can help with that.”

“She hasn't been especially willing to help before now,” Elle points out, “She turned her back on us, for... for her own stupid, spiteful reasons. She's not about to have some change of heart now, is she?”

Slowly, you shake your head. “Look around you. Look at what she's been doing. She's had years, decades even, with nothing to do except plan and prepare, and barely anyone to show off to. I think she might actually like being able to put some of her plans into action,” you suggest, “If nothing else, it might steer her research in a direction that's a little less... abhorrent.”

Elle considers this for a long time, although her expression is not hopeful. “I think I'll just be happy if we can get out of here alive,” she admits eventually.

You're about to reply when the wet sound of coughing reaches you from the far room. Leaping to your feet and expecting the worst, you run through to the makeshift treatment room where Usik lies. The heavyset man is convulsing, shuddering and writhing on the cold metal table while Yulia watches on with fascinated eyes. Brushing past her, you hasten to hold Usik down before he can hurt himself. It's only when he grows still that you notice his throat – now healed, albeit into a malformed knot of scar tissue.

“Just a bit of cosmetic damage,” Yulia remarks, noticing your gaze, “Besides, women like scars. When he gets home, he'll be fending them off with a stick.”

“Oh, that's good to know,” you sneer, “Never mind everything else, Usik's love life was the REAL reason why we came here.”

“Happy to be of service,” the scientist says, turning and walking away. She reappears a few moments later, carrying a thick book under her arm. “Since we've decided that you're not going to try and kill me – thanks for that, by the way – I thought I might share some my, ah, less abhorrent research with you,” she explains, offering the book, “Nothing particularly controversial in here, I can assure you. Firearms, artillery, military doctrine... it won't help you against the Stryx, but it might blunt the Lliogor invasion a little.”

“No need to thank me,” she adds quickly, “I'm just showing off, after all.”

[1]

>>6135567
Wow ok we get it you have good ears

>>6135567

As the Galseans slowly file in to sit with Usik, you follow Yulia back out to her plush, personal chambers. She has a smug smile on her face, which is fairly normal for her, but just for a moment you allow yourself the luxury of imagining something deeper there – a sense of happiness, perhaps, for knowing that she helped someone. You're probably just imagining things, though.

“So,” you begin, “Any signs of this “infection” yet?”

“No, none. It's quite fascinating, really,” Yulia muses, “I'll have to take another look at some of my puppets, to see if I can figure out what's really going on with them. That should keep me occupied for the next, oh, ten or twenty years – assuming I don't have to entertain any more guests like yourself, of course.”

“Watch it,” you warn her, “If it wasn't for “guests like me”, you wouldn't have had this opportunity to begin with.”

“True, true,” she nods slowly, a thoughtful look creeping across her face, “Tell me, Master Pale. Have you seen your sister yet?”

You hesitate, the sudden change in subject taking you by surprise. “No, not yet,” you tell her eventually, “...Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Yulia answers, her voice oddly solemn, “I was just curious.”

>I'm going to pause here for now, I think I'm running on empty today. I'll be taking a short break for the week, but I'm planning to be back in action on Saturday
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>6135584
Thanks for running!

Can’t believe dad talked about our dear sister to this madwoman. Or perhaps she has her own ways of gathering info from the outside world just like Kalthos.

>>6135584
Thanks for running!

>>6135584
Thanks for running!

>>6135591
Maybe as that other anon speculated, our sister is tied to the Stryx in some way? Or was/is helping find a solution to them?

>>6135584
Thanks for running!
That went better than expected. Yulia getting BTFO by Elle was the highlight of this part.

>>6135617
>Or was/is helping find a solution to them?
If Gratia was the girl that talked to Teufel before us, her goal seems to be fixing Gideon's fuck up of inviting the Stryx to the world and stopping them.

>>6135567
>it won't help you against the Stryx, but it might blunt the Lliogor invasion a little.”

So she’s just going to stay hidden down here forever…?

Does she have any advice for us - other than to explore the Demesne?

>Have you seen your sister yet?”

Speaking of sisters…what happened to hers? Why did she turn her into an unfinished puppet?

>>6134911
>an expectant smirk on her face

>>6134915
>she interrupts with a smirk

>>6135455
>she says with a smirk
>Yulia answers with a smirk

>>6135457
>Yulia seems to sense your reaction and smirks
>her lips drawing back to show a sharp-toothed smirk

Let's kill this bitch after we're all done with her for the sake of plot contrivance

>>6135759
Brats aren't for killing, they're for correction.

File: Elspeth Legrasse.jpg (312 KB, 1024x1024)

312 KB JPG

You were worried that you might need to retrace your steps, going all the way back you came and passing through those hideous, feral puppets once more. This proves not to be the case, with Yulia leading you out through a secret passage – a secret passage that, you suspect, did not exist until she wished it to. Putting the exact mechanics of that aside, you're soon emerging out into the outermost entrance hall. Looking around in relief, your eyes settle on the clock above the door.

“So...” you ask carefully, “What were those clocks for?”

“Oh, I was timing you. I was curious to see how long it would take you to reach me,” Yulia answers with an indifferent gesture, “Far quicker than your father, by the way.”

“I see.”

“Of course, he wasted SO much time on arguing with me. I can't tell you how long he spent, shouting and threatening, before he finally decided to play along. Even then, he said he would “correct my insolent attitude”, to use his own words,” she recalls, smiling fondly, “I've never cared very much for men, but your father-”

“Please don't finish that sentence,” you interrupt, your words bringing a satisfied smile to Yulia's face. That was, of course, exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. “What do you plan on doing next?” you ask next, hoping to change the subject as quickly as possible.

Slowly, the smug grin on Yulia's face is replaced by something more thoughtful. “I wonder,” she muses, “Do you remember what I said about steel?”

“You said you trusted it,” you remind her, “Past tense – I noticed that. Something changed, didn't it?”

“Over time, I realised that the same things that I once respected about steel also made it weak, flawed. Steel has no capacity to improve itself – it takes human hands to shape it, to mould it into something better. Steel may be strong, but it's also stagnant. We can only go so far with weapons of steel,” Yulia explains, tapping a finger against her cheek to the rhythm of her words, “But I've dreamed of something better – a fire that burns in a far distant land, a fire that burns away all impurities. I think I might seek out that fire. If there is a weapon capable of driving back the Stryx, that fire will guide me to it.”

-

Yulia walks with you all way up to the staircase leading back to the surface, but there she stops. For a moment, just a moment, she looks at the stairs with a faint sense of longing. “Well, here we are,” she announces, gesturing vaguely, “You realise, I suppose, that I can't follow you out.”

“I had guessed as much,” you agree.

“Do you wish that you could?” Elle asks softly.

The question seems to take Yulia by surprise. She considers it for a moment, then shakes her head. “I think we both know that I've burned too many bridges to ever return,” she admits, “Some of the things I've done, well, people might not look on them too favourably.”

[1/2]

>>6138278

It's good to see the sky again, even if it's a murky, hazy sky with no sun in sight. It's hard to guess how long you spent underground, or even the exact time now. It might be early morning, or the last hours of the evening. At least one of your questions is gradually answered as you march, the sky slowly growing brighter as the morning light builds. For once, a stroke of luck – you weren't looking forwards to a long march beneath the night sky.

You're very glad when you spot your impromptu shelter looming up from the mire. Pouring the last of your strength into your legs, you hurry towards the ruins and pause at the doorway. Drawing your revolver out of habit, you slowly open the door and sweep through the building. With no signs of life, and your stockpile of supplies remaining untouched, you feel safe enough to put away the gun.

There's no harm in being cautious.

-

By the flickering light of your lantern, you open the heavy bundle of Yulia's notes and start flicking through the pages. Many of them are beyond your comprehension, displaying intricate diagrams of obscure machines with unknown purpose. When you see the recognisable silhouette of a rifle, you pause to take a closer look. If you understand the diagram correctly, it seems to be some strange mechanism that uses the recoil from firing to automatically load a new cartridge.

It'll never catch on. Give an enlisted man a gun like that, and he'll waste all his ammunition in a matter of minutes without hitting a damn thing.

“What do you think?” you ask Elle quietly, “What should we do with this stuff?”

“Hm? I suppose we could give it to Master Teilhard. There are an awful lot of designs in here, but he might be able to pick out the best of them,” Elle answers, “Oh, but then he might ask where we found this. If we told him about Miss Phalaris, he might send his people to try and, um, capture her.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It's not her that I'm worried about,” she points out.

Very true. Sending a party of armed men may just end up delivering a new batch of test subjects into Yulia's greedy hands.

>Master Teilhard doesn't need to know the truth. We could say that we found the notes here, in this old village
>We should tell Master Teilhard everything. He can decide the best course of action to take
>Perhaps it's better to keep these notes hidden for now. Then we don't have to tell anyone anything
>Other

>Just an advance notice - I'm probably not going to be running for tremendously long today or Sunday. Busy week, so I'm feeling pretty low energy

>>6138280
>Master Teilhard doesn't need to know the truth. We could say that we found the notes here, in this old village

>>6138280
>Master Teilhard doesn't need to know the truth. We could say that we found the notes here, in this old village
Say we found them in the Demesne
Foolproof
Can’t wait to see Isambard cry when the machine gun catches on
Classic Pale underestimation of innovation

>>6138280
>Master Teilhard doesn't need to know the truth. We could say that we found the notes here, in this old village
Buried in the swamp, and locked with all manner of puzzles and mirrors. He would not believe how much a person could be infuriated by a stranger with mere words and voice recordings.

so err, is Usik gonna be alright?

>>6138280
>Master Teilhard doesn't need to know the truth. We could say that we found the notes here, in this old village
Seconding checking on Usik.

“Master Teilhard doesn't need to know the truth,” you decide, “We could say that we found the notes here, in this old village. Or just anywhere in the Mire, really. So long as he doesn't know how to find the Demesne, I don't think we need to worry about him stumbling across it – and that's IF he wants to try and search this damn place even more.”

“I think that's probably best. Even so...” Elle leans over and peers at some of the designs, “I feel a little bad about letting these designs see the light of day. They're not... I know we need to fight, I'm certainly not going to deny that, but these things seem so... inhumane.”

You turn a page, looking down at a diagram of what seems to be military tactics. It shows a group of men struggling to crawl through jagged barbed wire while rifle fire pours down upon them.

“I think I see what you mean,” you sigh, closing the book and pushing it away.

-

The rest of the long march back to civilisation passes sluggishly, and mostly in silence. Even though they all made it out alive, the Galseans remain stubbornly dispirited. You can't really blame them, considering everything they saw down there, but it still feels like you're delivering a batch of broken souls back to Major Ionescu. They volunteered, but did they really know what they were getting themselves into? Did any of you?

Raising your eyes, you cast a secretive glance at your Galsean companions. Mihail looks nervous and tense, occasionally forcing a brittle smile as he senses someone glance his way. Alina doesn't bother with the pretence, simply staring forwards with a bleak look in her eyes as she walks. Usik has said nothing since leaving House Phalaris, although you suppose he's got an excuse – the wound in his throat has healed in an ugly manner, bloated up like a thick collar of flesh. Yet, as ugly as his wound seems, he can march as well as anyone else and carries more than his fair share of the luggage. You're not sure if he's “okay”, but he's definitely alive.

So you march on, saying little and trying not to think. Even when you arrive back at the border of the Mire and climb aboard your waiting carriage, the mood barely lightens. It wasn't that long ago that you were swimming and basking in sunshine on the banks of Lake Nibelung, but that feels like a different lifetime.

“You are coming back to Portsmaw with us, yes?” Mihail asks, finally breaking his long silence. His eyes, hopeful, expectant, bore into you.

“I don't know,” you sigh. Yulia's mention of your sister keeps coming back to haunt your memories, and you're loathe to waste any more time before making for the Demesne. Yet you're the head of the Pale family now, and that means you have a responsibility to maintain relationships and connections.

[1]

>>6138300

“No, we'll go,” you tell the young man after a long pause, “I suppose we'd better, or Major Ionescu would hunt us down and visit us instead.”

“Oh no,” Mihail laughs, “Oh no, he would not do that!”

“He would,” Alina counters, “You would wake up one night and find him sitting in your bedroom.”

“Just so long as I don't wake up and find him in my bed,” you grunt.

-

Despite your complaints, arriving in Portsmaw feels surprisingly good. It's actually nice, seeing crowds of living people filling the train station and surrounding yourself with the noises of civilisation. It won't be long before you're craving peace and quiet once more, of course, but for now you'll savour the hustle and bustle of the city.

At Mihail's insistence, you stop to get a hot meal before returning to the Galsean enclave. It's simple food, cheap sausages fried in even cheaper oil, but he wolfs them down with a visceral satisfaction. Clearly, you're not the only one enjoying the city's pleasures. He makes some vague noises about second helpings, but you drag him from the restaurant before he has a chance to convince you.

A strange sight awaits you when you arrive at the Galsean encampment. Two figures sit outside the main gate – one is the sentry, uniformed and half-asleep, while the other is Major Ionescu. Just before he notices your arrival, you have a chance to see the worry etched deep into his face. The moment is gone quickly though, his dark brows dipping in a frown of irritation when he sees you. Or rather, when he sees Mihail.

“You have been dawdling, boy,” the Major warns, “You think I do not know this?”

“No! This is... ah, not how it seems,” Mihail stammers, looking around at you, “Our noble friend insisted on getting a meal first! How could I refuse?”

Major Ionescu fixes the young man with a withering glare, immediately seeing through the ruse. With a soft yelp, Mihail lowers his head and scuttles through the gates before vanishing into the dense streets. Usik and Alina follow after him, giving the Major nods of greeting as they pass him by. Watching them leave, he lets out a low sigh.

“You left with three, and returned with three,” Major Ionescu muses, “This should be a cause for celebration, yes? But somehow, it does not feel that way.”

“It's a long story,” you tell him awkwardly, “We almost lost Usik, for one thing.”

“Usik is not a man who dies easily,” the Major remarks, rising from his stool and leading you into the settlement, “But yes, I noticed. His throat-”

“Long story,” you repeat. How would you even explain Yulia's strange experiments to a man like Major Ionescu, when you don't even fully understand them yourself. Fortunately, the Major seems to accept your excuse and let the matter rest... for now.

[2/3]

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>>6138310

A faint feeling of misgiving nags at you as you sit down in Major Ionescu's dwelling, politely refusing his offer of a drink. You have the terrible suspicion that he might be about to demand something of you. Whatever it is, hopefully it won't take too long. Leaving you for a moment and vanishing into a gloomy back room, Major Ionescu rummages around in the clutter for a moment before returning.

“Here. A token of my appreciation,” he explains, setting a small wooden box down before you, “For returning my people to me.”

“Thank you, Major Ionescu. It's really not necessary,” you tell him, although you take the wooden box regardless. Opening it up, you see a brass medal sitting on a rough cushion inside. Elle lets out a soft coo of appreciation as she studies the artistry, taking it out and delicately pinning it to your jacket.

>Sacred Tree Medal received: +1 Prowess Attunement.

“Now,” Major Ionescu continues, “There is something I would ask of you.”

Here it goes.

“Young Mihail,” he says bluntly, “How did he serve?”

>He did everything I asked of him and didn't get himself killed. I have no complaints
>He's not ready for leadership. Not yet. But I think he has potential
>He almost lost his nerve. He was more of a burden than an asset
>He was... (Write in)
>Other

>>6138316
>He did not help in a way the other two could not, but he also didn't cause problems, unlike those two.
>He can manage people, but he won't be a leader until he wants to lead himself.

>>6138316
>He's not ready for leadership. Not yet. But I think he has potential.
We pretty much did all the leading, and the other Galseans managed themselves (or didn't, when Usik nearly killed us) without his help. But he's got charm, and seems nice, attentive, reasonabke, and knew them well enough to warn us about Usik before we noticed the big lad's nerve was breaking for ourselves.

>>6138310
>He almost lost his nerve. He was more of a burden than an asset
>He was...
Better than Usik at least

“He's not ready for leadership. Not yet,” you answer carefully, “But I think he has potential. Right now, I don't think he wants to lead. Until he wants it, I don't think he's capable of being a leader.”

Major Ionescu throws back his head and lets out a hard bark of laughter. “Oh yes. I know that he is no leader. Perhaps he will never be a leader. That boy is still finding his way in life. He thinks, perhaps, that he must take my place one day, but his heart is not in it,” he explains, his brow furrowing as his laughter fades, “But I worry. He is already a man. Sooner or later, he must decide what he will do.”

“Out in the field, he didn't show any particular talent,” you continue, inwardly wincing at how brutal that sounds, “I mean, there was nothing unique that he brought to the table. But he didn't fail in any particular area either. He didn't help especially much, but he didn't hinder me too much either. Not as much as Usik did, at least...”

“Usik?” Major Ionescu raises an eyebrow.

“We had a... disagreement,” you tell the Major, choosing your words carefully, “You didn't tell me that he lost friends in my father's expedition, or that he was harbouring a desire for revenge.”

“We all lost friends in that expedition, Master Pale. As for his desire for revenge...” Major Ionescu gives you a slight shrug, “He is not an easy man to read. You can see this. Whatever secrets he keeps, he keeps them locked deep within his heart. Regardless, I see that whatever bad blood exists between him and your father, it did not do too much harm.”

But it came very close.

-

Major Ionescu lapses into a deep silence after you've said this, considering your words on Usik and Mihail. Studying his face, you feel a sudden pang of sympathy – not for the Major, so much, but for your father. Did he have these same thoughts, these same doubts, as he watched you grow up? When he banished you to Coral House, was he simply trying to help you find your own way in life?

It's too late to ask such questions, though. They won't ever find an answer.

“Being a father must be very hard,” Elle murmurs as you're leaving, “I'm glad I won't have to worry about that.”

“No, you'll just have to worry about being a mother,” you counter, before hastily adding, “That is, if you want... if you find the right... Ahem.”

“Shall we hurry along?” she asks, changing the subject with a deft hand even though her cheeks are burning red, “I think we might still be able to catch the next train back to Castaigne.”

“Yes. Let's hurry,” you agree, already marching off towards the train station. Once you're back at the estate, you can check for any important news before setting off again. No waiting around this time. No wasting time.

[1]

>>6138343

“Isambard?” Elle asks as the train rattles along towards home, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” you reply, idly flicking through Yulia's notes and peering with incredulity at some of them. A carriage without horses? Impossible – the public wouldn't accept it.

“I... okay, you got me there. I've got another question, then,” she continues, “Yulia's... offer. Her deal... when she asked for Usik, were you tempted?”

You look up from the notes and meet her gaze. “No,” you answer simply, “I said that I would bring them all back, or at least do everything in my power to bring them back. I wasn't going to go back on my word like that, even if it was a secret that would remain buried with House Phalaris. I'd know, and that would be enough.”

Elle considers this for a moment before nodding. “You're a good man, Isambard,” she murmurs, leaning back and closing her eyes.

-

It's late when you arrive back at the estate, and you barely have the stamina to make it to your bedroom before collapsing into a deep sleep. Your dreams that night are a confused blur, haunted by the cries of night owls. The only other thing you remember upon waking is a pair of silver eyes staring right into your own – Gratia's eyes, eyes that you remember all too well from your childhood. As impossible as it may be, the dream feels like more than just a normal dream. It feels like an omen.

“Any important news?” you ask as you hurry downstairs, catching sight of Alex at the breakfast table, “Hello, by the way. We're back.”

“I can see that,” Alex answers, “And no, there's been no news. In fact, it's been oddly quiet around here.”

“Probably because I wasn't here,” you remark, “I hope you weren't too bored.”

“Oh, I managed to scrape by. I had your little friend to keep me company, pestering me all hours of the day for old family stories,” he gives you a weary smile, “I don't think I've ever met someone so fond of the Pale family, and that includes your father.”

That certainly sounds like Ariel.

“So,” Alex continues, “How was your little expedition? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you sigh, taking a seat at the breakfast table and helping yourself to some of the waiting food, “Just another one of my father's many messes to clean up, not that there was much we could do about it. I suppose we learned a few things, at least.”

Namely, that it's only a matter of time before the whole land is awash in blood and fire. You'll spare Alex that little detail for now, and allow him enjoy his blissful ignorance for a while longer. Why let him worry about something that is completely beyond his power to change?

[2/3]

>>6138355

Just as your patient is starting to wear thing, and you're considering going to check on them, Elle and Ariel come downstairs to join you. Ariel gives you a bright smile of greeting as she sits down at the breakfast table. “I was starting to think you weren't going to come back,” she teases, “Too bad, I was just getting used to running this place. I managed to convince Alex that you were leaving this place to me in your will.”

“She didn't convince me of anything,” Alex interrupts, “Don't worry, lad. Your inheritance-”

“There isn't really much to inherit, is there?” you remark casually, “Anyway, I don't intend on dying any time soon. Sorry.”

“Ah well,” Ariel jokes, “So, how long were you planning on sticking around this time?”

“Not long. I want to head off to the Demesne as soon as possible,” you tell her, giving Elle a glance, “No more delays.”

“What about Miss Phalaris' papers?” Elle reminds you, “We were going to show those to Master Teilhard, remember?”

A short silence descends, Elle's words striking the conversation dead. “I'm sorry,” Alex says at last, his eyes wide and surprised, “Did you say “Miss Phalaris”? Just where have you-”

“I'll explain later,” you assure him, “And yes, I hadn't forgotten about the papers. They'll keep for a little while longer, won't they?”

Elle says nothing to this, just looking at you with concern in her shining blue eyes. Just looking into her eyes makes you wonder if you're being hasty, taking a silly dream far too seriously. If there was any real cause for concern, surely SHE would be the one to know about it. If the oracle isn't worried, you shouldn't be worried either. Right?

“I could drop them off for you,” Ariel suggests, “I mean, I can't do much at the Demesne anyway. This way, I'd be making myself useful. Getting to enjoy the Teilhard family chef is just an added bonus!”

>No, I'm being rash. We'll go and see Master Teilhard together
>That would be useful, Ariel. You go to Siegfried House, and we'll head to the Demesne
>Other

>>6138366
>No, I'm being rash. We'll go and see Master Teilhard together
These designs are too revolutionary. We CANNOT have them thrown out or destroyed or worse

>>6138366
>No, I'm being rash. We'll go and see Master Teilhard together
Surely this will be the last distraction unless it turns out that the old friend Alex had saw before is going to die soon or something.
It'd probably be better to hand the notes ourselves in case Master Teilhard has something to give us in return.

>>6138366
>That would be useful, Ariel. You go to Siegfried House, and we'll head to the Demesne

You give Ariel a faint smile, nodding in thanks at her offer even as you're wondering if it's really necessary. There is a chance, no matter how small, that Master Teilhard might look at the designs and discard them. Too complex, too ambitious, too... impossible to actually work. You might not be able to understand them much either, but you should be able to convince him of their importance.

“No, I'm being rash,” you decide at last, practically forcing the words out, “We'll go and see Master Teilhard together. I want to enjoy some of that cooking too – no offence, Alex.”

“None taken,” the older man replies with a warm smile, “I know my way around a kitchen, but I know that I'm no master chef. I'd be a lot richer if I was!”

Elle laughs delicately, covering her mouth with a crisp white napkin. “I certainly won't mind a chance to rest a little,” she admits, “Master Seidel, did any messages arrive for me?”

“Unfortunately not, Miss Legrasse,” Alex tells her, shaking his head, “You were expecting something, weren't you?”

“Mm. I asked King Albrecht for permission to access the Demesne as well. I know that it's technically not his decision to make, but I thought that he might be able to pull some strings,” she explains, frowning slightly, “Even if that wasn't possible, I thought he would let me know, at least. Even just letting me know that he received my note...”

“He's probably just busy,” Ariel suggests with a shrug, “Or he sent word to the old palace and forgot to tell you.”

“He wouldn't just “forget” me,” the oracle insists, her frown deepening. It's rare to see her looking so irritated, especially without Yulia Phalaris here to provoke her, and you briefly sense an argument brewing. Then, abruptly, the storm clouds dissipate as Elle waves the subject away with a disinterested gesture – a gesture that reminds you very much of Juno. “It doesn't matter. Even if I can't get into the Demesne, we still have a mission to carry out,” she decides, “I won't let my own personal interests become a distraction.”

“And I'm sure we're all very glad to hear that,” Alex adds, stepping in to smooth over any last tensions, “Anyone for second helpings?”

It must be nice to live in his world, where all problems can be solved with a good breakfast.

>Okay, I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be running for a short session tomorrow. Short week this time, unfortunately
>Thank you for playing today!

>>6138392
Thanks for running!

Happy to see the total Demesne procrastination vote won out even though I couldn't make it.

>>6138366
>“What about Miss Phalaris' papers?”
Elle really just threw it out there while people were having breakfast

>>6138493
She can be blunt in her own fashion, can't she? What a woman. Top tier waifu. I missed the vote on whether to tarry before the return to the Demesne, but in retrospect I'm glad we're holding off to see if the king will authorize the future Lady Pale to join us. At the very least, we can't be tempted by certain anons to fuck our sister if Elle is present.

>>6138392
Thanks, QM!

>>6138513
>Gratia has to judge Elle worthy of fucking her brother
>Isambard has to judge ??? worthy of fucking his sister
It'll be hilarious to see it finally happen

>>6138392
Oh right, thanks for running
>It must be nice to live in his world, where all problems can be solved with a good breakfast.
Who says that world can't become a reality?

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>>6138513
>we can't be tempted by certain anons to fuck our sister if Elle is present
From what ocean did you gather this pearl of wisdom?

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“So what's this all about, anyway?” Ariel asks, heaving the carriage door closed behind her, “Yulia Phalaris' papers? I mean, really?”

“Really,” you confirm, “But don't let anyone else know that. We've decided not to mention that part – far fewer awkward questions that way. But yes, we met with Yulia Phalaris beneath the mire, and she gave us these notes. From what she says, we're going to need them.”

Ariel lets out a low whistle of amazement as she takes this in. “I feel like nothing surprises me these days,” she admits after a while, “I can see why you don't want to go telling just anyone that. You'll sound completely mad.”

“Some days, I FEEL completely mad.”

-

You're kept waiting outside for what seems like an eternity when you arrive at Siegfried House, the soldiers on guard awkwardly resisting any attempt to make conversation while the time passes. Eventually, Master Teilhard emerges from the front door with a deep frown etched onto his face. “Master Pale,” he begins, a faint note of bitter amusement in his voice, “My advisors suggested that I shouldn't meet with you like this.”

“While I'm glad to hear that you're not listening to your advisors' advice, I do wonder what you're paying them for,” you reply smoothly, “Can I ask why they said this?”

“Inside. We'll talk more there,” the old soldier tells you, leading you inside with a curt gesture. The soldiers hastily back off as you enter the grand house, shutting the doors behind you. Master Teilhard doesn't say a word until you're in his office, when he finally allows a flicker of unease to pass across his face. “You've developed something of a reputation, Master Pale,” he announces, “People are talking.”

“...I assume they're not saying good things,” you decide, “What, exactly, are they saying?”

Master Teilhard doesn't reply straight away, slowly stroking the long scar on his cheek as he thinks. It's strange, seeing him so pensive. “People talked about your father too, towards the end. Myself included,” he says slowly, “We talked about how he was out of control, borrowing money wherever he could only to lose it soon after. Some of what we said was true, some of it was baseless slander, but there was always something... definite. Accusations that could be refuted, implications that could be argued. With you, not so much.”

“There is,” he continues, “The suggestion of impropriety, without anything definite being said. Any accusations are so vague that they vanish upon closer inspection, yet linger in the back of the mind.”

A sickening frustration seeps through you as Master Teilhard's words sink in. “Rumours and insinuation!” you sneer, “How am I supposed to defend myself against such things?”

Perhaps you're not. Perhaps that's the point.

[1/2]

>>6138877

“Master Teilhard, please,” Elle pleads, “Is there really nothing definite that you've heard?”

“There have been... comments on the company you keep. Foreigners and the Tomoe are not the expected company for a young gentleman,” Master Teilhard answers, “And then, your own actions. Some say that the unnatural follows closely in your wake, Master Pale.”

“The former... I suppose I can't entirely deny that,” you admit with an irritated shrug, “But the latter point is ridiculous, they've got it completely backwards! If I've had encounters with the unnatural, it's because I've got cause to investigate such things. You might as well suggest the magistrates are all guilty, because their job revolves around crime!”

“I've used that exact same argument with associates of mine,” the old soldier agrees, giving you a solemn nod, “I've explained your actions to them, and seen them nod their heads in understanding and admit their error. Yet only a few short days later, I'll hear them repeat the exact same gossip. It's the most galling thing.”

Saying nothing, you look down at the heavy book in your lap and your hands atop it, clenched into trembling fists. It almost would have been better if Master Teilhard hadn't said anything at all, you think to yourself. People might still be talking behind your back, but at least you wouldn't need to know about it.

“That explains Master Seidel's friend,” Elle muses, her voice seeming to come from a vast distance away, “It's awful. It's... petty, pointless cruelty!”

“Let them talk,” Ariel says, although she sounds less than certain, “I mean, it's just stupid gossip.”

>Enough. I didn't come her to talk about gossip. I've got something to show you
>Is there anything I can do about this gossip, Master Teilhard?
>Rumours have to start somewhere. Have you any idea where this talk comes from?
>I want to ask... (Write in)
>Other

>>6138878
>If some rumours about my character are all I have to suffer to find my sister, it's a small price.
>Besides, what I have to show you is far more important than any one man.
Time to give the Gift of War

>>6138878
>Rumours have to start somewhere. Have you any idea where this talk comes from?
I’ll show them unnatural and improper company

“Rumours have to start somewhere, Master Teilhard,” you announce, a familiar coldness seeping into your voice, “Have you any idea where this talk comes from?”

Master Teilhard is silent for a moment, his hesitation leaving space for Elle to speak up instead. “It may be House Tomoe themselves,” she suggests cautiously, “Spreading misinformation and slander is exactly the sort of thing that they would do. As for why... they might be seeking to isolate you from polite society, to better drive you into their arms.”

“Miss Legrasse presents a compelling theory, and one that I have considered myself,” Master Teilhard replies, “However, I could never quite bring myself to believe it. These rumours seem to carry a hint of moral outrage about them, and that is one thing that the Tomoe cannot fake. I will stress that I know nothing for certain, and this is purely a hunch, but I believe these rumours originated within House Silvera.”

“No!” Elle cries, “That's not... I can't believe that they would do such a thing!”

“Many families look to House Silvera for moral guidance, and to better understand their place within the natural order. Though they offer wise counsel, it would be foolish of me to dismiss House Silvera's role in shaping public opinion,” he explains, “I am not accusing the entire house, Miss Legrasse, but perhaps a single malicious actor within the family-”

“Enough of this,” you interrupt, cutting Elle's retort off before she can even speak it aloud. “If some rumours about the nature of my character are all that I have to suffer in order to get my sister back, that's a price I'll happily accept,” you continue, “And besides, what I have to show you is far more important than any one man. Come and see.”

It doesn't escape your notice that Master Teilhard is vaguely relieved when you change the subject, curiosity lighting up his eyes as you set the heavy tome down in front of him. At your gesture, he starts flicking through the pages. “Where did you find this?” he asks after a moment, looking up with attentive eyes.

“We recovered it from the Mire of Phalaris,” you answer vaguely. Technically, you're not lying.

“You'll forgive me, Master Pale, but I find that hard to believe,” the soldier replies, “There's nothing in the Mire. There's nothing left.”

“With respect, sir...” Elle says softly, “Have you ever tried looking?”

There is a short silent, and then he lets out a curt laugh. “Good point,” he tells her, “We've always believed that the desolation was so complete, so total, that nothing could survive – but to think, this has been under our noses this whole time!”

“To be fair, it was well hidden,” you reply, giving him a humourless smile, “Very well hidden indeed. But we've found it now, and I thought you might be interested.”

“Very much so,” Master Teilhard muses, studying the pages once more with a hungry gaze.

[1]

>>6138900

Time crawls by as Master Teilhard pours through Yulia's notes, occasionally jotting down a few words or a page number in his own notepad. Every so often he mutters something to himself, the words too hushed for you to hear. There's a part of you that wants to get up and leave, your work here having concluded, but you stay seated just in case. Instead, you think about these dire rumours swirling around you.

The worst part about them, you suppose, is how close to the truth they really are, yet how monstrously distorted they've become. You have connections to the Galseans and contacts with House Tomoe, true, but you've only ever used those connections for good reasons. Mostly good reasons.

“The contents of this book will change the nature of warfare forever,” Master Teilhard announces abruptly, setting the book aside and looking you in the eye, “I confess, this is a heavy burden. There is a part of me, however small, that wants to burn these pages to ash.”

“Please don't,” you reply, grimacing slightly, “We went through a lot of work to get them.”

“Of course I'm not going to burn them. I would be a fool to squander this,” he shakes his head, “Yet, I shudder to think of a world where we must turn these concepts into reality. It would be a world far beyond anything we could currently recognise. Perhaps it was right and proper that the Phalaris were swallowed up by the mire...”

You say nothing to this, meeting Elle's gaze in silence. If he wants to believe that the Phalaris vanished because of some divine punishment, you're not going to change his mind.

-

“Ariel,” Master Teilhard says as you're getting ready to leave, “I know what you're going to say, but I feel obliged to tell you this. It may be wise for you to stay at Siegfried House for a time.”

“You mean, until people stop gossiping about Isambard?” she replies, raising an eyebrow, “Thanks for the warning, but I'm okay. It's not like I've got much of a good name to lose in the first place.”

“I thought as much,” he says, giving her an approving nod, “You'll always have a place here if you need it, but – and I mean this in the best possible way – I hope that you never do.”

>I'm sorry about this, but I'm going to close here – I'm really not feeling it today, and I want to go into the next section with a clear head. I'll be starting back up next Saturday, I should be more active then
>Thanks for stopping by regardless

>>6138942
Thanks for running!

>>6138942
Thanks for running!

So the Teilhards owe us for that book of innovation, right? They also need an opponent to test all those new weapons on, while we'd like House Silvera to stop spreading nasty rumors. It seems we share a common interest.

>>6138942
Isambard is going to be honorary Teilhard by the end of this quest

it's gonna be the church, isn't it?

>>6139122
A world where people with black hair and black/brown eyes are foreign islanders and all the main continent nation people have anime hair and eye colors? You bet it's the church

>>6138986
Not sure about declaring war on the Purity Crew.

>>6138942
Thanks for running!

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And so, with the stench of rumour and speculation hanging around you, you prepare to leave Siegfried House. You wouldn't normally hurry away like this, but it looks as if Master Teilhard is about to start telling old war stories. If you stay for one tale, you might never get a chance to leave. Master Teilhard senses your thoughts with a wry smile, nodding curtly.

“In that case, there's one last thing to discuss before you leave,” he announces, “The matter of your recompense.”

“The pride of serving the nation of recompense enough,” you reply smoothly, your words causing Ariel to hastily cover her laugh with a cough.

“Very amusing,” Master Teilhard drawls, “But I had something else in mind – a war banner, captured during the last Lliogor migration. I would consider it a symbol of our fruitful partnership. If it pleases you, I can arrange for the banner to be sent to your estate – I understand that you have... other duties to attend to.”

“A pleasure working with you, Master Teilhard.”

-

From Siegfried House, you return to your carriage and continue north to the Demesne. The conversation falters and fails as the landscape grows whiter and whiter, fine dust rattling against the carriage windows with each gust of wind. Ariel dozes softly, slumped against the side of the carriage, but Elle remains wide awake. She hides it well, but whenever she thinks you're not looking her expression grows troubled. She may not say it aloud, but right now nothing would please her more than to see the carriage turn around and return home.

It's not hard to understand her apprehension. You know Gratia almost like you know your own mind, but there's one area that remains unknown – you can't predict how well she'll work with your other companions. Yours had been a fiercely solitary childhood, with only each other to rely upon. You've changed since then, but has she?

The question remains, but you've come too far to turn back now.

-

“Oh!” Elle gasps softly as you enter the ancient palace, her gaze immediately drawn to the dark figure sitting in the entrance hall. “Master Sakhalin, Marius. What are you doing here?” she asks, hurrying towards him, “We're not disturbing you, are we?”

“I am called here on a small errand,” Sakhalin answers, carefully closing his book and setting it aside, “Please, do not let me distract you – I am sure that you did not come here hoping to find me, of all people.”

No matter what the circumstances there's always a weighty sense of sadness hanging over Sakhalin, as if he has taken all the world's sorrows onto his broad shoulders. Today, that impression is stronger than ever.

“An errand?” Elle repeats, “Is there something... wrong?”

“Please, do not concern yourself with me,” he insists, shaking his head, “We can talk when your business here is over. I will wait.”

“Are you sure?” you ask him, raising an eyebrow, “We might be some time.”

“I will wait.”

[1/2]

>>6142487

Leaving Sakhalin with his book, you lead Elle and Ariel deeper into the palace until you spot the entrance to the Demesne. Immediately, you sense that something is wrong. Normally there are only a few soldiers loitering about, lazily defending the most sacred place in the kingdom. Now, there is almost a dozen men placed near the entrance, and all are armed – some have short, light rifles held in a low ready, while others have revolvers and stout wooden batons.

“Are you expecting important guests?” you ask as Captain Milgrim slowly approaches you, “Aside from ourselves, of course.”

“I'll have to ask you to wait here, Master Pale,” the soldier replies, gesturing for you to stay where you are. He retreats again, talking to a small group of his men in a hushed voice. The other guards fidget nervously, toying with their weapons like children huddling around a campfire. When Milgrim returns, his expression is a strange mixture of resignation and resolve. “I'm sorry, Master Pale,” he announces, “But I can't allow you to go any further.”

The whole world seems to freeze, to become totally still and silent as the bottom falls out of your stomach in a sickening lurch. You stand frozen in place for what seems like an eternity, though it could only be a few seconds. “Why?” you ask at last, your voice strangled and low.

“I'm just following my orders, Master Pale,” Milgrim answers, giving you his best attempt at a friendly smile, “They don't tell me much either.”

“Whose orders?” you press, taking a step forwards. The guards flanking Milgrim tense up, reaching for their weapons until a gesture from the officer causes them to pause. “I want to know who gave you those orders, Milgrim,” you continue, “There's been some kind of mistake. We need to... we need to get this cleared up. I don't cause any trouble, do I? I've never spilled blood in the Demesne or-”

“Master Pale, please. Don't make this difficult – for either of us,” the soldier pleads, “I can't help you. You need to leave.”

“I think he's right,” Elle whispers, lightly grabbing your arm, “I think he's serious, Isambard.”

You say nothing, glaring at the assembled soldiers. After everything you've gone through to get here, it comes down to a dozen armed men standing between you and Gratia. Ariel holds her tongue too, although you see her hand hovering indecisively by the revolver holstered at her hip. The conflict is plain to see on her face – she wants to fight against the injustice of it all, but these aren't beasts or monsters. These are her own people.

>This battle is a lost cause. You've got no choice but to leave
>These men won't stop you. You'll fight if you have to
>Sakhalin knew this would happen. You'll get your answers from him
>Other

>>6142490
>Sakhalin knew this would happen. You'll get your answers from him
If not him then the King

>>6142490
>These men won't stop you. You'll fight if you have to

We don't have time for this. This is clearly a delaying tactic, Gratia needs us.

>>6142490
>"I assume the authority of these orders supercedes the King's?"
Isambard could really give them a verbal thrashing if he wanted.

>Sakhalin knew this would happen. You'll get your answers from him
I'm guessing this has to do with the Strix.

I'm contemplating trying to get in during the night.

You stay silent for a long time, as motionless as a stone statue even as Elle tugs gently at your arm. The guards seem to grow more unnerved by the moment, disturbed by your unbroken silence. You have little doubt that, despite their hopes, they knew that you wouldn't just turn and walk away. Perhaps they had been expecting an argument, even a fight. But not this.

“Should I assume, then, that your orders come from a higher authority than the King's?” you ask softly, finally breaking your silence, “He was, after all, the one who gave me access to the Demesne.”

A ripple of confusion, of uncertainty, runs through the men. All of a sudden, you can see it in their faces – they don't even know who gave the orders, merely that they were beyond questioning. The soldiers might not know anything, but you can think of someone who might.

With one last dismissive sneer, you turn and march away from the soldiers. Even without looking back, you can feel them slumping low as the tension finally leaves their bodies. Ignoring them, you hasten back to the entrance hall and storm over to Sakhalin just as the dark-skinned man is rising to his feet. The knowing look in his eye causes your hands to ball into fists, and you have to rein in your temper.

“I just want you to know that I'm giving very serious consideration to punching you right in the face,” you spit, staring Sakhalin right in the eye, “You KNEW about this, didn't you?”

Sakhalin holds your gaze for a long moment. “I had heard about the decision, but indirectly. I did not know it to be true, and the soldiers here would not confirm it. They would not discuss their orders with me,” he answers at last, “But now I see that it was true. You have been barred from accessing the Demesne, yes?”

“Well obviously. I wouldn't be standing here if...” your words trail off here, fading to a hoarse whisper, “I am THIS close, Sakhalin. THIS close to finding my sister. Why does this have to happen NOW?”

Again, Sakhalin says nothing for a while. Eventually, he nods slightly towards the entrance and starts to amble away. Even though the anger still seethes in your heart, you follow him outside. He doesn't stop at the carriages, as you suspected, but continues walking across the sea of fine white dust. With the treacherous ground slipping beneath your feet, you follow him up the shallow slope to the faded remnants of a broken castle wall. Here, he sits.

“When my sources warned me of King Albrecht's decision, I neither understood nor believed it,” Sakhalin announces simply, “I know the King well. I could even consider him a friend, as much as a man in my position can be friends with a man in his. This is not a decision that he would make, I believe, without undue influence.”

“Undue influence,” you repeat, giving the words a mocking tone as you throw them back in Sakhalin's face.

[1]

>>6142500

Sakhalin takes no offence, or at least no visible offence, at your snide remarks. “King Albrecht fully wished to uncover the truth behind your father's death, Master Pale. He wished for you to understand it too, in hopes that you might find some measure of... closure,” he continues, “This sudden change is strange. It concerns me deeply.”

“Master Sakhalin, please. If you know anything else about this...” Elle asks, pleads.

“I know very little. I understand that King Albrecht has deemed that any possible advantage to be gained by your investigation is now outweighed by the consequences it may invite. However, this decision was made entirely without my knowledge – another strange aspect to the case,” Sakhalin slowly shakes his head, “This is why I say that he has come under some malign influence.”

“That means leverage. What kind of leverage could someone hold over a monarch?” you wonder aloud, “And who could be holding it?”

Though you don't say it aloud, you have an idea about the second question. It would need to be someone capable of unearthing long-dead secrets, someone who holds a position of power and influence – and who else fits the bill, but the Choirmaster herself?

“I intend to investigate this further,” Sakhalin announces, “It troubles me, this situation. Master Pale, I would ask you for a service.”

You look up, startled from your thoughts, and give Sakhalin an indifferent gesture.

“Please, do not cause any trouble,” he asks, giving you a frown, “This may be difficult for you, but my own investigation may be hindered if you cause too much disruption. I suggest that you lie low for a time. Should I uncover more information, I will keep you informed. Rest assured, Master Pale, I dislike this situation almost as much as you do.”

Almost.

“So, what? I just go back to the estate and sit around until something changes?” you mutter, scowling hard at the thought, “You don't understand, Sakhalin. My sister-”

“Isambard, it's okay. It'll be okay,” Elle whispers, “I think he's right. I think we should play along for now. It won't do Gratia any good if you go and get yourself in trouble – or get yourself hurt.”

Like how you might get “hurt” trying to pick a fight with a dozen armed men in order to sneak into the Demesne. The kind of hurt that you might never have a chance to recover from.

>Fine. I'll play along for now, but my patience won't last forever
>I can't just wait around. I've got other ideas... (Write in)
>At least answer my questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>6142510
>I can't just wait around. I've got other ideas... (Write in)

Could we fake our way in? The same way Kalthos had, by pretending to be someone else that was previously approved. Sure things might be a little more constrained, but it may yet be possible. It's not like we haven't helped out the other houses previously so our options are probably better then he was. Maybe Elle can recalls something from the Demense's "Guest book" that we could cross reference.


Or House Tomoe may know more, or have other ideas or methods or be willing to trade for access.

>>6142510
>>6142524
This is a good idea
Dress up as a Silvera

>>6142510
>>6142529
Actually see if we can get an audience with the King first
The Choirmaster too

>>6142510
>What does Sankhalin know about the rumours about bard?

“I can't just wait around like this,” you complain, pacing back and forth across the loose white dust, “There has to be some other way. Perhaps we could sneak in, or use someone else's identity for cover. Elle, you've seen the Demesne's guestbook, haven't you? Who else is allowed access? Do you remember?”

“I... I think I can remember some...” Elle stammers, “But Isambard, don't you think they might... recognise you?”

Her eyes flick up towards your hair as she says this, causing you to defensively brush a few locks back. “There has to be a way. It's been done before,” you grunt, “The Tomoe knew how to do it. I shudder to think about what they may ask in return, but they may be able to offer assistance.”

These words are met with a tense silence, broken only when Sakhalin gently clears his throat. “Dealing the Tomoe,” he suggests lightly, “Is exactly the kind of trouble that I was hoping you would avoid.”

“Well, I have to do something!” you shout, throwing your hands up in a furious gesture, “What else am I supposed to do, sit around and place my faith in the natural order? What good has that ever done me?”

“Please, just calm down. Yes, I agree that we should do something. I really do. But we shouldn't do anything rash,” Elle insists, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly, “If we rush into anything, it might do more harm than good.”

“She's right, man,” Ariel agrees, grimacing slightly, “You're talking about some kind of... heist stunt. We'd only have one shot at that – if we got it wrong, they would double down on the security. So we take our time, plan it out, then go. Measure twice, cut once.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you purge the anger from your mind and look at your situation with a cold, objective eye – the cutting Insight that your family is so known for. They are, of course, correct. Getting angry and causing a scene might even give your unseen enemies more ammunition to use against you. Better to slow down and act only when the time is right.

“Sakhalin,” you announce, your voice hushed but cold as steel, “Can you get me an audience with the King? With the Choirmaster, too? And don't give me that talk about causing trouble – considering what King Albrecht has ordered, it would be more suspicious if I DIDN'T try to speak with him about it. So, get me an audience.”

“I will try,” Sakhalin answers, “But it may be difficult, Master Pale.”

“Because of my... reputation,” you agree, nodding slowly, “What have you heard?”

“People say that you are a dangerous man to know, Master Pale,” he says bluntly, with no concern for sparing your feelings, “They shun you as if you carried a plague, all while laughing at their own superstitions. Men said similar things about your father – they saw that he was racing towards destruction, and feared being dragged down with him.”

[1]

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>>6142540

You let these words soak in, giving them the same careful analysis that your own plans deserve. “I see,” you reply at last, “Do try and get me that audience, Sakhalin. I'd rather hear King Albrecht out first, and perhaps even change his mind, before I'm forced to take any more... drastic action.”

“As I said, I will try,” Sakhalin answers with a forlorn sigh, “Please do not do anything that will make my job any more difficult than it already is.”

“I will try,” you repeat back to him, finally allowing yourself a bitter smirk.

-

Much of your journey home is spent in silent planning, each possibility passing through your mind and withering beneath the cold glare of scrutiny. You could, you reason, try to pass yourself off as a member of the Silvera family – there's more than a passing similarity between yourself and Cato Silvera, for example. It might be a little too much to expect the solemn young man to help you, but the possibility, no matter how faint, remains.

Time passes slowly on the road, and you arrive back at the estate not long after midnight. Talking little amongst yourselves, you split up from the rest of your companions and retire to bed. Despite dozing in the carriage, the journey home left you exhausted and sleep comes quickly.

The next morning, you wake with a feeling of foreboding. Hurrying downstairs, you see Alex busy with opening a large packing crate. You dimly recall seeing it when you returned home last night, but you were too tired to pay it much attention. This, you presume, is the gift Master Teilhard had arranged for you – a barbarous standard, carrying a heavy banner decorated with the image of a strange winged serpent rising above a forest of blades. No doubt it must've been a terrible sight when flying over an army of Lliogor warriors, but the banner seems faintly pathetic when seen like this.

“What is that thing?” you ask, pointing to the winged beast, “Some Lliogor symbol?”

“Aye. They call it a dragon, I believe,” Alex answers, “Don't ask me what it's supposed to represent, because I don't know. Maybe it's just a great big beast, and it doesn't represent anything – I can't imagine the Lliogor care much about imagery.”

You grunt a vague acknowledgement, still looking at the bloated white thing. It's vaguely horrible, in ways that you can't quite describe.

Glancing away from the banner at the sound of footsteps, you turn to see Elle descending the stairs. “Oh, that's horrible,” she murmurs, walking over to study the banner, “What is that thing?”

“The Lliogor call it a dragon,” you explain, flashing Alex a quick smile, “Some kind of heraldic beast, I expect.”

“Fascinating...” Elle muses, reaching out one hand to stroke the banner only to hesitate, drawing her hand back at the last moment.

[2/3]

>>6142549

“Oh, Miss Legrasse,” Alex announces, breaking the stilted silence, “I almost forgot, there was a message for you when I woke up this morning. I think it actually arrived late last night, but I was long asleep by then. Let me just fetch it for you...”

Alex disappears for a moment, returning soon after with a flimsy slip of paper. He hands it across to Elle, who reads it closely. Her eyes widen with surprise as she reads the note, a sickening dread filling her whole face as she slowly reads it for a second time. “I'm sorry, Master Seidel, but could you give us a moment alone?” she asks softly, placing the note down, “I need to talk with Isambard.”

“Of course. I'll go and... um, find something to do in the kitchen,” he mumbles, hurriedly leaving the room with one single backwards glance.

Even after Alex has vanished, Elle doesn't say anything straight away. Folding the note sharply in half, she places it down on the nearby breakfast table. “It's from my parents,” she explains, her voice barely above a whisper, “I suppose I should've seen this coming.”

“Seen what coming?” you ask cautiously, that foreboding feeling creeping up on you once more.

“They've heard the rumours, of course. The rumours about you,” Elle says, picking her words with immaculate care, “They want me to come home. They say that this is our last chance at reconciliation – if I don't come home, then... then I'll be no daughter of theirs.”

Those words, or rather the underlying cruelty in them, strikes you like a bucket of ice water. Looking at Elle, you can't recall ever seeing her look so lost and confused. She seems caught, pulled in two different directions and ready to split apart.

“I don't... want to lose them,” she admits, her fingers toying with the folded note, “I don't want to leave your side, but I don't want to lose them either. They say they'll be sending a carriage for me. Has it already been and gone? No, Master Seidel would've seen something. Then, it might be arriving... soon. How am I supposed to decide a thing like this with so little time? That's just... too cruel...”

As her voice trails off, she glances back up at you with wide, pleading eyes – eyes that plead for you to make the decision, any decision, for her.

>Go back to them. This can't last forever – you can return when these rumours have been cleared up
>Don't go to them. Perhaps this is selfish of me, but I can't lose you now. I need you here, with me
>I can't make this choice for you, Elle. This is something you need to decide for yourself
>Other

>>6142558
>Go back to them. This can't last forever – you can return when these rumours have been cleared up
What has her family ever done for her anyway though
Don’t say that aloud

Update: I think I'm going to leave this vote open but take a pause here - I won't really have time to write to a good break point today, I think. I'll pick up for another few hours tomorrow. Until then!

>>6142558
>Don't go to them. Perhaps this is selfish of me, but I can't lose you now. I need you here, with me
I will vote for this. Also
>>6142568
>What has her family ever done for her anyway though
>Don’t say that aloud
I disagree. Isambard has been hit back to back since Teilhard patriarch told him the rumors exist. He needs to rightfully vent

>>6142558
>Go back to them. This can't last forever – you can return when these rumours have been cleared up

>>6142558
>I can't make this choice for you, Elle. This is something you need to decide for yourself

>>6142593
Thank you for holding off.

>>6142558
>I can't make this choice for you, Elle. This is something you need to decide for yourself
But if she leaves, I'm going full tilt Team Ariel. This is her moment of truth.