>>5883518

With a slow, deliberate motion, Persephone raises a clenched fist to her mouth and loudly clears her throat. The sound is like a gunshot in the hushed dorm, and Harriet flinches slightly.

“I'll, ah, I'll go and tell Johannes that you're back,” Harriet announces, spotting an opportunity to make her escape, “He's been helping out with teaching some of the apprentices while everyone is away. Don't tell him I said this, but I really think he's found his calling!”

While everyone is away. Those words fill you with an obscure dread, calling back to the unspoken troubles you had considered earlier. But you don't have a chance to dwell on those words for long, as a new silence descends in the wake of Harriet's departure. It's just you and Persephone now, and... you don't know what to say. Things are different now.

“It's nice,” you begin, already wincing at your own words, “What you've done with your hair.”

“It IS nice, isn't it? Although I can hardly take much credit for it – Harriet did all the hard work, really,” Persephone replies, delicately brushing her braids, “That's what us girls do all day, you know, we just sit around and braid our hair. Don't tell anyone though, that's supposed to be our secret. It took her an awfully long time, too.”

With that said, Persephone reaches up and, with the removal of a single strategic pin, brings her hair spilling down in glossy tangles. You start to brush a few strands away from her face only for her to lean into your touch, her eyes closed in contentment as she pushes her face against your hand. Her skin is still as cold as you remember it. That, at least, hasn't changed.

It seems like the moment could last forever but, of course, it doesn't. Persephone opens her eyes and meets your gaze, your hand still clasped tight against her cheek. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she lies, “We got a nice little letter from our dear friend Willowbrae. You do remember him, don't you?”

“I remember,” you assure her, thinking back to the young priest, “What did he want?”

“Why do you assume he wanted something? Maybe he was just sociable,” she teases, “He didn't say much of anything, actually. Just the usual tedious pleasantries that people write when they don't have much to say. Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, though, but his letter suggested a certain... unease.”

“Maybe he's having a crisis of faith,” you suggest, but Persephone just smirks and shakes her head.

“Nothing as interesting as that, I'm sure,” she muses, “Well, either way. I wrote down a few platitudes and, unfortunately, dropped it off at the temple myself.”

“Unfortunately?”

“The capital right now...” Persephone pauses, shuddering a little, “Actually, I'd rather not spoil my good mood by talking about it. How was your time away?”

“Do you actually care?” you ask, “Or are you just trying to change the subject?”

Persephone just smiles.

[2/3]

>>5883519

“How was my time away?” you murmur, repeating Persephone's question back to her, “Frustrating, I suppose. The usual sort of reason – a lot of questions, not many answers. But it gave me an excuse to stay away from the academy while things calmed down after... Ixtab. It looks like everyone's going to be too busy to gossip about me now. What's been going on, anyway?”

Persephone dismisses the subject with an aloof wave of her hand. “Everyone's busy, as you said. You might consider this to be a dereliction of duty, but I haven't really been keeping up with the hot gossip lately. I've had my own very important business to attend to,” she remarks, “If you really care that much, you could try asking Rosenthal. He was here just yesterday asking after you. Tell me, how does it feel to be so popular?”

“Deeply concerning,” you admit. You're not so naïve as to assume that Master Rosenthal was just paying you a friendly visit. Persephone laughs at your reply, her voice clear and bright. Playfully pushing your hand away from her face, she rises to her feet and paces the length of the dorm. “Anyway, forget Rosenthal for now,” you insist, “How have you been?”

“Oh, me? I've been out here, living my best life,” Persephone replies, her words sweet and insincere, “But actually, there's something I'd rather like you to do for me. Could you... go away for a little bit?”

You stare at her. “I just got back,” you point out, casting a meaningful glance at your waiting baggage.

“Yes, I realise that. Sooner than I had been expecting, not that you gave me a copy of your no-doubt highly organised schedule,” she explains, “But I've got a little chore that I haven't quite finished off. I just need a little bit of peace and quiet to tie up some loose ends. Now that dear Harriet is out of the way, I was hoping...”

>You're not going anywhere, but perhaps you can help with this “chore”
>You'll go and see if you can find Johannes, catch up with him
>You'll go and find Master Rosenthal, see why he was looking for you
>You've got other plans... (Write in)
>Other

>>5883521
>I could join Master Rosenthal, but I was actually thinking YOU would be interested in transcending our mortal vessels.
what do you all think of bothering Clarissa/Clorathy's father? He might appreciate knowing that his children were/are highly favored by Death and Rot.

We could also bother Fia. Between her and Willowbrae, we might seriously have an angle into the church.

“I suppose I could go and see what Master Rosenthal wanted,” you sigh, giving Persephone a weary shrug, “But after everything that's happened, after how long we've been apart, I was thinking...”

You let your voice trail off here, quite unable to find the right words to say. Persephone waits patiently, a mocking smile on her face. She knows exactly what you're thinking, what you're fumbling to say. But she's not going to give you the mercy of finishing your sentence – she's quite content to watch you squirm.

“I thought we could spend some time together,” you finish eventually, wincing at how banal your words sound.

“Isn't that what we're doing now?” Persephone teases, feigning innocence. With that, you realise that this is not a battle that you can win. Giving the pale girl another shrug, you get up to leave. As you're heading out, though, Persephone calls your name softly. “Lucas,” she repeats, the mockery vanished from her face, “I am glad to see you again. Really.”

“...I know,” you reply slowly.

-

Once more, you're left to marvel at how silent and still the academy feels. Before, it was like a living thing – pulsing with a constant flow of life and energy. Now, it feels like a long-forgotten tomb. Setting aside your misgivings, you pause briefly at Master Brehm's office door and knock, but you receive no answer. It's only when you knock at Master Rosenthal's dorm that you hear a muffled voice inviting you in.

Master Rosenthal's office is a mess, frankly speaking. Papers are scattered everywhere, piled up on his desk any other surface flat enough to bear them. The man himself seems oblivious to the chaos, sitting at his desk as if everything was as it should be.

“Young Master Hearne,” he begins, “Lucas.”

“Hard at work?” you ask, casting a curious eye around the room. Most of the papers seem to be old investigation reports. Very old, in some cases.

“A little personal project. One of many,” Rosenthal replies, smiling sheepishly as if finally realising how messy his office has become, “I was looking into... well, it might take too long to explain now. Did you have a safe journey back?”

“Aside from the weather, yes. Safe enough,” a pause, “Were you expecting anything else?”

Master Rosenthal smiles, or perhaps grimaces. “You've probably noticed how quiet the academy is right now. Strange things have been happening since you left on your last mission – we've been getting countless requests for assistance, from all across the land,” he explains, running a hand through his long dark hair, “One small mercy - so far, very few of them have been particularly serious. Strange lights or fires in the hills, usually minor spirits slipping through the Veil. Harmless, and easily banished, but numerous.”

“And you're...” you glance around at the reports, “You're looking for some kind of pattern, right?”

“Clever boy,” Rosenthal replies with a satisfied nod.

[1]

>>5883560
> I was actually thinking YOU would be interested in transcending our mortal vessels
Ha, I support bringing our discoveries and suspicions up with Persephone, in just that casual a way.

>>5883611

“I've been comparing notes from these latest incidents with old reports. It's not a perfect study, but so far virtually all of these new sightings have taken place on the site of an older incident,” Master Rosenthal continues, getting up to pace around the room, “And the few exceptions, it's possible that there was a very minor breach there that escaped our notice. We're not perfect, after all.”

“It's as if something has caused these old wounds, these old breaches in the Veil, to open up once more,” you guess, with Rosenthal's nod confirming your thoughts. “Then what could be causing it?” you ask next, “Have you any ideas? Any theories?”

“Plenty of theories, but very little evidence for any of them,” Rosenthal says with a rueful smile, “This could, perhaps, be the work of the necromancer cult – although I shudder to think that they might be as widespread as this. Alternatively, it could be a more general degradation of the Veil – countless tiny wounds accumulating over time until it has worn so thin that these minor breaches can happen on a regular basis. That, perhaps, would be even more dangerous.”

“Because it's only going to get worse.”

“Exactly,” he nods, “So far, we don't seem to be seeing any real escalation in the sort of spirits we're seeing – at least, in the short term. I've also wondered if it might be due to some kind of disturbance in the spirit world itself. Should the spirit world as a whole become agitated, it might force lesser spirits through areas where the Veil is weakened. But what that disturbance might be, I really couldn't say.”

You have an idea, a terrible idea, but you don't dare give it voice. Could this be some unforeseen consequence of the actions at Ixtab? Summoning the Angel might not have torn the Veil, but what about the massed rituals the Reivians had performed? Or what if the Angel itself was enough to send the spirit world into turmoil?

“You were looking for me,” you hear yourself say, your voice dull, “Was there something you wanted from me?”

Master Rosenthal smiles again, a flicker of pain in his features. “Just to talk, exactly as we're doing now,” he answers, “I've not shared my theories with anyone else as of yet. There hasn't been anyone to share them with, in fact. I'm not expecting you to solve this riddle for me, of course, but... I just wanted to talk it over with someone I could trust. What do you think?”

“If this is the work of the necromancers, they must have some larger plan,” you think aloud, “These breaches might just be distraction, a way to keep us busy.”

“That's possible,” Rosenthal nods to himself, “We're spread thin right now. We just wouldn't have the manpower to respond to any serious incident. But we can't afford to ignore these minor breaches either, lest they escalate into something more significant.”

A sinking feeling starts to form in the pit of your stomach.

[2]

>>5883637

“Perhaps we're getting ahead of ourselves,” Master Rosenthal says suddenly, with the air of a man desperately reaching for sanity, “There's been no indication that necromancers were behind these recent incidents, and with the sheer number of them that would need to be involved... they wouldn't be able to pull this off without being noticed. It's just not possible!”

You look away with a grimace, unsettled by the note of desperation in Master Rosenthal's voice.

“As for the other two ideas, well, there's not much we can do about those,” the instructor continues, forcing a smile, “I'll need to discuss them a little more with some of my colleagues, and see if they have any insight. Leave that with me – you've already been a great help, just listening to me ramble on. If you'll excuse me for changing the subject, though, there was something else I wanted to ask about.”

“Go on,” you prompt, after he lapses into silence.

“Cloranthy,” he continues eventually, “How did she get on? I must admit, I started to have some doubts about my decision to let her go with you. Not because of you, of course, but with her condition...”

>She's not suited for field work. She's better suited here, at the academy
>Actually, she handled herself well. She was a great help
>There was something strange. A forester called her a “daughter of rot”
>She was... (Write in)
>Other

>>5883651
>Actually, she handled herself well. She was a great help...
>But I think she prefers the academy, truth be told
She wanted an adventure, and to see the Forest Kingdom, but my impression was she got that out of her system and missed her books

“Actually, she handled herself well. She was a great help, in fact,” you assure him, “But in the end, I think she prefers the academy. She's had her taste of adventure, she's seen the forest kingdom with her own eyes. Now that she's got it out of her system, I think she'll settle down.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Master Rosenthal says with a faint sigh of relief, “As I said, I was having doubts about letting her go but it seems as though they were without merit. In truth, I feel that her future is here – at the academy archives.”

“She'd like that, I think,” you agree. A silence descends, as Master Rosenthal seems caught on the verge of saying something more. He wrestles with it, whatever it is, then nods.

“Thank you for paying me a visit, Lucas,” he says instead, “I hope I haven't caused you too much trouble, so soon after your return.”

You wave off his concerns with a gesture.

-

Master Rosenthal's words stick with you as you walk back to the dorm. Is this a new crisis looming before you, or just a fleeting disturbance? As much as Master Rosenthal wanted to dismiss the idea of a vast necromancer plot, you can't let the idea go so easily. If it is all a grand distraction, what are they trying to hide?

More questions with no answers. You could fill a book, a whole collection of books, with all the unanswered questions you've got. Some of them, you admit, may never be answered.

Setting your doubts aside as you return to the dorm, you glance around for Persephone but don't see her. The door to her room, though, has been left ajar. You approach and cautiously peer inside, looking carefully around the darkened room. You spot the crate of papers first, something pilfered from the archives, and then you notice the crumpled pile of discarded clothing. Finally, you see Persephone herself.

You don't want to think about what that says about your priorities.

-

“See? Wasn't that worth the wait?” Persephone murmurs afterwards, before raising her head and looking around the gloomy room, “Besides, I desperately needed to tidy up in here. I couldn't bear to let you see what a filthy state this place was in.”

“I've seen worse,” you promise, “However bad it was, I'll have seen worse.”

“You certainly know how to flatter a woman,” she counters, her eyes flashing silver in the darkness. Pulling the bed sheet around her like a robe, Persephone rises from the bed and reaches into the crate of papers. “You recognise these, don't you?” she adds, “My secret project.”

“Lowry's papers,” you guess, “I don't think you're supposed to take those out of the archives.”

“Hence the “secret” part.”

“That's... okay, sure,” you shake your head in amusement. You can't even imagine how she managed to sneak a whole crate of documents out of the archives without anyone noticing.

[1]

>>5883692

“I wanted to have another look at them, to study them at my leisure,” Persephone continues, “I pinned them up, ended up covering the entire room in them. Anyone would think it was a madwomen's room!”

You think of a number of jokes and jibes you could use here, but you're polite enough to hold your tongue. “Was it worth the effort?” you ask, “Did you learn anything new?”

“Maybe,” Persephone frowns, “I can't tell you how tedious it is, reading through all these letters and notes. I never liked Lowry much before, but I positively hate him now. Still, I might have found another lead. One of the letters he received mentioned a name, an author by the sounds of it. Hildred Wilde. Lowry was trying to get his hands on certain books by this gentleman, but not having much luck.”

“More rare books...” you mutter to yourself, only for Persephone to turn with sudden vigour.

“Exactly!” she insists, “Because when we were up north, I remember seeing that name in the old collector's library! I didn't make much of it at the time – because, of course, it was just one name amongst hundreds. But now, seeing it in Lowry's files... I wonder if it might be a significant piece of the puzzle. Lowry seemed rather keen to get his hands on the book, after all!”

Rummaging in the crate once more, Persephone hands you a creased, faded letter. You skim it over, then pause and reread a section. The letter seems regretful, apologising that Wilde's books were almost all lost or destroyed. The letter recommends another book, though, stating that this second volume quoted extensively from Wilde. And this second volume, a ponderous discussion of literature, was...

“Was one of the books we brought with us,” Persephone confirms, “The old man wanted it, among other things, as payment.”

Frowning to yourself, you read through a few of the other letters Persephone passes you. Putting the vague context clues together, you conclude that this Wilde wasn't an author but a playwright, and one who had fallen foul of some far-reaching purge. So why was Lowry, with his obsession with perfect virtue, trying to get access to a banned book?

“Shang-Han,” you think aloud, “Maybe Lowry believed it had some clue about Shang-Han. I don't suppose this collector said anything about it?”

“He said very little, actually,” Persephone shakes her head, “But that's probably because old Brehm was watching him like a hawk the whole time. I tried desperately hard to talk with the old lunatic in private – the collector, I should say, not Brehm – but I never had the chance. Well, I can't say that I blame the old man for keeping his mouth shut. With the foul mood Brehm was in, he probably would've taken any excuse to arrest the man and confiscate his whole collection!”

[2]

“I think it's all connected,” you say quietly after a long pause, “Shang-Han, Sheol, the machine... everything. There's a faction within the church of Sheol, the True Adherents, who're part of it too. Master Omiros is one of them, and maybe Lowry too. Fia, one of the other Exorcists at Ixtab, was... well, she was involved with them. They've got a long reach. They didn't want us to reveal what we found in Ixtab.”

“Which was... what exactly?” Persephone prompts, “Aside from a tremendous amount of trouble, of course.”

“You probably know as much as I do,” you recall, “That coded message you found up north, remember?”

“In the catacomb city a man devoured the sun, and made from it his crown,” she quotes, “The catacomb city is Ixtab, of course, and the rest...”

“The Sun King, right,” you mutter, automatically lowering your voice as if the walls might be listening in, “They'd probably shoot me for saying this, but I wonder if... if he was once a man until, at Ixtab, he became something more. Apotheosis.”

“I'm getting a migraine just keeping up, but go on,” Persephone remarks with a smirk, “How do we get from the Sun King to Sheol's machine?”

“The True Adherents believe that they're following the Sun King's teachings, while everyone else has strayed from the path, but they chose to operate within Sheol's church. You've seen what men like Omiros do when Sheol's machine is threatened,” a pause, “There's a connection there. Maybe this Wilde wrote about it, and that's why he was purged.”

Persephone sits down on the floor to think, the bed sheet slipping lower on her body. She doesn't notice, but you certainly do. “Harriet suggested speaking with those revolting monks,” the pale girl says at last, “She thought they might have some insight into the whole “life and death” thing. Wasn't there some old folklore about men hiding high in the mountains where death couldn't find them?”

“Right, that was...” another pause, “You've told Harriet about this?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Persephone counters, “That's what we do, you know. We're either braiding our hair or sharing secrets.”

“Well, I guess she's got a point,” you mutter, “...And Lowry visited the monastery not long before he disappeared. I remember Roerich mentioning his name.”

You both lapse into silence as you think on your next move. With Master Brehm occupied elsewhere, you've got a good chance to head north and visit the collector – although the journey would be a difficult one, and there's no guarantee that he'll agree to help. Then there's the monastery, to see what Roerich might have to offer. Or there was Willowbrae's letter...

>You'll head to the north and the collector's library
>You'll visit Roerich at the monastery
>You'll meet with Willowbrae to see if he can help
>Other

>I'm going to take a pause here and leave the vote open. I'll be picking this up tomorrow, starting at the same start time

>>5883812
>You'll visit Roerich at the monastery
>After another round with Persephone, of course
Goddamn did I miss this bratty, scheming weirdo. She's the best.

Thanks for running, QM, and welcome back!

>>5883812
>>5883827
This

>>5883812
>You'll head to the north and the collector's library
We could use more bait that won't immediately get us excommunicated for the church.

and the monastery sounds like guaranteed progress as long as we're okay with seriously risking ourselves jumping in no mans land in some way.

>>5883812
>You'll visit Roerich at the monastery

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

900 KB JPG

It's tiresome, but not entirely surprising, to think that you might be leaving the academy again, so soon after returning. Your body still aches with the pain of a long journey, countless hours spent trapped in a cramped carriage, and the thought of another such journey is enough to send a shudder running down your spine. Just for a moment, you allow yourself the luxury of imaging a peaceful life – a life where you could simply lounge around all day with Persephone, taking your pleasures whenever you wanted.

You might as well imagine a world where gold rained from the sky and silver sprung from the soil. Shaking off the fantasy, you focus back on the cold, hard practicalities of life. “I think Harriet might have a good idea,” you suggest, “If we can convince them to talk, the monks might have a new perspective on the issue – they can speak freely, without fear of the church.”

“And, unfortunately, without fear of us. We'd have no authority to compel them to speak,” Persephone points out, “We'd have to rely on, and I hate to say this, their good graces.”

“So be it,” you decide with a shrug, “If they can't help us, we've lost nothing except the time spent climbing the mountain. But if your collector friend can't, or won't, help us, we'll have lost far more time.”

Persephone considers this for a moment. “Well, I'll admit that you've got a point,” she concedes, “And I'll confess, I wasn't exactly looking forwards to such a long trek up north.”

“It's almost as if I know what I'm doing,” you remark with a grin, “But there's one condition – we'll go tomorrow. Right now, I need to go to bed.”

“Really?” Persephone raises an eyebrow, “Again?”

“To SLEEP, I mean.”

-

The sun has yet to fully rise when you set off for the monastery, and the moon has since hidden its face. With your path ahead lit by a flickering lantern flame, you feel oddly conspiratorial – like thieves creeping through the night or assassins stalking their prey. More and more, you're finding yourself at home in shadows such as these.

“Look!” Persephone breathes, her voice barely audible over the whine of the wind. You turn to follow her point, but see nothing other than the rise and fall of the darkened landscape. Giving her a curious look, Persephone shakes her head. “I mean LOOK,” she insists, tapping you lightly on the forehead, “Look and see!”

Realisation dawns, and you quickly open your inner eye. No sooner have you done so then countless lights spread out before you, tiny dots of flame dancing across the horizon. Like fallen stars, the beads of light flicker from just beyond the Veil as if waiting for their chance to pass through. You gaze at those dancing lights for a long moment, but no revelation comes. No clue as to their origin or purpose.

You continue on.

[1]

>>5884664

As if he had been waiting for you since the moment you returned to the academy, Roerich is there to greet you at the entrance to the monastery. His yellow robes are stained and darkened with melted snow, but he shows no sign of discomfort. He merely turns away as you reach him, shuffling deeper into the monastery's waiting halls.

Nobody says a word as you walk, yet somehow you feel as if Roerich already knows why you're here. He brings you to his cell, urging you to sit with a nod and pouring herbal tea into two low bowls. Finally, as he studies you through a shimmering curtain of steam, he speaks.

“You are troubled,” Roerich begins. It's not a question.

“No more than normal,” you reply, your words causing a faint smile to form on Roerich's cadaverous face. It's faintly reassuring to be reminded that even he has a sense of humour, atrophied though it may be. “We wanted to know about Sheol, about his machine,” you continue, cutting straight to the point, “We thought... hoped... that you would be able to tell us the truth.”

“You are asking for nothing less than the secrets of life and death,” Roerich points out mildly.

“When you put it like that, it sounds awfully serious,” Persephone remarks, “No big deal, wouldn't you say?”

“If I may ask,” he murmurs, “Why would you ask this of us?”

“In days past, men sought the mountains and high places to hide from death,” you recall, “Sheol, in those days, was known as a god of low places. You've made this mountain your home too. I don't think that's a coincidence.”

The slight smile hangs on Roerich's face, but there's little humour in it now. “Now, as then, men seek to flee from death,” he muses, “There always will.”

Roerich falls silent, considering your request for what seems like an eternity.

“I cannot, will not, tell you what you wish to know,” the monk says bluntly, then holds up a hand to silence your groan of frustration. “I cannot tell you this,” he repeats, “But perhaps you can see for yourself, and make up your own mind. Yes, it is true, we know much that you will not learn from your priests and teachers. We possess knowledge that men have fought and died to keep from the common masses. Have you considered what you might do, should you learn these secrets for yourself?”

This question leaves you speechless. You glance aside to Persephone, who just shakes her head with a carefully composed silence. Her face is a perfect mask, revealing nothing.

“No matter,” Roerich decides, waving his own question away with a twitch of his skeletal hand, “It is not my place to decide your actions, or to pass judgement. It is rare for someone to come to us with these questions, but not unheard of.”

“Was Lowry one of them?” Persephone asks sharply. You wince at her tone, but Roerich doesn't seem to notice the edge in her voice. He merely shakes his head.

“He had no use for the knowledge we possess.”

[2]

>>5884666

These words hang in the air for a long time, neither you nor Persephone willing to break the silence. You just wait, occasionally sipping your tea but tasting nothing. Though you try to follow Persephone's example and keep your face blank, your mind whirls with questions. Is Roerich really so willing to help you? And what does he mean by seeing for yourself?

“If you wish to proceed, there will need to be a ritual,” Roerich explains, as if reading your thoughts, “It will not be unfamiliar to you. Just as you made contact with your guardian spirits, we shall cast your minds into the spirit world. This time, however, my master will take you far deeper into the unseen world – beyond your own dreams and memories, and into the collective mind of men.”

“There are certain dreams and memories that may, I think, answer some of your questions,” the monk continues, “But I warn you, dreams and memories are not infallible. You will witness the warped distortions of the past. Not everything will be as it truly was.”

“And the risks?” you ask quietly, “Would it be dangerous?”

“There is always a danger. You know this,” Roerich points out, “Cast your mind out into the spirit world, and there is always a risk that it may be lost forever.”

Having given you this warning, the old monk rises from his seat and silently drifts from the cell. Once he's out of the room, you let your shoulders slump and let out a low exhalation.

“Well, this all sounds perfectly wonderful,” Persephone sneers, “But I suppose since we came all this way, we could give it a shot. What do you think?”

>You're right. We should take this opportunity while we're here
>I don't think so. We need facts, not hazy dreams and memories
>Other

>>5884668
>You're right. We should take this opportunity while we're here
Best lead we've got to understand what's really happening in the world.

“You're right,” you decide, nodding slowly to yourself, “We should take this opportunity while we're here. It might be our best lead on what's really going on, even it is cobbled together from dreams and memories.”

“Of course I'm right. I'm always right,” Persephone agrees, although her smug smile has a hint of tension about it, “...What ARE we going to do?”

“What?”

“Let's just assume we find out the truth. Let's even imagine that it's nice and easy, as if we peer into the spirit world and see it written down in great big letters on a sheet of paper,” she pauses, “Then what?”

“I don't know yet,” you admit, “I guess it depends on what we find out.”

“You're making this up as you go along, aren't you?”

“You're not?”

A pause, a silence broken only by the faint whisper of robes as Roerich enters. “It seems as though you have reached your decision,” he murmurs, “Follow me, please. I have informed my masters of your intentions, and they will assist in guiding you towards what you seek.”

As you follow Roerich through the austere, anonymous corridors, a question bubbles to the surface of your mind. It's something that's been nagging at you for a while, although there's no polite way of putting it. “These answers,” you begin, ploughing on ahead regardless, “You could've told us from the very start. Or let us see them for ourselves, if you prefer to put it that way.”

“Perhaps, yes. But it would not have been wise. There is a proper time for all things – you have changed much since we first met. Then, you were not ready for knowledge such as this – it would, I suspect, have destroyed you. It may yet,” the monk sighs softly to himself, “But now, you are ready to make this choice for yourself. And so, I will not stand in your way.”

-

This feels all too familiar, walking with Roerich until you reach the top of the monastery and the strange chamber placed there. Colourful mist is already boiling from the sealed doors as you approach, fragments of distorted images flickering through the clouds. Roerich says nothing as the doors grind open, then slowly start to close behind you as you enter. There's no sign of Roerich's nameless master, but you trust that he... it... is close by.

“Here goes nothing!” Persephone remarks as she kneels, trying hard to sound cheerful. For all her bravado, though, you can see her shoulders trembling. Kneeling down opposite her, you lean forwards and place your arms around her. Slowly, you feel the trembling ease until her cold body is perfectly still. Closing your eyes, you gently rest your forehead against hers and clear your mind, opening your senses to all that the spirit world has to offer. More images flash through your mind, too fast for you to make any sense of them, and then you feel the familiar weight of your flesh drop away completely. Cut loose from your physical form, your mind is cast away into the deepest realms of the spirit.

[1]

>>5884693

Soft mud squelches underfoot as you march, while a murky light bleeds through the thick canopy of leaves above you. Your first impression is one of disorientation, so much so that you nearly loose your footing and collapse down into the filthy. Catching yourself before you can fall, you cast a curious eye about you. All around you are ragged men and women, all dressed in furs and crudely stitched clothing, forming a loose formation as they march through the thick forest.

Your mind whirls with questions, but you push them aside for now. Instead, you focus on trying to soak up every bit of detail you can from your surroundings. This must truly be an ancient memory, judging by the barbarous look of the men around you, almost certainly dating to before the Accord was signed. The thought alone is enough to set your heart racing.

To your left, you hear a murmured curse. Turning, you spot Persephone and then, once again, you nearly stumble from the shock. You see Persephone, exactly as you know her, but you see another form too – the image of a savage woman is laid atop Persephone's pallid form, the two images blurring together. It seems a wonder that nobody else has noticed the strange sight, but then you realise why. What you see, you realise, is not what THEY see. No doubt, you must look just as strange to Persephone.

“This is incredibly bloody strange,” she mutters, and you hear two voices coming from her lips – the silk and venom that you know so well, but also a coarser, cruder tone. Surprised by the sound of her own voice, voices, Persephone claps a hand over her mouth and scowls, as if you're the one to blame.

“Easy,” you murmur to her, “Just act natural. Follow their lead for now, see what happens.”

Rather than trust her deformed voice once more, Persephone just gives you a curt nod and falls in beside you. Before the Accord, you recall, men lived nomadic lives – always on the move, lest they fall prey to roaming spirits. This must be one such convoy, but you had never imagined that they could be this large – you see men stretching out before you, and trailing far away behind you. Perhaps this is what Roerich was warning you about, an exaggeration caused by distorted memories. Or... perhaps not.

Gradually, the forest thins out to reveal an alien sky the colour of boiling blood. It roils and churns above you like an open wound, while a thin rain falls all around you to pool on the already sodden ground. With the comforting shelter of the forest stripped away from you, this hostile land seems to stretch off for bleak miles without deviation – just an open ocean of filth and muck, torn up by the countless footsteps that went before you.

Ahead, a sudden turmoil as a woman collapses from fatigue. Her fall plunges the whole procession into confusion – some march on and leave her, others crowd around her until a single thunderous voices calls out.

[2]

>>5884722

The crowd parts, the women instinctively bowing their heads as a tall man approaches. He's dressed differently to the rest of the savages, wearing a kind of robe tied around one shoulder to reveal half of his muscular body. His eyes are like gold, blazing with light and purpose. A second man, darker and sinister, follows close behind him. You know that the gold-eyed man has a name, but it slips away from your memory. You come to think of him as the Artisan instead, without quite understanding why.

Silence falls as the Artisan gazes down at the fallen women, the whole crowd awaiting his judgement. They would fall in and tear her apart like dogs, if he so commanded it. But he does nothing of the sort – he reaches down instead, taking the woman's hand and dragging her to her feet. Almost hysterical, she babbles a messy stream of thanks but the Artisan is already leaving. His companion remains, however, his lips curling with contempt as he studies the woman.

As with the Artisan, you immediately recognise the dark man as a priest – though the savage pelts and furs that he wears are even cruder than most, you see the glint of gold around his neck. He wears a sickle of roughly beaten iron at his belt, but the blade seems keen enough. Suddenly this memory seems blurred together with another – another sickle and another woman, this one hanging upside down from a tree. Why-

“Focus!” Persephone hisses, tugging at your arm. You push away the unwelcome memories as if repulsed, looking around you as the savage nomads start to split off into groups and sit in the filth. You must be stopping for rest, although you didn't hear the command rise up. Hurriedly sitting to avoid standing out, you ignore Persephone's protests and drag her down with you. “Well this is perfectly charming...” she mutters, squirming in the cloying mud, “Okay then, now what? What's the next step in your master plan?”

“I never said I had a plan,” you warn her, looking around. Off in the distance, you can see the priest making strange gestures to the open sky with a small cluster of followers gathered around him. More distant still, you can see the Artisan standing and gazing at the horizon. He has no guards, but none of the barbarians dare approach him.

The rest stop won't last forever, you realise. Perhaps you should take this chance to try and learn a little bit more about the strange company you keep, but where to start?

>Try and approach the Artisan. He's clearly the leader here
>Listen in to the priest's sermon. What do these people believe?
>Mingle with the common folk. It'll be easier to blend in that way
>Other

>>5884754
>Listen in to the priest's sermon. What do these people believe?

“Come on, this way,” you mutter, taking Persephone by the hand and pulling her upright. She stifles a yelp of protest as she moves to follow you, trying to wipe the sticky mud from her rags without much success. Moving quickly and, you hope, discretely, you hasten towards the priest as his sermon continues. You're curious about what he has to say, about what these people believe. Before the Sun King's rule, who did they pray to?

“Let our bones break, and let our blood be spilled,” the priest is snarling as you draw close, “Let our limbs be split and shorn. Let us be given form anew, made whole once more.”

“Give us form anew,” the crowd mumbles, and just like Persephone their voices are duplicated – a voice that you can understand, and the harsh bark of their true words.

“Let the Great Mother grant you this wish,” the priest concludes, pausing and turning to pin you with a cold glare. His eyes are like those of a hawk, of some terrible predator, and yet there's something achingly familiar about them. He says nothing for a long moment, and some of his followers start to nervously drift away. “I greet you, children of the forest,” the priest says at last, giving you the slightest hint of a nod, “Your faces are unfamiliar to me.”

How does he know? How CAN he know?

“We have travelled far to join this march,” Persephone answers quickly, “I hope that you can accept us as kin.”

The priest considers this, his hand dropping low to the sickle at his belt. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he takes his hand away from the weapon. “It is not my place to decide,” he says at last, “You say you have travelled far. Have you come to listen to Kalthos speak?”

“Kalthos?” you repeat, unable to stop yourself from blurting out the all-too familiar name.

“Kalthos, who took the name of his teacher,” the priest repeats, “Yes. You did not know?”

“Do you mean...” you hesitate, glancing aside to where the Artisan stands alone, “Is he-”

“He too, seeks the great teacher,” the priest interrupts, his lips curling with disgust. Even through the entangled voices, you can clearly hear the savage sarcasm found in those last two words. “This Kalthos claims much,” the priest continues, “It is said that he has visions of other words, worlds where men live strange lives of peace. I spit on his visions!”

“Men live, and men die. But for the faithful, the Great Mother forges our bodies anew. We face adversity and overcome it, and so we grow strong. Yet this Kalthos would change this,” he grimaces, staring at the Artisan from afar, “He has led my apprentice astray. No good will come of this.”

“Yet you still follow him,” Persephone points out, “You're very loyal to your, ah, apprentice.”

“I will not see him stolen away from me,” the priest hisses.

[1]

>>5884792

Even when the rest break comes to an end, you stick close to the priest as his followers return. Sometimes he speaks to them, and to you, as you march, lashing them with sermons that are as much curses as they are prayers. This version of the Great Mother is a savage thing, breaking men down only to grant new bodies to the strongest of them. What happens to the weak is not stated, only implied.

Lady Ellenghast's words come back to you – the secret ways through which men can take a new form, a form better suiting their true nature.

It's a harsh, hostile creed, but this is a harsh, hostile world – and you were always taught that the Sun King was the one to change that. Men settled in Ixtab and built a city, and through their devotion earned the Sun King's protection.

So the stories go.

-

Time melts away to nothing as you march under the unchanging sky. There's no day or night here, just the constant churn of red above you. At first the only way you know that you're moving at all is by the faint shape of mountains ahead of you. Each tortured step you take brings those mountains, and whatever awaits you there, a little bit closer. Later, there's another change – a mist starts to descend as you march, getting thicker and thicker as you approach the mountains. The mist is alive with distant sounds, the familiar sounds of whispers and echoing chimes. Ghostly lights drift through the fog, and the terrified savages cling close together at all times.

And then, rising suddenly out of the mist, you see a rocky outcrop jutting from the mud. A single figure sits atop the broken stone, waiting calmly as if he had been expecting your arrival for all his life.

The Artisan makes the first move, dropping down to one knee before the calm figure. The rest of your barbarous convoy does the same, and you hasten to follow them. Even Persephone is quick to join them, for fear of standing out. As you kneel, you risk a look up at this new figure – this man who you assume to be Kalthos. He seems tall and thin, his body turned white by a thick layer of chalky paint. Only his eyes are dark, burning out from the cracked white mask.

“Death,” he announces, his voice rasping in your ears, “Death is the enemy. Oppose death. Resist death. DEFY death.”

Silence greets this.

“The wise man cultivates his will and grows strong, strong enough to bend the unseen world to his wishes. Yet before a man can learn anything more than a few trifling tricks, death comes to steal him away,” Kalthos continues, “I have sat at the foot of the Great Pale Wanderer himself and learned his ways, taking his name for myself. I have no fear of death – I have rejected it, and grown strong over many years. I have command over these spirits of the low places, and the high places too.”

“Come, friends,” he concludes, his painted face split with a sickly smile, “Let me teach you.”

[2]

>>5884840

Things get confusing after this. The memories break down, becoming incoherent. Most slip by too fast to notice any real details, leaving you with only the faintest impressions of what you could not see. You remember backbreaking labour and strange rituals beneath the blood red sky, and you see white stone rising up from the great ocean of mud. A city takes form, not yet grown into the Ixtab that you know.

Then your focus returns, your sense of being in the moment crashing back. You find yourself standing beside the Artisan himself, looking out over the newly built city. It's a proud moment for you all, yet his face is set in a deep frown.

“My friend, I am... discontent,” the Artisan muses.

“You have done great things,” you assure him. They're someone else's words – someone else said this, long long ago. You're merely reading the script they wrote.

“Perhaps so. But to what end?” the Artisan counters, “In time, all this will crumble to dust. So shall we, no matter what Kalthos says. He says that he has mastered death, but I know the truth. His is a battle without end, a battle that can never be truly won. There are always new spirits seeking to claim him, to drag him away to the low places. He has always fought them bravely, but what kind of life is that? A life of constant struggle and fear, always fleeing from his destined death. I wished for a life where men would not have to flee... No, Kalthos' way is not for us.”

“And what of the Great Mother?”

“Silas says that the Great Mother will take our old and our crippled and, if it so pleases her, breathe new life, new strength, into their bodies. True enough, I've seen it happen with my own two eyes. But I have also seen what becomes of those she rejects, those she casts out,” the Artisan pauses, hesitates even, “We would be in thrall to her whims and wishes, for all time. I cannot accept this.”

“More and more, I have come to envy the unseen,” he continues sadly, “They are permanent and unchanging, they do not fear age or decay as we do. There is a way for me to become as they are. Master Kalthos has told me this, although I fear that he himself does not know how it might be achieved.”

“The secret, I am sure, is death. That is why Kalthos has not discovered it, for he shuns all thought of mortality. When a man dies, his essence is brought to the low places until such time as it can return to the land of the living,” the Artisan muses, “This is where the secret lies. And in time, I will make that secret mine.”

>Going to pause here. I want to try and get a few evening updates out through the week, but if not then it'll be next Saturday
>Thanks for reading along today. I want to see this project through to the finish, one way or another

>>5884867
Thanks for running Moloch! So that's why the Sun king was regarded as a traitor.

>>5884883
What I want to know is where Sheol comes in. it seems he and the Sun King have an alliance, and an arrangement, but at this time nobody has mentioned Sheol or his machinery, just some 'low places' where a soul chills out for a while after death. And why deny this secret of peaceful immortality to the rest of mankind?

Hmm...

>>5884867
Thanks for running!

>>5884867
>>5884889
We've got the major players.

Kalthos, who wages an endless war upon death.
The Great Mother, whose priests run the system even then.
And the Artisan, who studied under both BEFORE betraying them. This was probably what Roerich meant by finding new teachers.

What we're missing are Sheol, the Answer the Artisan was looking for, and the barrier god, who presumably made their choice permanent and pretty damn sturdy.

Or maybe the Artisan is Sheol, seeing how it takes an Artisan to craft a machine. Someone else takes the form of the Sun.

Oh shit I missed this
Need to spend more time refreshing the catalog like a madman

>>5886655
he has a twitter, if that's better for you

>>5887046
>using that dumpster of a website
ha

>>5888675
Sometimes you just want to watch some trainwrecks, you know?

But the dream, the vision, has more to reveal. As before, you race through a blur of images as time melts away before your eyes, with only a few very rare scenes rising up from the disordered stream. You see the city grow and change, spreading out and rising high into the skies. Now and then you see a familiar sight, a hint of the Ixtab that you know. Whether these are real or a trace of your own memories mixed in is unknown, unknowable.

At times, you wonder whose memories you're witnessing. Some close friend and confidant to the Artisan perhaps, some trusted advisor. Certainly, you see much of the Artisan in your visions, and his strange companion. Silas, the priest, is often silent and always sullen, watching over his former apprentice with open disapproval. The Artisan himself turns inwards, growing more distant and introspective as he ponders the path ahead. He spends his time in the catacombs beneath the city, catacombs that were ancient when the city was new. Men start to whisper, then to talk openly.

As the Artisan's influence wanes, Kalthos grows in strength. More and more of the Artisan's people flock to him as he hones his mastery over the spirits. Even as his rites and rituals take on a darker tone, the masses turn a blind eye as they are drawn to his promise of power. If there are a few occasional disappearances, then so be it.

-

There's no warning before it happens, no sense that the world is about to snap back into a kind of reality. When it does happen, it's so sudden that you're left dazed, jolted into what seems like a moment of perfect stillness. The room you find yourself in is dark, the air heavy with the promise of violence. The forge, then. In honour of his namesake, the Artisan claims to have devised this workshop himself. You know – and he knows that you know – this to be a lie. Like the city he built, like the civilisation he is building, the forge is just a copy of a grander dream. In time, lesser men will copy this too, and so on and so on.

You wonder briefly how you know this, but the thought drifts away before you can take hold of it.

Following the reddish glow of the forge, you soon find the Artisan standing by the largest of the furnaces. He watches as rude clumps of ore, ripped from the mountains, are piled into the furnace's waiting mouth. The fires burn bright, blasting away every last trace of impurity from the metal, and the Artisan's eyes burn brighter still.

You reach down and pick up a piece of worked iron from a basket beside the furnace. It's crude, roughly hammered into shape and ground to a point, but it'll serve its purpose as the head of a great pike. The basket below is full of such spikes, and there are many more baskets beside it.

Ixtab, although it will be generations yet before the city knows that name, is preparing for war.

[1/2]

>>5889967

“This must all seem awfully familiar to you,” Persephone whispers, placing her hand on your leg and leaning close. You don't even need to look around to know what kind of smile he has on her face, but seeing it mirrored on that second face is... somehow horrible.

“You're not funny,” you mutter back, listening to the faint drumbeat of footsteps outside.

“I am, actually,” she counters, “I'm hilarious. These degenerates just haven't invented the sense of humour yet.”

You silence her with a gesture as the doors are flung open and the Artisan, followed by his priest, marches in. The merciless light reveals just how old he's grown. His eyes are surrounded by deep lines, and his cheeks have sunken down to hollow caverns. His gaze is pained, always pained.

“My scouts have confirmed it,” Silas begins, “An army, great in size, has assembled. They march on us.”

“They will undo everything that we've achieved here!” the Artisan growls, “They'll ruin it all!”

“Men fear change. Perhaps they are right to do so,” the priest muses, his words drawing a sharp glare. “Kalthos piled blasphemy upon blasphemy, and you have allowed this. He seeks to master men as he masters spirits, and you do nothing to oppose him,” he continues, matching the Artisan's scowl with one of his own, “Now, he claims that he can destroy this army. He will call out, and dread powers will answer.”

“So he claims,” the Artisan scoffs, “And what of you, Silas? Will you stand with me? With him? Or perhaps with those wolves that are gnawing at our gates?”

“Those wolves do not understand the world you are creating. They fear it as much as they fear the unseen.”

“They fear the future!”

“Aye, they do. They wonder if there will be a place for them, in this future of fire and metal that you are creating,” the priest pauses, “Will there be a place for me, too?”

This seems to wound the Artisan, to cut him deep to the bone. He is silent for a long time, for what seems like a long time, before he speaks. “There will always be a place for you, my friend,” he murmurs, “Even if should choose to side against me.”

“I will merely observe,” Silas insists, “Victory will come to the one with the strength to claim it.”

The Artisan scoffs again, but there's a note of bitterness in his voice now. He rises from his seat and marches out of the room. Heads turn to follow him, but he shows no sign of noticing them. He leaves, and Silas lets out a low sigh. You're the one who breaks the silence that follows, although you make no conscious effort to speak.

“I fear you will stand alone,” you hear your other voice warn, “Men will pick a side. They always do.”

“Perhaps so,” the priest muses, “And you?”

>You will side with the Artisan. You place your trust in his designs
>You will side with Kalthos. He holds true power here
>You will stand aside with Silas. To the victor go the spoils
>Other

>>5889969
>Side with the Artisan

>>5889969
>You will side with the Artisan. You place your trust in his designs

You tense up, waiting for your other voice to offer the priest an answer – yet the answer doesn't come. Silas turns to study you as the silence draws out, only for a strange look to pass through his dark eyes. He's looking hard at you, not the barbarous image you've donned but YOU. Worse still, stranger still, is the light that glints in his eyes.

He recognises you.

“I will stand with the Artisan,” you announce quickly, your instincts doing the thinking for you. “I shall place my trust in his designs,” you continue, even as Silas' gaze takes on a note of bitter amusement, “I believe in the world he is creating.”

“Aye. Perhaps you should,” the priest says slowly, “You are very much like him. I see that now. You burn, just as he burns. Even brighter, perhaps. No mere son of the forest, you.”

“Excuse me, I'm here too,” Persephone points out, leaning over your shoulder. The priest turns to study her too, considering her for a long moment before picking his next words with care.

“Of course,” he decides, “The daughter of the moon.”

But he says nothing more, answers no more questions, and solemnly marches from the room.

-

“Something here feels very wrong,” you mutter to yourself as you hasten through the city streets, “This isn't how things should be.”

“Oh REALLY?” Persephone drawls, her voice dripping with venom.

“The Angel is coming. It's going to destroy the invaders and protect the city, but it's not supposed to be like this. The Sun King is supposed to send the Angel to protect the city, not...” you pause, a terrible thought occurring to you. The murals back in Ixtab mentioned the priest – the High Priest Beloved by Death – but the priest's name had been obliterated. It seems like a sick joke now. Kalthos, beloved by death?

“What are you talking about?” the pale girl demands, “And where are we going?”

“Catacombs. The Artisan will be there,” you answer quickly, distracted by a faint spectral howl on the wind. Restless spirits are stirring, roused by the terrible deeds about to unfold. No doubt Kalthos is already preparing his rituals, and the Angel is about the descend. But it's wrong, all wrong...

Persephone abandons her attempts at questioning you, and just follows close behind. Her disguise is slipping now, the white sheen of her hair and eyes gleaming out from the crude mask worn over them. No doubt your own image is starting to fail too, having served it's purpose. You draw stares as you rush through the streets towards the lowest levels of the city, but like the Artisan before you, you ignore them.

The catacombs are guarded, always guarded, but the guards stand aside at your approach. One even starts to raise his hand in a salute before pausing in confusion, but you're gone before he can think twice. The doors close behind you, and the darkness of the catacombs swallows you up.

[1]

>>5890015

Rough stone scrape skin from the palm of your hand as you feel your way through the darkness, following the twists and turns as you descend. Persephone clings to your other hand, and it's like placing it in a bath of ice. Your eyes show no sign of adjusting to the darkness, but you don't need to see. You walked this route countless times when you were at Ixtab, and the directions come back easily.

An inhuman shape rears up at you from the darkness, but it's only a statue – an ancient survival from whoever was here before you. You must be getting close now. In time, in the far future, these tunnels will be sealed up for countless years. Now, though, you can walk right through them until, eventually, you see the faintest glow of light from ahead.

The sweet smell of oil hits your nostrils as you turn the final corner, stepping into the deepest layer of the catacombs. The Artisan stands naked, his body glistening with the oil despite the burning torch he holds aloft. You freeze, sensing the looming disaster. The Artisan turns at the sound of your footsteps, but he doesn't seem surprised to see you – either version of you.

“Ah, you've come. I hoped you would,” he announces, before correcting himself, “I knew you would.”

“I came for answers,” you reply slowly, “I want to understand.”

“Is it not enough for you to have faith?” the Artisan asks, and he seems almost wounded by your words, “There was a time when men followed me without question, when they trusted me with their lives.”

“But no more,” your voice sounds brittle and tense, even to you, “Kalthos has drawn some away with the promise of power, and others turn to the Great Mother's ancient ways. What can you offer them now?”

“Paradise,” he answers simply, “This city is but a pale imitation of the paradise that I have glimpsed. Yet men, as they are now, have no place in that city. There will come a day when men are made pure, raised up beyond all hunger and pain. When that day comes, I will lead them to our new city and we shall live as gods!”

“It is as I said, all those years ago – the secret lies in the low places,” the Artisan continues, and you wince as he gestures with his torch, “I have gazed into these places, and they are terrible. A place of desolation where carrion spirits gnaw upon departed men before spitting them, still stained with the filth of their past lives, out into the land of the living. It is a cycle without end, without hope of release.”

“But I will change that,” he promises, raising the torch high, “I will bring these spirits to heel, and make them serve my purposes. It will be my greatest creation, my...”

The Artisan's voice trails off here, but you finish his thought for him. “Your machine,” you state quietly, firmly.

“My machine,” he repeats, the word seeming unfamiliar on his lips, “Yes...”

[2]

>>5890046

“That's wonderful, it really is, but can you put the torch down now?” Persephone asks, her voice tight with unease, “I think I preferred the darkness, actually.”

“This?” the Artisan asks, looking at the torch as if seeing it for the first time, “This is... necessary. A vital step, though I wish it didn't have to be. Kalthos is not the only one who has been learning. Down here, in my meditations, I have seen many things – not just the city that shall be mine... ours... but the path to claiming it. I have solved the final maze, and with it found my answer. The final step is to shed my mortal form.”

“You're talking about Apotheosis,” you say, your eyes fixed on the burning torch. Not a question, but the confirmation of a theory long in the works.

“I must become greater than all of them,” the Artisan stresses, “Even Kalthos, with his petty tricks, cannot grasp the power that I am on the verge of claiming. A power to reshape everything, to bring about a new world. If there must be a sacrifice, then I make it willingly!”

With that, he raises the torch again... and prepares to let it drop.

>Do nothing. The sacrifice must be made
>Stop him. This insanity cannot be allowed to continue
>Other

>>5890051
>Ask him how many times his machine has to recycle a soul before it is suitable for his paradise city. What makes a soul suitable?
>And whether that city is connected to the moon

>>5890063
Not the moon, the Sulver Chariot

>>5890046
>Also ask if he knows one Deimos

“Wait!” you call out, and the Artisan – to your surprise – actually freezes in place. For a moment, nobody moves or says a word. You just stand there and stare, watching with a vague horror as the occasional spark drifts off the burning torch. “How long will it take?” you ask at last, forcing the question out through parched, dry lips, “How many times must a soul pass through this cycle, before it's fit to enter your great city?”

“As many times as it takes,” the Artisan answers simply, his voice softening, “It is no easy thing, to change the nature of a man. A hundred cycles, a thousand cycles, even more than that... I will have all of eternity to work, and the rewards will be worth it.”

“You don't know,” Persephone hisses, her pale hands forming fists by her sides, “You don't even know if it's possible.”

He doesn't flinch, doesn't move at all, but his eyes widen as if she struck him. “It has to be!” he cries out, “I will not stop, will not rest, until I have made it possible!”

Your stomach lurches as a hideous image flashes through your mind – countless souls, all passing through the Artisan's terrible machine to be torn apart and dissected, then rebuilt and thrust back into life to repeat the cycle anew. “You still haven't figured it out...” you murmur to yourself, your words causing the Artisan's face to darken with anger, “Even now, the cycle still repeats.”

“For as long as it takes,” he repeats, stressing these words, “It is a science more complicated than you can imagine. Even Kalthos – the great teacher, not the man who took his name – could not solve this puzzle. But I will, even if it means dragging the stars down from the sky.”

“The silver chariot,” you whisper to yourself, “The stars... Are they linked with your city too?”

“They follow their own cycle, the ebb and flow of other worlds. At present, the city has been cut loose. It drifts between worlds, sometimes close and sometimes far,” the Artisan muses, gazing off into space as if picturing the stars in his own mind, “Perhaps the stars will hold influence over men too. Yes... yes, that will be my first experiment.”

“Experiment!” Persephone snarls. You glance aside at her, a slight gasp escaping your lips as you realise that her disguise has fallen away completely. You've strayed too far for that, you realise. This conversation did not, COULD not, happen in the sea of memories. Yet it's happening now, even as you feel your grasp on the world grow tenuous.

Yet the Artisan does not seem perturbed by your modern appearance, as if too caught up in his own drama to pay you any mind. He starts to raise the torch once more, as if returning to the script he has written, and you quickly search for some means of distraction. A question, perhaps. A chance for the Artisan to flaunt his knowledge.

[1]

>>5890116

“Is there a man named Deimos here?” you ask hastily, “Is he among your number?”

“Deimos,” the Artisan repeats, the name bringing him no pleasure, “He is under Kalthos' sway, although I have heard that his debauches have exceeded even those of his teacher. Even Kalthos will pretend to a higher purpose, a noble intention. Not so with this Deimos. I fear that his line will bear the weight of his sins for generations to come.”

Even as the Artisan speaks, his voice seems to grow more and more distant. Tendrils of shadow are creeping in from the darkness beyond, the circle of light cast by his torch growing small and smaller with each passing heartbeat. The Artisan looks at you, and again you have the strange sensation that he's looking through you, or perhaps into you.

“I see,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper now, “Then Deimos is no more. The world will be a slightly brighter place for that, yet he is far from the only wicked man that Kalthos has drawn to his side. I see another man, a man of red, but... but he is no man. He-”

But the Artisan's voice fades before you can hear any further. His lips move, though you have but a second before the darkness steals in and hides those too. The darkness swallows everything up, and your spirit is cast loose once more.

-

The light, meagre as it is, burns your eyes as you slowly open them. Sensation slowly creeps in, your mind gradually adjusting to the new surroundings. A blanket covers you, the rough material scratching at your exposed skin. It's cold, or perhaps the coldness is within you, and you're hungry – so terribly hungry. A weakness has taken hold of your body, so great that you can barely call out for help. You try, but only a parched croak escapes your lips.

A parched croak it may be, but it's enough. With a whisper of cloth on bare stone, Roerich creeps into your cell. He seems older than you remember, his features even more sunken and waxen than before. But you soon lose interest in his face, your eyes dropping instead to the steaming bowl he holds.

“You have awoken,” the monk says slowly, kneeling down beside your bed. You try to rise, but he shakes his head. “Be patient. You are very weak,” he warns, “You have gone three days and three nights without food. Please, do not try to rise before you are ready.”

All you can do is not, and even then you can barely manage that. So you just lie there as Roerich feeds you spoonfuls of broth, the hot liquid spreading its warmth as it seeps into your body. Your hunger still rages unabated when the bowl is finished, and you let out a pathetic whine as Roerich starts to leave.

“I will return later,” he promises, “Rest now. Sleep, if you can. I must check on your companion. She may also be awake. Oh yes, and Master Hearne?”

You answer him with a stare, the best you can manage.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

[2]

>>5890046
Huh. So the Architect who burns, like we burn, is Sheol. Is the Sun King a separate entity... or are they one and the same?

>>5890130

You have no way of knowing how long you're left to ponder that question. You drift in and out of a dreamless sleep, only waking when Roerich arrives with another meal. First broth, so weak as to be almost tasteless, and then gradually more solid food. When he finally brings you a lump of dry bread, you nearly cry tears of joy.

He rarely speaks to you on these visits, pretending not to hear your questions when you find the strength to ask them. Eventually, you stop asking them and save your strength. First sitting up, and then painfully rising from the low bed, you nearly faint dead away. Clinging to consciousness with a desperate strength, you limp out into the monastery hallway and looking around for any sign of life – or what passes for life here. You don't see anyone, but you hear the faint whisper of breath from the neighbouring room. Leaning heavily against the wall, you drag yourself across to the next doorway – a journey that feels as if it takes an hour – and peer inside.

Persephone lies in bed, with only the slow rise and fall of her chest to show that she's still alive. You stand and stare at her for what seems like an eternity, until one eye slowly cracks open. Her gaze lazily wanders about the room before finally settling on you, and her other eye flutters open. You stay like this for a long moment, the silence stretching out.

“I always thought I wanted to spend all day lying in bed,” Persephone manages at last, her voice rough and raw, “But actually, it sucks.”

“I'd rather be up and doing some hard work,” you agree, limping inside and settling down on a low stool.

“I wouldn't go that far,” she grumbles, sitting up and gathering the rough blanket around her. She seems on the verge of saying something, only for a shiver to run through her body instead. You reach out to put an arm around her, only to draw back sharply as you hear the muffled rustle of Roerich's footsteps. He enters the room without comment, as if he had been expecting to see you up and about all along. All he does is set down a jug of water and two cups, then promptly leaves.

“So...” you begin, pouring the water and passing a cup across to Persephone, “Are we going to talk about this?”

“I don't know,” she answers, taking a deep and grateful sip of water, “Are we?”

“What we saw...” you start, only for your words to falter and fail. Every time you try to put your visions into words, the enormity of it all sweeps up and strikes you dumb. You can barely walk three paces without feeling weak – tackling the fundamental questions of existence is a little bit beyond you right now.

“Later,” you decide instead, and Persephone nods gratefully.

“Later,” she murmurs.

>I'm going to take a pause here, and start writing up the next section. I'll be aiming to continue this tomorrow, starting at the same rough time

>>5890189
Thanks for running!
We need to work out to regain our swole Adonis body pronto

>>5890205
Johannes' body never belonged to us

>>5890205
We've probably been down and out a week or less, I'm guessing. I doubt we've withered away like a POW or anything.

>>5890189
Good session, QM! Thanks for running.

It occurs to you then, as you're gnawing on the chunk of dried meat, that you've never seen Roerich eat anything before. He seems capable of surviving on herbal tea alone, a feat that you are faintly envious of. You recall hearing some vague superstition about eating meat in a sacred place, but the monk doesn't seem to mind.

“It's still not clear to me,” you admit, washing down the mouthful of meat with a drink of water, “What we saw. What it all means.”

“There are many things which are unclear to us, too,” Roerich agrees, “And I fear that we may never fully understand them. Those ancient men spoke of other worlds, worlds beyond the spirit world. We have no knowledge of such things.”

“Does it matter?” Persephone asks drily, “There could be a hundred million other worlds, all full of people pointing and laughing at us. If we can't do a thing about it, what does it matter?”

This question goes unanswered, an awkward silence descending until Roerich politely clears his throat. “Perhaps you could tell me what you saw,” he asks, nodding his head to you, “What you believe you saw.”

“We saw a man, a leader, guiding his people from the forest. What would, I assume, become the Forest Kingdom. They were searching for a new home, a place they could live in peace. On the way, they came across another man – Kalthos,” you recall, “Kalthos had the power to control spirits, and even to fight off death. He learned this power from someone, something, else. Something that also called itself Kalthos.”

“A being that originated from one of these other worlds,” Roerich murmurs, “Or so we believe.”

“They worked together for a time, and founded a city. But they soon grew apart from each other. Kalthos wanted mastery over both men and spirits, while the Artisan sought something greater,” you continue, feeling Persephone's gaze fixing on you, “He sought to raise men up, to make them like spirits. Through the cycle of life and death, he sought to cleanse men of all impurities. But I had a question.”

“I am sure that you have many,” the monk replies, with the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“The Artisan,” you state, looking the monk straight in the eye, “Did he become Sheol?”

“We believe so.”

“Then,” you pause, “Who is the Sun King?”

“Perhaps he is the Sun King too,” Roerich answers calmly. You start to reply, only to fall silent as a thought occurs to you. You remember the necromancer's coin from Nicholas' collection – bright and shining on one face, but scarred and darkened on the other. Has the truth been staring you in the face, mocking you, all this time?

“The men you call necromancers, as a whole, are no less ignorant than anyone else,” the monk continues, as if sensing your thoughts, “They may understand the stories differently, but the lie remains a lie.”

[1/2]

>>5891170

“This is absurd,” Persephone scoffs, “Are you going to tell us that the Artisan is Lord Adhra too?”

“Perhaps so,” Roerich replies, still with that faint trace of a smile on his lips. Persephone gives him a sneer, but turns away without another word. Sighing softly to himself, the monk takes a tiny sip of tea before looking back to you. “Now, I must ask YOU a question,” he whispers, “What do you intend to do next?”

“I don't know, to be frank,” you admit, shaking your head, “I'm still trying to figure it all out. I suppose we'll go back down to the academy and... and I don't know what happens after that. How are we supposed to look everyone in the eye as if everything was normal?”

“Do you regret your decision?” the monk asks softly, only to raise a hand to silence you before you have a chance to answer. “No, excuse me. I have no right to ask that question,” he concedes, “That is a matter for you and you alone. You ask how you can go back and live a normal life – I would say, because you must. Because you, as an Exorcist, still have your duties.”

“And what if I wasn't an Exorcist?”

“There will always be a place here for you,” Roerich pauses, then lets out a low, dusty laugh, “But I do not think you are ready for that. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” you agree, nodding slowly to yourself. You glance aside to Persephone again, waiting for her to come out with some acidic comment but she is silent, her face is set in a pensive frown. For once, she's keeping her thoughts to herself.

You'll see how long that lasts.

Roerich, too, seems content to remain in silence as he sips the last of his tea and waits for you to make the next move.

>I think it's time for us to go. Duty calls
>I'm curious, Roerich. What do YOU believe?
>Do you think it's right, to keep this secret from the world?
>I still have some questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>5891174
>>I'm curious, Roerich. What do YOU believe?
>I still have some questions...
>Persephone and I were overlaid over two people, two important people. Who were they?
>What of Silas and his followers?
> The Artisian recognized me, KNEW me. How?

“I'm curious, Roerich,” you say slowly, “What do YOU believe?”

“What do I believe?” the monk repeats, as if surprised by your question. He ponders it for a long moment, the papery skin on his brow creasing as he frowns. “I believe that the Artisan was acting with good intentions, but I fear that he pursues an impossible goal,” he decides at last, “I wonder if men can ever be made truly pure – and if they were, could they really be considered men?”

“He believed that he could do it,” you recall.

“Yes. Belief,” Roerich nods sadly, “And belief can be a powerful force, but it can also blind men to the truth. Perhaps I am wrong and he is right. But I do not think so.”

An involuntary shudder runs down your spine at the thought. This might never end – you might all be locked in an inescapable cycle of life and death, striving towards an impossible goal. “I had some other questions,” you continue, trying to shake off the grim thoughts, “Persephone and I were disguised while we were in the vision, with another image overlaid on top of us. Who were they, those people? They must have been important, to get so close to the Artisan at the end.”

“That, Master Hearne, has been the matter of some debate,” Roerich answers, “Their names are lost to us, and to history. But some believe that they were the first ones to carry forth the Sun King's creed. They would bring forth seeds that would grow to form faiths and societies – Sheol's church, and what would become the Regency. But there is one other possibility. My... personal theory”

“Is it not possible that one of these people was repulsed by what they had witnessed?” the monk continues, “They may have turned away from the world that had been created, seeking isolation and contemplation instead.”

“The monastery?” you guess, glancing around you.

Roerich nods slowly, smiling at your answer. “It is, of course, just my own theory. I believe we may never know for certain,” he murmurs, “And, quite naturally, there is no “official” history that we can turn to.”

“And what of the priest, Silas, and his followers?”

“Here, history CAN help us,” the withered monk pauses, waiting for you to puzzle out his words.

It takes you a long time, far longer than you'd care to admit. “Silas Ellenghast was the Forest Kingdom's representative at the signing of the Accord,” you recall, grimacing at your own error, “Then, he returned to the forest?”

“There will always be a place for you,” Persephone quotes, “That's what he said - the Artisan, I should say. Even if he really did reshape the entire world, he let the Forest Kingdom remain unchanged. One last show of respect for his master. How perfectly charming!”

“You, I am afraid, will know more about this than I do,” Roerich remarks, his eyes glinting with a rare amusement.

[1]

Ahdra is still a missing piece, as is the "angel of death"

Where is the link between Barrier and Machine? Is the Barrier the Sun God's health? Is the Machine starting to crack and break? Can we forge new pieces for the Machine down in the furnaces?

>>5891202

“There was something else. Something strange,” you recall, “I don't quite understand it myself. The Artisan seemed to... recognise me, somehow. He KNEW me. How could that be?”

This question seems to throw Roerich off his guard, the first thing you've said in a long time that he hasn't already anticipated. He has to think for a long time indeed before he breaks his silence. “A long time ago – not long as we know time, but long for you – we spoke about guardian spirits. I said... ah, I cannot remember exactly. We spoke of a theory that the acts of man can send out ripples through the spirit world,” he muses, “Great and terrible acts that have been, or WILL be done, can draw the attention of the spirits – such as your very own guardian spirit.”

“And you think that something I've done, or something I'm yet to do, is great enough to... what? To send out a ripple all the way back to those ancient days?” you pause, faltering at the very idea, “How is that possible? I've never... I can't... I'm not that important!”

Roerich spreads his hands wide in a helpless gesture. “I cannot say for sure,” he admits, “None of my masters have spoken of such things. It has never happened to them before. There is nothing more that I can teach you.”

So it ends the way it always does – with unanswered questions.

-

“What a bastard,” Persephone mutters to herself as she trudges through the snow, although her voice is loud enough to reach you over the sound of the wind – quite intentionally, of course.

You know more than a few people who might fit that description, but this time you've got a pretty good idea of who she means. “Let me guess,” you reply, “The Artisan?”

“Not exactly a difficult guess, was it?” she confirms, lapsing back into silence. You can see the anger in her, an anger so great that she's trembling with the effort of holding it in. “So he goes and sets himself on fire and that, somehow, gives him the power to reshape the world. Great. Good for him,” she continues, waving a furious hand at the mountains around you, “Then why does he give us such a shitty world to live in? There's hunger and want, we've got Reivians who want to kill us all. Not to mention that ghastly forest – oh, no offence.”

“None taken.”

“Do you know what I think?” Persephone spits, although she doesn't give you a chance to answer, “He doesn't care about us. Not one bit. We're nothing more than a stepping stone on the way to his perfect bloody world. Do you remember what he said? His first “experiment”, he called it. And you heard Roerich – it might all be for nothing, it might all be a massive waste of time!”

“But it might not be,” you remind her. She draws in a shuddering breath, then lets her shoulders slump low. You put an arm around her and pull her close, holding her until you feel her trembling body grow calm and still.

[2]

>>5891223

For all of your attempts to sound hopeful, you really don't know if you can believe your own words. There are still too many questions that you can't answer, too many missing pieces of the puzzle. Yet, there's a part of you that wonders if you really WANT your questions to be answered. Theories and speculation always allow you the potential for hope. What if you found the answers you sought, but they painted a far bleaker picture than you had ever imagined?

“I don't think we should tell the others,” Persephone mumbles, her voice muffled by your body. You loosen your grip on her and allow her to step back, looking at you with reddened eyes. “I said, I don't think we should tell the others,” she repeats, “Not a word of this.”

“Why?” you ask, and even getting out this single word is a struggle.

“Oh, what good would it do?” she cries, throwing up her hands in dismay, “Why complicate their lives with this... this crap? Let them keep believing about our benevolent, caring god. Let them take some comfort from that, at least!”

“We have to tell them SOMETHING,” you insist, but Persephone just shakes her head.

“We can tell them this was all pointless, a dead end. Nothing but dusty old books and meaningless contemplation,” she suggests, “A waste of our very important time, and nothing more.”

>You're right. Why burden them with this knowledge too?
>No, you're wrong. They have a right to know the truth as well
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>5891235
>I think... We tell them we saw some snippet of the past. Things that are important but have no bearing on finding the Necromancers. IF it becomes relevant, we'll tell them. But for now? It's nothing they need to worry about.

>>5891235
>don't tell them. They can become the a target for the True Adherents
I also have a suspicion that the True Adherents may actually adhere to Kalthos

>>5891235
>I don't think ignorance is going to be much comfort when spirits are passing through the Veil all over the place.
>Most of them are feeling pretty sketchy about Sheol's Machine anyway. It's not exactly a new theory that the machine is due for repairs, we just have more.....literal....ideas about fixing it. Or not.

“I don't think we should lie like that. I don't know if I CAN lie like that,” you reply with a slow shake of your head, “Maybe we could tell them part of the truth. We could tell them that we glimpsed into the past, or memories, or however you want to call it. But what we saw there, it wasn't anything that would help us with the necromancers. It wasn't relevant.”

“So why tell them anything at all?” Persephone asks, tilting her head to the side. She's not immediately rejecting your suggestion, which you'll take as a good start.

“Then later, when things are calming down and we've got time to spare, then maybe we can sit down and discuss it properly,” you explain, “But for now, yes, it's just going to complicate things. For us, and for them. If the True Adherents found out what we know, they might get some funny ideas. They've kept this secret for... shit, for generations. I'm willing to bet that they'd do anything to ensure it stays secret.”

Persephone nods her agreement. “So what I'm getting from this is, we absolutely definitely should not tell this to anyone,” she remarks, “Under any circumstances.”

“That's not-” you begin, only to break off with a sigh. You're starting to wonder if Persephone just likes the idea of keeping it a secret – a little bit of secret knowledge that she can lord over everyone else. “I think we've all been having doubts, one way or the other,” you continue after a moment, “We've all known, or suspected, that there's something wrong with Sheol's machine. That it's not working like it should, that the system might be breaking down – just like the Veil. There will come a time, I think, when we'll HAVE to discuss it. But now is not the time.”

She considers this, then shrugs. “I can live with that, I suppose,” she decides in a breezy voice, “For all I know, I might be too dead to care when all this is over.”

You wish she wouldn't say things like that.

-

Descending the mountain is tough going. It's always tough, even when you're in perfect health. Now, it's even worse. The cold wind cuts you to the bone, and your whole body seems weighed down with fatigue. The worst part is that you don't dare stop and take a rest, for fear that you might never get up again. You're not yet fully recovered from the unexpected fast, and now you can feel that weakness more than ever. All you can do is set your sights on the distant lights of the academy below you, and put one foot in front of the other.

“When all this is over, do you know what I'm going to do?” Persephone asks suddenly, looking around at the rough terrain with a particularly sour look on her face.

“What?”

“Never climb this fucking mountain again.”

[1]

>>5891265

“You go on ahead,” you tell Persephone, as you finally return to the welcome embrace of the academy, “I've got something that I want to do first.”

“Oh?” Persephone raises an eyebrow, “Going to see your other girlfriend?”

“What? No,” you groan, rolling your eyes at her, “I'm going to the archives.”

“I don't think you're likely to find any books that tell you about what we just saw,” she points out, prodding you lightly on the chest, “Another waste of time. Gosh, there's a lot of that going around right now, isn't there?”

You move to bat her hand away, but she's too quick – yanking her hand back, she leaves you groping at the empty air. “It's not research,” you admit, “It's just... I want to go somewhere familiar. Somewhere that feels safe. For me, that means the archives.”

Persephone lets out a bright laugh and dances away a few paces. “Suit yourself!” she calls out, “But don't stay there too long, or I might really start getting jealous!”

-

The feeling of soft leather under your fingertips is a warm, comforting feeling. Exactly the kind of thing that you need right now. You walk slowly through the rows of bookshelves, letting your hand brush lightly against the aged tomes. No matter that almost all of them are based on a lie or built upon falsehoods, you can appreciate them nonetheless. At first you walk without any real direction in mind, but soon you find yourself drawn to the sound of whispered voices.

When you find them, Fia and Cloranthy are bent over a sheaf of papers and murmuring amongst themselves. The sound of your footsteps causes them to look up in alarm. Cloranthy's eyes widen at the sight of you, but she quickly forces a sardonic smile. “Looks like the diet is going well,” she begins, her words causing Fia to let out a nervous giggle.

“Damn,” you mutter, “That bad?”

“You, my man, look like someone beat you with a sock full of shit,” Cloranthy replies earnestly.

“What does that even look like?”

“Startled, confused. Not really hurt, but a little disgusted,” she explains, having clearly put a lot of thought into this. You feel a smile, an honest smile, take shape on your lips as you collapse down into the seat opposite the pair. More than the archives themselves, this is what you really needed. “Oh yeah, go ahead and take a seat,” Cloranthy adds, feigning a scowl, “It's not like we were in the middle of something really important work, after all.”

“Clo,” Fia whispers, “I don't think this is actually all that important.”

“Shh!” Cloranthy hisses back, “Play along, will you?”

“I can hear you, you know,” you point out.

“Clo!” Fia adds, struggling to contain a gale of laughter, “I think he can hear us!”

“Okay, fine. Fine!” Cloranthy sighs, giving you an expansive shrug, “We were just taking a well-earned break but I suppose I can spare a few minutes for my best buddy.”

[2]

>>5891293

“It's pretty strange, seeing you with someone else,” you begin, looking between Cloranthy and Fia, “Normally I'm the one who comes along and bothers you. Or you're the one who comes along and bothers me.”

“Yeah, well, you've been hard to find lately,” Cloranthy reminds you, “Not that I've got any room to complain, after out little getaway together. Don't get any funny ideas, Fia, it was purely professional.”

“Don't worry, I never get any funny ideas,” Fia promises.

Probably because she never gets any ideas at all, you think silently to yourself.

“Well, anyway. We're collaborating on an important project,” Cloranthy continues, “A project that's going precisely nowhere, which is why were taking a break. No use beating your head against a brick wall, is there?”

“We're working on, um, a banishment ritual. You know the one,” Fia offers, a slightly hesitant tone creeping into her voice, “I never thought that it would be this difficult though...”

A rite to banish the Angel of Ixtab. She had talked about continuing work on creating the ritual, of course, but you never actually expected her to follow through on it. You find yourself looking at Fia in a new light, with a hint of grudging respect.

“She's been taking it pretty seriously, too,” Cloranthy adds, noticing your expression, “So I thought I might as well help out a little... though, we've been at it for a few days now and we've barely scratched the surface. I'm about ready to call it quits.”

“No!” Fia insists, furiously shaking her head before the echo of her own cry comes back to halt her. She freezes, a red heat blooming in her cheeks. “Um, what I meant was...” she explains, “I just... feel like this is... important. Really important. Even if it takes a month, a whole year even, I won't give up. Even if I have to do it all myself.”

“Even if you can't find someone else to do the hard work for you,” Cloranthy suggests, giving you a sly smile.

“Exactly! Wait, no-” Fia pauses, frowning at her friend, “That's not what I meant...”

>I think Cloranthy's right. You should give it a rest, Fia
>I think Fia's right. This work could be really important
>Don't look at me. I'm not picking a side here
>Other

>>5891320
>It's better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. But maybe you should be teaching Fia what to look for?

>>5891320
>I think Fia's right. This work could be really important
The spiritual arms race must continually escalate

>>5891326
Supporting

“I think Fia's right,” you interrupt, before the pain can start bickering any more than they already are, “This work could be really important. It's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. But if you're really that concerned about how long it's taking, Cloranthy, maybe you could show Fia where to start.”

“Sure, I'll get right on that – just as soon as I figure that out myself,” Cloranthy grunts, “Do I look like the kind of person who can just work up rituals without breaking a sweat?”

“You did a pretty good job with that sun seal back in the forest,” you remind her, “In principle, it's the same idea.”

“I DID do a good job with that, didn't I?” Cloranthy agrees, a smug grin instantly replacing her sullen expression, “Fia, have I told you about this yet?”

“Maybe, um, once or twice. Or five or six times,” she answers, her eyes flicking across to you, “Do you really think this is the right thing to do?”

“Like I said, it's better to do some hard work now if it means you don't regret it later,” you tell her, “Anyway, just think about how proud Master Rosenthal will be. You'll be the academy's star students!”

Maybe you're laying it on a bit thick now, but Fia seems to appreciate it. “That's right, we're going to show everyone how good we are!” she announces, “Clo, I've got an idea. The summoning ritual was written down in this totally ancient version of Akklo, right? But back in Ixtab, we were able to kinda translate it into something more modern. We could do the same here, then work backwards.”

“Why didn't you say that sooner?” Cloranthy groans, burying her head in her hands, “If you'd told me that to begin with, we... ugh, fine. Fine! It's not like I've got anything better to do with my time. I guess we'll start with the translations and see how far we get from there. Oh, and Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“Go and get a proper meal or something,” she orders, “I'm getting hungry just looking at you.”

-

Leaving the sounds of hard work and progress behind you, you leave the archives feeling like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. It may be that nothing has really changed, you're still neck deep in trouble, but you feel a little better. Just for a little while, you were able to forget your troubles. It might not last forever, but nothing ever does.

You arrive back at the dorms to find them hushed and still, your friends and colleagues all having turned in for the night. But Harriet has been here not long ago – she's left a tray of biscuits atop the kitchen counter, their sweet smell drawing you in from across the room. It might not exactly be a proper meal, as Cloranthy said, but you eagerly help yourself to a few of the treats.

In the morning, you'll decide your next move. No doubt there's plenty of work that needs doing, and never enough people to do it.

But that can wait for another day.

[1]

>>5891367

You sleep late, as if you haven't got a care in the world. It's only when you hear the rattle of conversation from outside your room that you finally rouse yourself. Quickly dressing, you stop by your mirror and examine your features. Not quite as bad as Cloranthy's reaction had led you to believe, but there's still a gaunt, harrowed edge to your features. It'll fade in time, you tell yourself.

Stepping out from your room, you feel as if you're swept up into the fury of a storm. You've grown accustomed to silence and stillness, so much so that the bustle of conversation nearly drives you back into your room. Steeling yourself against the noise, you take a seat at the table and help yourself to some of the food laid out before you.

“Here,” Johannes rumbles, piling an extra portion onto your plate, “I'd say you need to get your strength back, but you didn't have much to begin with.”

“Oh that's good, that's really funny,” you shoot back, “Did Persephone write that one down for you?”

“How rude!” Persephone laughs, “I didn't need to write it down!”

Johannes lets out a laugh of his own, a hard bark like mountains crumbling. Harriet smiles a little, but her eyes are still concerned. “But how did you get so thin?” she asks, “Whatever happened to you up in those mountains?”

You meet her gaze, feeling your face becoming cold and still even as an easy smile drifts into place. “Nothing important,” you assure her, “Maybe I'll tell you about it, one day.”

In the end, lying isn't that hard at all.

>I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'm hoping to resume on Friday, but I may need to push things to Saturday if I can't get enough prep work done. At the moment, I have a rough plan to try and reach a conclusion within this thread but that's very much an approximation at this stage.
>Regardless, thank you to everyone who's posted or just followed along so far

>>5891383
Thanks for running!

>>5891383
Thanks for running!


>“Here,” Johannes rumbles, piling an extra portion onto your plate, “I'd say you need to get your strength back, but you didn't have much to begin with.”
ouch
dumpstered by the gigachad himself

>>5891383
Ah, dang, missed today's session. Still was a good read catching up, though!

>>5891383
Thanks for running Moloch, while i can't always play while you're running due to work i appreciate all the effort you take to write this!

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195 KB JPG

The rattle of conversation flows around you like an ocean, a steady rise and fall punctuated by the bright sharpness of Persephone's laughter and the dull rumble of Johannes' complaints. The more you listen to them, however, the greater the sense of distance you feel. It all seems to be happening somewhere very far away, with only the faintest of echoes reaching you. Just keeping up with the conversation takes an effort that you really cannot spare.

Suddenly, from across the breakfast table, you meet Harriet's eyes. She smiles, then tilts her head towards the door and touches a finger to your lips. You nod, then quietly slip out with her. The other two don't even notice.

“They really do go on a bit, don't they?” Harriet says, closing the dorm door behind her, “It was all getting a bit overwhelming. You felt the same way, didn't you?”

“A little,” you agree, not quite trusting yourself to say anything more.

“Don't get any funny ideas about this, but I'd like to go somewhere with you,” she continues, “Somewhere, um, private.”

You consider this, then gesture for Harriet to lead on. She reaches for your hand, then reconsiders and takes hold of your sleeve instead. As you follow her through the hushed corridors, you look for any new signs of life but see none. “Still quiet around here, I see,” you mention idly, “Has Master Brehm been around much?”

“Well, ah, not really,” Harriet admits, “I'm a little worried about him, actually. With everything that's happened... Oh, of course, you might not have heard. When Persephone and I went on our investigation, we were trying to find another one of Master Brehm's old apprentices. He'd got a lead on them, and asked us to follow up. We, um, we found her.”

The bleak tone in her voices tells you everything you need to know, but you find yourself asking the question anyway. “Dead?” you ask quietly.

“Yes. Not recent, either. It must've been... well, I'm no expert, but it must've happened a pretty long time ago. It was so strange. She looked almost... peaceful,” Harriet shivers a little as she thinks back, “We followed the lead to a remote shack in the hills near Dacia. It's funny, to think that she'd been so close to my home all this time... We found her laid out on the bed, with her arms folded across her chest. It almost looked like she'd fallen asleep, except... except her neck had been broken. It was a total dead end, no other leads we could follow. Master Brehm, um... he didn't take it very well.”

“Now he's out chasing spirits, trying to keep busy,” you muse, “Has he mentioned me at all?”

“No,” Harriet answers quickly, speaking up before you've even finished asking your question.

“You're a terrible liar,” you warn her gently.

Harriet lets out a nervous little laugh. “Am I? I just thought...” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “He said that he didn't want to see you.”

[1]

>>5897298

You wince, feeling Harriet's words sinking into you like a blade. She starts to mumble some vague apology, but you cut her off with a shake of your head. Favouring silence instead, she puts her head down and focuses on leading you down the last few twists and turns. You know where you're going now, the destination coming as something as a surprise. In the time that you've been away, Harriet seems to have grown intimately familiar with the Sun King's shrine.

The shrine feels like it's shrunk since you were last here, growing more claustrophobic though you know that cannot be. Taking up almost the entirety of the far wall, the image of the Sun King glares down with a stern paternal authority. It demands your attention, and neither you nor Harriet can tear your gaze away.

“What do you feel?” Harriet asks, her voice barely a whisper, “When you look at this, what do you... feel?”

“Harriet,” you begin carefully, “What's this about?”

“Come on Lucas, don't make me play tough,” she pleads, giving you a brittle smile, “You know I'm no good at that stuff.”

Gazing up at the Sun King's image, you feel a complicated churn of emotions welling up within you. “I feel a sense of... animosity,” you explain slowly, “Of fear, perhaps. But I can't say what I'm afraid of. I don't even know if I'M the one who's afraid.”

“It always scared me a little. Not just this, I mean, but any of these icons. Even when I was younger, before... Deimos, I was always scared of them,” Harriet confesses, “Don't tell anyone, okay? It's not... an Exorcist shouldn't be feeling like that, should they?”

“I'm not sure that I'm the best judge of that,” you point out. This manages to get a smile out of Harriet, but it's a humourless one that doesn't last long. It melts away like ice in the sun, replaced by a tense silence.

“I don't even know why I asked you to come here,” she admits eventually, “I just knew you'd... understand. I don't think anyone else would.”

A pause.

“I don't know what I'm doing here,” Harriet continues, “Johannes has been teaching some of the novices, you and Persephone have been working hard, but I'm just... useless. Things are getting serious around here, even I can see that, but I worry that I'll just be a burden. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better off just... going home.”

“Home,” you murmur, “Will your father-”

“Will be take me back?” she finishes for you, “I don't know. I honestly don't. But I can only try.”

>I can't tell you what to do. This is your own choice to make
>Maybe you should go back. Get away from this place while you still can
>I don't think you should go. Your place is here, with us
>Other

>>5897300
>Maybe you should go back. Get away from this place while you still can
Give her hand a squeeze though, and make it clear it's not that she's a burden, but that we've come to understand that the path we walk isn't as auspicious or righteous as we thought it might be growing up. if she chooses to walk this path with us we'll still help and support her, but it's getting dicey, as she says.

>>5897300
>Might not be a bad idea. You could end up teaming up with your teachers there though. Someone's going to have to deal with the spirits around there, and I assume you'll take any help you can get.
>I can tell you more about your ah, ancestor. What he was trying to do. What YOU could be doing, if it meant staying you.
balls to the walls

You say nothing for a long time as you both gaze up at the Sun King's image. Almost without thinking, you reach out and take her hand. You might not be able to put all her fears and doubts to rest, but you can give her the simple comfort of human contact. Her hand is warm, the skin soft from a life of easy living. Not so easy, you remind yourself, she's just had different battles to fight.

“Maybe you should go back,” you admit eventually, “We'd all hate to miss you, but you said it yourself – things are getting tough around here. You might want to get out while you still can.”

“Do you really think...” Harriet pauses, “I mean, you don't think I'm a coward for thinking like this?”

“No, I don't think that at all,” you shake your head, “But things are different now. I've come to see that this path isn't as auspicious or righteous as I once thought it was. I think we've all come to think that, one way or another. It's not what you signed up for. It's not what ANY of us signed up for.”

Harriet lets out a low sigh. “I wish you wouldn't talk like that,” she confesses, “Like you've got some great, terrible secret you're keeping all bottled up. Because... because I think you probably are. And I want to take some of that burden from you, but I don't know if I could take it. You really know how to make a girl feel awkward.”

“One of my many talents,” you remark with a grim attempt at a smile. Harriet chokes out a little cough of laughter, then turns away from the icon and nods towards the door. Glad to be rid of the shrine, you lead her from the suffocating room. Even the narrow corridors outside feel infinitely refreshing, compared with the shrine before them. “You're right, though,” you confess, lowering your voice, “I've learned things. Maybe too much. I even learned a little about your ancestor. Would you...”

“Oh no, no!” Harriet replies hastily, shaking her head, “I don't... really want to know. Rather, I know more than enough about him already. I don't need to know anything more.”

Even with Deimos' influence banished, she's still living under his shadow – and perhaps she always will. It was that influence that drove her here, to the academy and to your cohort. With him gone, what else is really keeping her here?

Just thinking about Deimos is making Harriet uncomfortable, and you quickly move to change the subject. “If you do go home, do you think you'll go back to your old teacher too?” you ask, “You might turn your back on the academy forever, but you're never going to be free from the spirit world. You'll need help, and you won't be able to be too picky about it.”

“I never thought about that,” she admits, “I wonder if I'll ever be able to find him. Without me to teach, I doubt father would have kept him around. Maybe I'll travel the lands in search of him. That sounds like fun, doesn't it?”

“Maybe wait for things to calm down a little first,” you suggest.

[1]

>>5897346

You both lapse into a tense silence as you walk back to the dorm. It's only when you arrive back and reach for the door that Harriet breaks her silence. “You should leave too,” she blurts out, “But... but you won't, will you?”

“I'm in too deep,” you tell her sadly, “I can't back out now, however this all plays out.”

“I knew you'd say that, but I had to try,” she sighs, before straightening up and forcing a bright smile onto her face, “Right Harriet, it's show time!”

With that, she throws the door open and marches into the dorm as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

-

It doesn't last.

Harriet keeps up a strong act for a while, laughing too loudly as Persephone and Johannes go about their usual sparring, but it quickly gets too much for her. With a vague excuse about a headache, she retreats back into the privacy of her own room. Johannes watches her go, then turns to give you a curious, or perhaps accusatory, look.

“Don't look at me like that, I don't know what the problem is either,” you lie, “You're the one who's been here with her all this time, not me.”

“I haven't been “with” her much either, you ass,” Johannes points out, “I've been busy.”

“The teaching. I heard,” you reply, sensing an opportunity for distraction, “How's that been going, anyway?”

“Not great. Not terrible. I don't know how much I'm actually teaching them, though,” he explains, his brow furrowing with a scowl, “I just read from a book. They could read the damn book on their own, save me a job.”

“But Johannes, my dear, I'm sure your brilliant enthusiasm for learning will be like a shining beacon for them,” Persephone crows, “Without which, they would be lost in a sea of their own ignorance and superstition!”

Johannes considers this for what seems like a long moment. “Persephone,” he replies eventually, “You're full of shit.”

With a delighted laugh, Persephone leans back in her chair and savours in her apparent victory. Scowling again, Johannes very deliberately ignores her and turns back to you. “I'll say this, though,” he remarks, “They're nothing like we were, these new recruits. They ask too many questions, for one thing. When I was their age, I knew how to shut my mouth and listen.”

“When I was their age...” you repeat back to him, “I think that means you're officially an old man.”

“He's been an old man for years,” Persephone points out as she gives you a sly smile, “At least in spirit.”

“It's called maturity, you hysterical woman. Learn it,” he grunts, “But still, I don't like it. The way these brats ask so many questions, it reminds me of-”

He bites off his own words here, looking particularly annoyed with himself. Even after all this time, just the thought of bringing up Nicholas' name is enough to strike a conversation dead.

[2]

>>5897373

Despite your best efforts at reviving the tattered shreds, the conversation continues to languish. Eventually reprieve comes in the form of a hurried knock on the dorm door. You get up to open it, seeing Master Rosenthal behind it. He doesn't look good, as if he was fighting hard to keep a panic attack under control. He's so harried that he doesn't bother with the small talk, instead brushing straight past you.

“Good, you're all here,” he begins, only to pause and take another look around the dorm, “Almost all here. It'll have to be good enough. I need to check - Master Brehm is away on an assignment, is he not?”

“Yes. Left the day before yesterday,” Johannes answers with a curt nod.

“Alone?”

“Alone,” he confirms, his dark eyes narrowing with irritation, “He ordered us to stay behind.”

You tense up. That doesn't sound good. Taking in this news with an unsightly grimace, Master Rosenthal starts to pace the length of the dorm. “There's a problem,” he says tersely, “At least, I think there's a problem. I'm starting to see a pattern.”

“Slow down. Start from the beginning,” Persephone orders, “And try not to sound like a paranoid lunatic while doing it.”

Master Rosenthal stops and takes a deep breath as he composes his thoughts. “I've had some reports back from the recent investigations. In several cases, the Exorcists who attended the scenes were attacked – by men, not spirits. They were ambushed, and some of them barely managed to escape with their lives. Others weren't so lucky,” he explains quickly, “I've only just now been able to collate the reports – they show that these ambushes all took place near the Forest Kingdom.”

“So was Master Brehm's assignment,” Johannes curses, already leaping to his feet, “Damn it!”

“Was that the assignment you let him go on alone?” Persephone points out delicately.

“He ordered-” the heavyset man replies, gritting his teeth. “Look, I knew there was something wrong. Of course there was,” he continues, “As soon as he saw that town's name on the incident list, he went pale. It was already being investigated, but he said he needed to go there himself. But we were to stay. Shouldn't have listened to him. Come on, get ready – he's got a two day lead on us, we can't afford to waste any more time!”

Johannes pounds his fist against Harriet's dorm, then turns to give Persephone a foul glare as he sees that she's still sitting down. “Get a MOVE on!” he snarls, “He could be walking into an ambush. We have a DUTY to help him!”

“Do we?” she asks softly.

Her softly-spoken question leaves Johannes stunned, his gaze turning to you. But you don't say anything either. What Master Brehm said to Harriet still hurts, a searing pain like a knife in your back. Now this...

>Johannes is right. We've got to help him
>You can go, but I won't. He's on his own
>Other

>>5897392
>I don't think ALL of us should go. That just leaves more bodies to shoot.
>But Ellenghast might be somewhere in the middle of this. I'm going.
>Persephone, you feel like bailing the old man out?
Now I'm worried Johannes is going to "become a more fitting form"

>>5897399
+1

>>5897392
>Johannes is right

The seconds seem to drag out as you think, turning the idea over and over in your mind. With a scoff of anger, Johannes goes back to banging his fist on Harriet's door before giving up with an angry shrug. “Fine,” he snarls, “She would only slow us down anyway.”

“There's no need to be a shit about it,” Persephone hisses, “Just because we're not all planning to rush off on your suicidal crusade, that doesn't mean you can talk about her like that.”

“Leave her be,” you announce, breaking your silence, “Maybe it's best if someone stays behind. If something happens to us...”

“Us?” Johannes repeats, and you suddenly realise what you just said.

“Looks like I'm in,” you admit, “This could be trouble. No, this IS trouble. If the Forest Kingdom is involved, I'm willing to bet that Lady Ellenghast isn't going to be far. She could be right in the middle of this for all I know. So yeah, I'm in. I'm going. Persephone – don't you feel like bailing the old man out?”

She tilts her head to the side, looking none too pleased with your decision. “I suppose it might be worth the bragging rights, at least,” she concedes, “And you could probably use someone with a little common sense going along too.”

Johannes already looks as if he's regretting her decision.

-

“We're heading to Heawick. What's left of it, at least. Straight ride south of us, shouldn't be hard to find,” Johannes explains as he fumbles with his horse's saddle, “Incident there was nothing special – strange lights dancing around the remains of the old village. Some travelling merchant saw them, reported it in. Thought they were fire at first, but there shouldn't be anyone out there to light fires. There was already a team looking into it, but that didn't stop Master Brehm. Master... Giehl, I think it was. Whoever that is.”

“I know him,” you mutter. Master Giehl, you recall, is more of a scholar than a fighter. He probably took this investigation because it was close to the Forest Kingdom. But if his team really is walking into an ambush, they're likely to be cut to pieces. Was Master Brehm trying to save them? But it couldn't be – Master Brehm would have left before Rosenthal learned of the ambushes. There has to be something more.

“Whatever. I don't care,” Johannes grunts, climbing up onto the horse, “We ride hard. We've got a lot of catching up to do.”

Ignoring the third horse waiting nearby, Persephone climbs up and nestles in behind you with her arms clasped tightly around your waist. You squirm a little as Johannes stares in disgust, but he says nothing more. Instead, he wheels his steed around and kicks it into a gallop. Digging your heels in, you hasten after him as clouds of loose dust start to fly.

Despite your initial hesitations, you find yourself wishing for the horse to move faster. A terrible, nameless fear starts to build in your chest, a sense of both dread and finality.

You might already be too late.

[1]

>>5897416

You ride hard, pushing the horses to the brink of exhaustion and swapping to fresh steeds as soon as possible. Even so, night starts to draw in before you've made it to the border of the Forest Kingdom. Stopping to wait until morning is out of the question, and you plunge headlong into the darkness. Losing count of the hours as you ride, it starts to feel as if the night might never end. The only light you see if the faintest flicker of what looks like fire from some ways off in the distance. Not just ANY fire, but the spirit light that you're chasing. It can't be far off now.

A tiny hamlet marks the final hint of civilisation before arriving at the northernmost border of the Forest Kingdom. A thin mist hangs over the town, and the locals have all painted crude images of the Sun King on the doors of their rickety shacks. You don't stop, don't even slow down at the hamlet, just thundering through it as you close the last of the distance between you and your destination.

Your horse lets out a shrill whine of fear as you finally arrive at the treeline. You see the faint remnants of a few huts, but time has cloaked these in moss and tall grass. If there was a settlement here once, it has been all but buried. There's only one sign of human life, and it's not what you were expecting. Looming up amidst the trees is a strange sight – a tall wooden archway, red paint flaking from the ancient pillars. Even with all your haste, you all stop and stare at the curious archway for what seems like a long moment. In the end, you're the one who breaks the silence.

“That shouldn't be here,” you point out, “The foresters wouldn't built something like that. Neither would we.”

“Someone built it,” Johannes grunts, “Who cares? We're not here to argue about planning permission.”

He doesn't wait for a response, drawing his massive revolver and striding through the archway. You follow him, shivering a little as a chill sinks into your bones. You try to summon up the old familiar fire of your guardian spirit, but it remains silent. The mist grows thicker as you enter the forest, the wisps of light dancing ahead of you – always ahead, always just barely out of reach. A rough trail winds and weaves through the trees, until-

It's hard to explain what happens next, even to yourself. One minute you're skulking through the forest with a thick canopy of leaves overhead, and the next you're standing in a clearing – in a village, in fact. The village burns brightly, oily smoke rising up from the blazing shacks to darken the skies, but you feel no heat.

“Well, this is perfectly charming...” Persephone mutters aloud, “Is anyone else having second thoughts? No? Just me?”

You silence her with a gesture, hearing a faint noise from one of the nearby ruins – a wet choking noise, the noise of something in mortal pain.

[2]

>>5897427

With your weapon drawn, you creep towards the gruesome sound. Automatically shying away from the flames, although you don't know how real they really are, you slip through the half-collapses doorway and look around. Leaning up against a wall, heedless of the ghostly flames lapping at his clothes, you see a bloodied figure. His shoulders are slumped and his hand is clasped tight to the side of his neck, but you see the slightest hint of movement as his chest rises and falls. It's hard to make out his features beneath the mask of blood, but you recognise the man – Hugh, from Master Giehl's cohort.

“Hugh. Hugh?” you hiss as you kneel down beside him, “Damn it... Hubert?”

At this, his eyes flutter open. They seem to wander around for a long time before finally finding your face. “You...” he croaks, a bubble of blood gathering at the corner of his mouth as he talks, “Are you... really you?”

“As real as ever,” you assure him, “What happened, Hugh?”

“Stabbed me,” he mumbles, although you could've figured that part out by yourself, “She... it wasn't... her... fault. We got separated... again. Keeps happening to us. When I found her... spirit had gotten into her. It wasn't... her.”

“Emma did this?” you ask, your eyes widening as you look the man's wounds up and down. In addition to the gash in his throat, you can see blood pooling from another wound in his torso. It's astonishing that he's survived this long, but how much longer can he last?

“Wasn't... her fault,” Hugh repeats, “Tried a banishment but... it didn't work. Don't know why. Too strong or... something else.”

He coughs, a fine mist of blood spattering from his lips. You flinch back with a grimace, wiping at your face with your sleeve. Sneering at your disgust, Johannes pushes you aside and kneels down by Hugh. “Did you see Master Brehm?” he asks bluntly, “Is he here?”

“The old man... yes...” Hugh splutters, “He went... deeper in. Went all the way. He saw me, I think... didn't stop... didn't even say a word.”

“Deeper,” Johannes repeats, “Come on, you heard him. There's nothing more we can do for him. We're just wasting time here.”

He's right, of course. Even if you were in the middle of the capital, with the best medical care available, Hugh is just too far gone to be saved. But that doesn't make it any nicer to hear.

>You're right. We need to focus. Master Brehm went deeper in – we'll do the same
>Wait, I need to ask something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>5897434
>Make Hugh comfortable as he dies stay with him until the end
>Remind Johannes of that time in the alley, cleaning a shrine even though nobody worshiped at it or attended to the spirit anymore... Because it was an important thing to do for its own sake, because it was right
Our bro is losing himself. He needs to find his centre. The Johannes from the beginning of the quest wouldn't just leave a man to choke on his own blood, alone.

>>5897434
Backing >>5897443
revive brohannes

“We're not wasting time,” you tell Johannes, turning to give him a hard look, “Two days. You said that Master Brehm had two days of a lead on us. I think he can spare us a few minutes more.”

“Are you sure about that?” Johannes growls, scowling down at you as you take your coat off and fold it, placing the crude cushion behind Hugh's head.

“I once knew a man who used his time off, his hard-won time off, to clean up a forgotten, abandoned shrine. A shrine that nobody had seen or used in years, and maybe hasn't been seen or used since then. But he spent the time and effort on cleaning it up,” you remind him, struggling to keep your voice low and level, “Was that wasting time too?”

Johannes doesn't answer this straight away, his mouth twitching as he fights back a grimace. Then, as if reaching a decision, he kneels down beside you and the wounded man. “You there. Can you hear me?” he mutters, “Hubert?”

“It's Hugh,” you point out.

“Hugh. Sure, fine,” Johannes looks the dying man in the eye, “Don't be afraid, Hugh. You can rest soon.”

“Emma...” Hugh rasps, “Be... careful... Not herself...”

“We'll do what we can,” the heavyset man assures him, putting a broad hand on Hugh's shoulder.

With that, the last reserves of Hugh's strength reach their end. His head droops and hangs low, while the slow rise and fall of his chest grows slower still. You force yourself to stay by his side, watching as those last faltering motions finally fail altogether. When his body finally grows still, you look around to Johannes. “It's time,” you announce, your voice hollow, “Master Brehm went deeper in. We'll do the same.”

Johannes nods, restlessly toying with his hand cannon. Things must really be bad, if he's showing how nervous he is. He rises to his feet, offering you his hand and pulling you upright as well. “Lucas,” he rumbles, “I...”

“Don't worry about it,” you tell him, waving away his words, “Let's just focus on the task at hand, shall we?”

“Right,” he grunts. Together, you creep out from the burning shack and rejoin Persephone. You tell yourself that she made the smart choice to watch your backs while you were with Hugh, but that's being generous.

-

The village, if that's what it truly is, gets stranger as you venture deeper into it. The buildings grow closer and denser, bunching up until it becomes impossible to tell where one ends and another begins. Eventually, you find yourself hemmed in by walls of burning timber. There's only a single doorway ahead, leading you inside the sprawling structure. It's no more normal on the inside, with a wild tangle of broken walls forming an insane maze. Fire blazes through it all, yet the flames show no sigh of consuming the fragile wood. It's as if this moment has been caught, frozen in time and drawn out for eternity.

[1]

>>5897473

Amidst the crackle of burning wood and the distant chime of unseen bells, you hear a new sound – a more physical sound, a scrape of boots on the warped floorboards. You look around as best you can, peering through holes in the broken walls, but you don't see any sign of the source of that noise. Once or twice you think you catch a fleeting glimpse of movement, but it's never there when you turn to focus.

It's hard to know if you're making much progress, with the winding corridors twisting and turning, even linking back on themselves occasionally. It's made worse by how bland and anonymous the corridors all are – there's barely anything you can use as a marker, a way of tracing back your steps. You can't help but think back to Hugh, and an entirely different kind of labyrinth.

“Once might be bad luck, but twice is just being careless,” you mutter to yourself, feeling an absurd smile forming on your lips. You may actually be losing your mind in this terrible place.

“What are you mumbling about?” Persephone hisses, “Come on, share it with the class! You-”

“Down!” Johannes snarls, punching you so hard in the arm that you're knocked sprawling. A split second later, you hear the crack of a gunshot and the wooden pillar behind you bursts into a shower of splinters. Poking your head up and peering through the broken wall, you finally catch a glimpse of your pursuer. Just as bloodied and filthy as Hugh was, you only barely recognise Emma by her shock of red hair. Her whole body looks as if it's been broken apart, her limbs hanging at awkward angles as she brandishes her revolver. A bloodied knife hangs loosely in her other hand, but you have little doubt that she'd be quick to use it if she got close enough. Her head is the worst part, shuddering and twitching as if she was in the grips of a fatal seizure. Something covers her face, something that looks absurdly like a page ripped from a book, but-

But you don't have a chance to get a closer look at the page before another shot rings out, sending you ducking back into cover. All you could really make out was some kind of sigil, a seal painted across the stained paper.

“I've got a plan!” Persephone whispers, “One of you gentlemen distract her, and the other blows her brains out!”

“Great,” Johannes grunts back, “Are you volunteering to be bait?”

“Good grief, of course not!” she yelps, “This was your idea, you can do the shitty job!”

>Emma is already lost. You need to take her out
>Stay low and move quick. You can lose her in the maze
>You could try a banishment ritual, but...
>You've got a plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>5897495
"We might be able to save her if we remove that page and then try a banishment. But it's risky. On the flipside she might be able to tell us more if we save her. I think that archway and whoever did this are blurring the barriers between the mortal and spiritual. Because i can't call on my spirit here, the fire is frozen."

>>5897514
+1. Seems legit, and I have no better plan of action.

>>5897495
>Lose her in the maze

“Maybe we do need a distraction, but not to shoot her,” you explain, thinking quickly to yourself, “Hugh said that he couldn't banish the spirit – I think that page on her face might be a binding, something holding the spirit in place. We saw something like that in Ixtab, but... Forget it, it's a long story. But if we can get that page off...”

“We can banish the spirit,” Johannes finishes for you, “We can save her.”

“Hopefully,” you agree, “She might know something that could help us, maybe explain just what's going on here.”

“Whatever you're planning, plan it faster,” Persephone hisses, “She's coming this way!”

You risk another peek up above the broken wall, watching as Emma's puppet body clambers awkwardly through a larger hole. Spears of broken wood tear at her bare flesh as she goes, but she doesn't seem to notice at all. Even without her grotesquely spasming head turning your way, she lifts the revolver and snaps off another shot. This time, you feel a sharp sting of pain as a spray of wooden splinters rain down upon you.

“You just need to get close?” Johannes asks again, his jaw set in a determined snarl as he cracks his knuckles. You nod, then give Persephone a glance. She returns your nod with one of her own, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath. The air shimmers around her as she calls upon the power of her guardian spirit, and then a sudden blackness descends as if a curtain had fallen.

“Go!” Johannes roars, launching himself forwards and lowering his shoulder. He hits the wall square on, shattering through the brittle wood without so much as slowing down. Emma twists around and fires again, emptying her revolver wildly towards the noise, but her shots cut harmlessly above your head. As she pulls back, dumping empty casings from her revolver, you charge forwards and scrabble across the last few broken barricades in your way. Metal glints as Emma comes up with the knife, but you manage to catch her wrist with a desperate lunge and drag her down to the ground.

You wrestle for a moment until you manage to rip the knife from her hand. She goes feral, clawing and scratching at you with broken nails, but you push past her wild attack and grab at the stained paper covering her face. You have just enough time to see that it's pinned to her face, held in place by a cruel bone needle, before ripping it free. Her face, now revealed, is completely blank even as she struggles against your grip.

Then Johannes is by your side, tearing the medallion from around his neck and slamming the golden sigil against Emma's chest. It might be the most violent banishment you've ever seen, but it certainly does the job – her entirely body jolt with a single terrible convulsion, and she seems to vomit out a cloud of black ink. The ink dissipates quickly, merging with the smoke and vanishing without a trace.

[1]

>>5897556

“Good play,” you gasp, wiping blood from your cheek and giving Johannes a nod, “Teamwork.”

“I think I broke my fucking shoulder,” Johannes replies, rubbing his arm, “Doctors said I should be avoiding any strenuous exercise too.”

“What do they know?” you ask with a shrug, although your next words are interrupted as Emma lets out a low groan. She looks a little better than Hugh, but she's still in a frightful shape – bleeding from countless different wounds, and with one finger jutting out at a sickly angle from where you wrenched the knife from her hand. Awareness slowly filters into her eyes, and she suddenly covers her mouth with one hand to hold back a retch.

“Easy, easy!” you hiss, reaching out to steady her only for her to knock your hands away.

“I... I...” she stammers, “It's happened again, it's... Hugh! I did something terrible to Hugh!”

“Never mind him now,” Johannes scolds, “Just stay calm. You're safe now.”

As safe as anyone can be, under the circumstances. “We're going to get you out of here,” you continue, speaking slowly, “But we need your help. Can you tell me what happened here?”

Emma draws in a shuddering breath, then fixes her gaze on you. Something very cold and very hard reveals itself from within her, pushing all fear and pain aside... for now. “We came to investigate reports of strange lights in the area. We found that... that gate outside, and then this village,” she begins, “But there isn't supposed to be a village here. Not any more. The whole place was burned to the ground a long time ago.”

“It's still burning,” you mutter to yourself, but Emma pays you no heed.

“We tried exploring, but we got lost in this fucking maze. I don't... really know what happened then. My memory gets hazy. I think I...” she hesitates, then scowls deeply, “I panicked, okay? I freaked out, and I ran. I got separated from the others, and then something... found me. I only remember snippets after that. There was... I think it was a man, but his skin was red. He did something to me, to my...”

Her voice cracks and falters here, and she waves a hand towards her bloodied forehead.

“After that, I couldn't see anything. I heard voices, Giehl and Hugh. They were crying out, they were afraid. And I felt...” a shudder runs through Emma, “I could FEEL the knife in my hand. I know what I did.”

“We're looking for our instructor. Master Brehm,” Johannes says carefully, “Old man, probably in a foul mood. Do you know if he came through here?”

“He made it through,” Emma says slowly, nodding to herself, “I followed him, but I didn't hurt him. I wasn't allowed to hurt him. Just the others.”

“Can you show us the way through?” you ask. Emma grimaces, but nods once more.

>Then lead the way
>There's something else I need to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>I'm going to have to take a pause here for the day. I'll leave this open overnight, and continue on from tomorrow - same approximate starting time.
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5897580
>Then lead the way

>>5897580
>Then lead the way
Thanks for running!

>>5897580
>>There's something else I need to ask you... (Write in)
Has anyone else come by or interacted with you? Did you see a man called the Sethian?
Thanks for running Moloch!

>>5897580
Red man. Another one of Kalthos' followers, who's not really a man. Things are getting even more interesting.

File: Johannes Crane.jpg (85 KB, 646x727)

85 KB JPG

“Then lead the way,” you tell Emma, offering her a shoulder to lean on. She ignores the offer, brushing past you and carefully picking her way through the shattered walls. It doesn't take long for her stubborn strength to fail her, however, and she starts to stumble. Johannes is quick to catch her before she can collapse entirely, effortlessly lifting her up into his arms.

“Looks like your shoulder is fine after all,” you point out. Johannes just grunts an acknowledgement, lightly shaking Emma until she rouses herself. As her eyes flutter open, you see a rush of both anger and embarrassment flash through her before she accepts her fate. “Need to ask you something,” you say to her, “Was there anyone else here? Anyone else who came by or interacted with you?”

“No. Yes. Not quite,” she mutters, “There was someone else, I think. But they weren't paying any attention to me. Maybe they thought I couldn't hear them. I heard two voices, two men, and I think... I think they were arguing about something.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Persephone remarks, looking around as you join back up with her.

Emma is sensible enough to ignore this. “One of the men was arguing that they should stay in the forest, that their true goal lay here. I think he was the one who... who did this to me. The other man, he said that he had important work elsewhere,” she pauses, scrunching up her face as she searches her abused memory, “He said that his path led to the city.”

Not much of a lead to go on, in terms of hard evidence. It could mean any number of cities across Marusia, or perhaps even further afield – a Reivian city, or perhaps even Shang-Han itself. “Did you hear anyone mention any names?” you ask next, “Or “the Sethian”?”

“They didn't use names. I'm sure that was deliberate, and... oh, let me down you ass!” Emma snaps, slapping Johannes weakly on the arm. With a heavy shrug, he lowers her down and lets her stand on her own. She takes a few experimental steps forwards, then nods to herself and continues on. “The second man, the one going to the city, he was just called “Master”. Sounds familiar, right?” she continues, “The first man... I don't know, and he didn't exactly give a formal introduction.”

“Still, it sounds like him,” Persephone murmurs, “A red-skinned man. That certainly narrows down the possible candidates.”

“It's not hard to paint your skin,” Johannes points out, “You women do it all the time.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all...” the pale girl pauses, “You're an idiot.”

“Hush up, both of you,” you hiss, before gesturing to Emma, “Are we close?”

Emma scowls at the dense maze of corridors stretching out before you. Even with the gaps broken through the walls, it's hard to see very far ahead through the curtains of fire. But something must seem familiar, because Emma marches on ahead. “We're getting closer,” she announces.

[1]

>>5898869

“Stop looking so worried,” Johannes mutters as Emma and Persephone creep a little ahead of you, “You're making me feel nervous too.”

“It's only natural to be worried,” you shoot back, “Under the circumstances, I just thought-”

“There's your problem,” the heavyset man interrupts, “You think too much sometimes. Theories and philosophy isn't going to help us here – we need strength and courage.”

You bite back an angry reply and carry on walking. Emma slows to a halt as a junction approaches, covering her mouth with one hand as she fights off a sudden wave of nausea. Persephone moves to help her, albeit reluctantly, but Emma just waves the pale girl off. Only too glad to obey, Persephone slinks back a few paces.

“What are you so worried about anyway?” Johannes asks after a moment, “Beside the obvious, I mean.”

“My guardian spirit,” you admit, lowering your voice even more, “I can't... feel it. I'm worried that I'll need to call upon it here, more than ever, and it won't be there.”

Johannes scowls as he weighs up your words. “Maybe it's this place,” he suggests eventually, “Something here might be suppressing it.”

“Persephone was able to call her guardian spirit,” you counter, shaking your head, “Maybe it's the fire here. Whatever created this space might control all fire, including mine. Maybe, I don't-”

“Wait!” Emma hisses, stopping you all with a gesture and looking around, “I... recognise this place.” She creeps over to one branch of the corridor and crouches down, running her hand across the warped flooring. “Master Giehl came this way. I was... following him. Chasing him. I remember stumbling on this bit of the floor. I almost fell...” she hesitates, “He almost got away.”

Almost. You look down the short length of corridor, but a sharp corner hides the rest of the path from you. Emma shudders, turning away and pointing to a separate path. “And I think... that's where they took me. That's where I heard those two monsters talk,” she recalls, grimacing at the dire memory.

“That's all well and good, but where did Brehm go?” Persephone stresses, all but taking Emma by the shoulders and shaking her.

“I don't... remember,” the redhead admits, her voice faltering, “I remember following him this far, but... I don't know.”

“There's only one other way we could go,” Johannes points out, gesturing to a narrow passage, “So I'd have to guess that he went that way. Process of elimination.”

>You'll take the narrow passage. Master Brehm must have gone that way
>You'll take the warped hallway. Maybe Master Giehl was going there for a reason
>You'll take the final corridor. If Emma was brought there, there may still be some clues left
>Other

>>5898873
>Take the narrow passage
No time to lose

>>5898873
>You'll take the narrow passage. Master Brehm must have gone that way

“Then we go that way,” you decide, pointing to the narrow passage, “We can't afford to waste any more time.”

No arguments there, although the narrow passageway looks particular unwelcoming – it's barely wide enough for you to squeeze through one at a time, and it doesn't look like it opens up very soon. Johannes looks particularly concerned about the tight space, although he doesn't voice his complaints. Taking the lead, you turn sideways and tentatively enter the corridor. The walls on either side are broken and splintered, as if lined with needles, and it's not long before you feel the first jagged point scrape across your bare flesh. You wince, and think fondly of your coat left back with Hugh's body.

One step at a time, you worm your way through the narrow corridor until you spot a flash of white ahead of you. A strip of fabric sways in the faint breeze, still snagged on the spike that caught it. Reaching out to snatch the scrap of cloth, you awkwardly hand it back to Johannes so he can take a look.

“It's him,” the heavyset man grunts, “Master Brehm was wearing a coat just this colour. He definitely came this way.”

“Good for him...” Persephone mutters to herself, her voice muffled by the larger man ahead of her.

With renewed strength, you push yourself a little harder to navigate the twists and turns. Ahead, finally, it seems like you're getting close to the end of the passageway. You can see it widening up not so far away, but...

But that's not the only thing you see.

You see another flash of white, much larger this time. No mere scrap of fabric, you spot a prone figure lying splayed out on the open ground. Even at this distance, even with the pall of smoke hanging in the air, you recognise Master Brehm. Something snaps inside you, and you cast aside all thoughts of caution. Heedless of the splinters and spikes that tear at your skin, you drag yourself through the passageway even as it seems to close in around you.

“Wait!” Johannes bellows, cursing as he tries to wrestle his bulk through the narrow gap. But you ignore him. You won't wait, you CAN'T wait. Blind to everything but the sight of Master Brehm's body, you lunge through the last few feet of the corridor and lurch towards him. His coat is stained with red, stained with blood, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the thin blades piercing his torso in half a dozen places. It seems impossible that he could still be alive, and yet you see his chest rise with each laboured breath he takes.

You drop to your knees and reach for Master Brehm, but before your fingers so much as brush against his sleeve you hear a crash of collapsing wood. Jolting around, you see your exit collapse in on itself as the burning wood finally gives way. Panic fills you as you leap to your feet, drawing your sword and desperately grasping for the power of your guardian spirit.

The passageway collapsing just now, just at this perfect moment... that was no coincidence.

[1]

>>5898922

Johannes yells something from behind the newly-formed barricade, but you can barely hear his voice. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, the drumbeat almost deafening you. Slowly, you turn away from the now-blocked exit and look back to Master Brehm. This time, you see that he's not alone. Looming over him like a malign shadow is the mountainous, red raw form of the Sethian.

“The apprentice. I hoped that you would come,” the Sethian begins, slowly reaching out and grasping one of the long spikes piercing Master Brehm's body. He twists it, causing the old man's eyes to jolt open as he groans in pain. “I was afraid that your master would die before he had the chance to watch me kill you,” he continues, “And I wished to offer you my gratitude.”

“What could you possibly have to thank me for?” you spit, drawing your revolver and aiming it at the giant. He doesn't seem even the slightest bit concerned about the gun, but why would he? His torso is still marked by the hideous wounds left from your last encounter, but they don't seem to slow him down one bit. He can't be human – it's as simple as that.

“I thank you for your efforts in awakening our lost master,” the Sethian answers simply, “How many men lost their lives at Ixtab? How many souls were sent screaming into Sheol's waiting maw? More than enough to blind the great vulture to a single soul escaping his grasp.”

A terrible chill cuts through your body. Then, the “master” that Emma had overheard the Sethian talking to was...

“You're lying,” you insist, although the revolver is trembling in your hand. Even if you could bring yourself to pull the trigger now, you're not sure that you could hit anything. The Sethian takes a step towards you, and you automatically take a step away. Before you realise it, you're circling each other like the players in some absurd dance – and all the while, Master Brehm lies bleeding between you.

“I have no reason to lie to you,” the cultist replies, shaking his masked head, “That is the domain of your decaying masters. But soon, they too will be swept away. Their falsehoods will protect them no longer.”

“I'll kill you,” you promise him, “I don't care what it takes, I'll find a way to kill you.”

The Sethian spreads his arms wide, as if inviting your bullets. Even though you know it will do no good, you try to pull the trigger. Even this is beyond you, your body refusing to obey. Dropping the useless gun, you instead take your sword in both hands. “I admire your courage,” the Sethian jeers, “And because you have done me a service, I will do one for you. I will offer you a deal.”

“I offer you your life,” he drones, “Lay down your sword, and I will let you – and you alone – live. I will claim all others.”

>I'd never make that deal with you. Never
>I... have no choice. I accept
>Other

>>5898944
>I'd never make that deal with you. Never

“I'd never make that deal with you,” you spit, your lips twisting into a contemptuous sneer at the mere suggestion, “Never. I'd sooner die.”

“No less than I had expected,” the Sethian replies calmly, reaching down and slowly pulling one of the long iron spikes out of Master Brehm's body. The old man gasps, but even that seems to take all his strength. Turning the crude spike over in his hands as if weighing up its merit as a weapon, the Sethian casually throws it aside. You know, from bitter experience, that his bare hands are a far better choice of weapon.

Crossing over Master Brehm's prone body in a single vast step, the Sethian looms large over you. Desperately jumping back, you lash out with your sword and watch as the blade shears through his bare stomach. Flesh parts and blood flows, though only a little, but the Sethian doesn't even slow down. A dull, echoing laugh escapes him as you land another blow and leave another useless gash across his torso.

“It is no use,” he warns, “There is no weapon born of this world that can harm me. I broke your last blade, did I not?”

Abandoning form and artistry, you throw all your strength into a single overhead swing. Yelling with rage and frustration, you feel a hideous shudder run up your arms as the blow strikes home, shearing deep into the Sethian's shoulder and cleaving almost halfway into his torso. The blow drives him down to one knee, but you can't delude yourself into the feeling of victory. It might be a show of defiance, but this too is meaningless.

Panting with exhaustion, you watch as the Sethian slowly rises to his full height with the sword still caught in his inhuman flesh. He tilts his head, twisting it at a grotesque angle as he examines his wound, then casually backhands you. Pain explodes through your entire world, bitter blood filling your mouth as the blow knocks you back. You land badly, blinking away stars as you try to recover your wits. Master Brehm's eyes meet yours, and you see a deep well of despair in them.

With a wet sound of tearing meat, the Sethian rips your sword from his body and throws it down in front of you. The blade bounces, landing just outside your reach, and you automatically find yourself reaching for it. It might do you no good, but at least you can say that you'll die with a blade in your hand. As you're groping for the sword, a tremendous pain crushes down upon you as the Sethian stamps down on your back and pins you to the ground.

Once more, stars flash before your eyes. Except this time, they're not stars – tiny motes of fire spring up from the warped wooden boards beneath you. Not the dull, greasy fire of the Sethian's world, but brilliant golden flames. As the flames start to built, you feel the Sethian pause. He hesitates, then lets out a low laugh.

“Yes...” he hisses, “That is what I wanted to see. The fire that will burn the world... I will devour you, and claim your fire!”

[1]

>>5898963

The weight lifts as the Sethian takes his foot from your back, and you somehow manage to drag your abused body around. The Sethian steps back, the air around him darkening and contorting as he calls upon his own guardian spirit. The vile form of the centipede spirit takes shape around him, coiling around his painted body and snapping its jaws in anticipation.

Sudden terror tears through you as you realise that he really does mean to devour you. Groping blindly behind you for the sword, you feel the faintest hint of hope as your hand brushes against the grip. Yet even as your fingers close around the sword's grip, the centipede rears up and prepares to strike. As quick as a viper, the filthy spirit slices towards you like an arrow cutting through the air.

A piercing screech shatters the moment, the cry of a bird unlike any birds your world has ever known. It's a sound that sends a shudder of instinctual fear through you and the centipede spirit both, and the spirit falters for just the slightest fraction of a second.

It's long enough.

You twist your body, bringing up the sword – now sheathed in golden flames – to meet the centipede's lunge head on. The spirit's jaws open wide, and your blade is there to greet them. You plunge the burning blade straight into the centipede's maw, and the Sethian erupts in a hideous scream as if he was the one whose flesh was pierced. He staggers back as the centipede convulses, thrown into a furious frenzy of motion by your blow. It recoils, jaws snapping closed around the blade and cleaving it in two, but it barely seems to notice the weapon falling away. It scythes back, cutting through the air to reveal an infinite blackness that draws in the air, dragging the Sethian back towards the portal.

“No! NO!” he bellows, reaching out a futile hand towards Master Brehm, “I will not be denied this! You will not-”

But his protests are useless. A power greater than even his takes hold of him, dragging his massive body through the portal just as it snaps shut behind him.

You collapse, all strength leaving your body as you wilt to the ground. All around you, the fires fade out and die – and with them, the ruined village fades out too. When you finally find the strength to raise your head once more, trees are the only things to surround you. With the barricade banished, the others rush forth. Persephone hits you like a runaway horse, throwing her arms around you and clinging tight.

“You foolish, foolish man!” she whispers desperately, “You almost... you could've...”

“But I didn't,” you rasp, weakly patting her on the back, “Enough about me. Master Brehm. Is he...”

“Alive,” Johannes announces, and you peer over Persephone's shoulder to see the large man kneeling down beside Master Brehm. The old man's face is contorted with pain, but you can see his lips moving in some silent prayer.

“Well,” a silken voice calls out, “It seems that I arrived just in time.”

[2]

>>5898991
Just in time? Just in time to miss the action

>>5898991

You tense up, even as Persephone is lifting you to your feet. There's no need to turn around to know who it was that called out. It's a voice that you're well-acquainted with, but you don't yet know if this is a rescue, or just a new threat. Slowly easing yourself out of Persephone's tight grip, you turn to confront Lady Ellenghast. Her face is utterly serene, even as she casts a casual glance at Master Brehm's bloodied form.

A dim shadow orbits her head, her guardian spirit finally revealing itself. It presents itself as a bird of some kind, the same bird that cried out during your battle, but it's impossible to get a closer look – the eye avoids it, sliding off the spirit's form as if reluctant to take anything more than a fleeting glimpse.

“You,” Persephone spits.

“Daughter of the Moon, Son of the Forest,” Lady Ellenghast intones, tilting her head slightly as she turns to Johannes, “And a proud Son of Man.”

It's not the worst thing she's called someone.

“Have no fear. I mean you no harm,” she continues, although the sickle she wears at her hip promises that she could DO harm, if she so chose to. “I believe we may be of some assistance to each other. I come bearing information that I think you will benefit from,” she adds, “Perhaps we could talk, as friends and companions?”

“Perhaps you could go-” Persephone begins, but you hold up a hand to silence her. To your vague amazement, she actually does fall silent.

“Your enemies gather at the city of the dead, the city men know as Ixtab,” Lady Ellenghast warns, “There, they will continue their work. You must stop them.”

“You want them stopped too?” you ask, even though every word you speak causes you to shudder with pain.

“Yes. I do,” the priestess answers simply, “Their plans have become contrary to my own. Therefore, they must be stopped.”

A silence greets this. You've got more questions than you can even count, and each one of them would feel like a blow from a hammer. “Ixtab...” you mutter at last, “What about Master Brehm? We can't just leave him here, and he's in no fit state for a long journey.”

“That hamlet is still close by,” Persephone recalls, “They might be vile peasants, but I'm sure they can look after one old man. They might even be able to send for a healer of some kind.”

“Good,” Johannes decides, “We need to keep moving. Ixtab is a long way away. We need to get started as soon as possible.”

“I have a request, if I may,” Lady Ellenghast adds, “Master Hearne. Lucas. I would like you to accompany me on a small diversion. It will be a simple task, and it will not delay you on your way to Ixtab.”

“A small diversion,” you repeat slowly.

“Yes. I ask that you accompany me deeper into the forest,” she explains, smiling gently to you, “Alone, of course.”

>Yes, I will accompany you
>I can't. We must head on to Ixtab
>I won't. I'm going back to wait with Master Brehm
>Other

>>5899008
>Before I answer... Have you been working with or enabling the Centipede cultists? Deimos' ilk?
If yes
>I won't. I'm going back to wait with Master Brehm
If no
>Yes, I will accompany you

>>5899021
This

>>5899008
>Yes, I will accompany you
What could possibly go wrong

“You're asking me to place a great deal of trust in you,” you tell Lady Ellenghast carefully, “I need to know that I won't regret it. Are you working with them? With the centipede cult, with Deimos or any of his ilk? With the Sethian?”

“No,” Lady Ellenghast answers simply, meeting your gaze without flinching, “I do not side with them. I have, if anything, found myself in opposition to them. In that, we share the same battle.”

Looking at her now, you wonder if you can ever really trust her, no matter what she might say. Even now, you know that she's being very careful, very selective, in what she's telling you. Yet, there's some part of you that doesn't care. There's a part of you that WANTS to trust her.

“Very well,” you decide, offering out your hand, “I'll accompany you.”

Behind you, Persephone lets out a soft hiss of anger – yet anger is all that is is. She's not surprised in the slightest. Lady Ellenghast smiles softly, taking your hand as if you were at a high society party. She holds your hand for what seems like an eternity, but could only really be a matter of seconds. Then she releases you, and the moment is gone.

“I will give you some time,” she murmurs, “Come. Find me amidst the trees when you are ready to depart.”

With that, she turns away and slinks off into the forest.

-

“I hope you know what you're doing,” Johannes mutters as you kneel down beside Master Brehm.

“Don't I always?” you reply with a weary smile.

“Do you ever?” he counters, before turning away from you with a grunt of distaste. Master Brehm has lost consciousness once more, although you have little doubt that he'll stir as soon as you try and move him. Johannes looks over the numerous wounds covering the old man's body and lets out a slow lungful of air. “Five wounds. No, six. Six wounds, and not a single one hit a vital organ,” he murmurs, “This wasn't supposed to be a quick death.”

Or a painless one, you think silently to yourself. Tentatively, you reach out to touch Master Brehm's shoulder and his eyes flutter open. His eyes are dull and unfocused, but eventually find yours. Though clouded with pain, you see something like relief in the old man's eyes. His hand twitches, although he doesn't have the strength to properly raise it.

“Lucas... my boy...” he rasps, forcing the words out.

“Hey, don't push yourself,” you whisper, “Just hold still. Save your strength.”

“Lucas,” Master Brehm repeats, even as a thin ribbon of blood seeps from his mouth, “I'm... proud of you...”

You try and think of something to say, but come up blank. What are you SUPPOSED to say at a time like this? All you manage to do is give him a firm nod, gently patting him on the shoulder before rising to your feet. “I've got to go,” you say at last, wincing at how banal your words sound, “I'll... I'll make this right. I'm going to fix everything. I promise.”

[1]

>>5899008
Seconding >>5899021
Also, where's Emma?

>>5899040

Before you can return to Lady Ellenghast, Johannes grabs you by the arm. His grip is tight, his broad fingers digging into your arm. “Lucas,” he warns, meeting your gaze, “Don't do anything stupid. I mean that. I really, really mean that.”

“I'll do what I have to,” you tell him, shaking off his grip, “Wait for me in Graffen. You remember the place, right?”

“By the river Graf,” he replies grimly, “I remember.”

“Wait for me there,” you repeat, before glancing back to where Persephone sits with the wounded redhead, “And keep an eye on Emma.”

“She's the one you're worried about?”

“Because I know Persephone can take care of herself,” you explain, before turning and marching back to the treeline. Lady Ellenghast waits, and you realise that, despite the distance, she heard everything you just said. “Let's get a move on, then,” you tell her, gesturing for the priestess to lead the way, “Now that it's just you and me, tell me the truth. What are we REALLY going to be doing?”

“We shall take a walk, you and I,” Lady Ellenghast replies with a beautiful smile, “And we shall talk. There are many things that I wish to tell you.”

“Great...” you mutter to yourself.

-

It doesn't take long for your injuries to take their toll on you. Though you can't see it, it certainly feels as if a massive bruise is taking shape on your back. Your whole chest is starting to tighten up, so much so that you're struggling to breathe. Lady Ellenghast starts to stride on ahead, while you struggle just to put one foot in front of the other. Despite your best efforts, you have to take a break – it's either that or collapse completely.

“Sit,” Lady Ellenghast orders, returning to join you. Putting her hands on your shoulders, she gently pushes you down to your knees before circling around to your back. “Now disrobe,” she whispers, “Your shirt, at least.”

“Don't get any funny ideas,” you warn as you fumble with the buttons. The shirt slides free, and then you feel Lady Ellenghast's fingers on your back. There's pain, of course, when she touches your bruised flesh, but then a strange squirming sensation takes hold instead. Though you hate the idea of it, you can't help but imagine maggots squirming upon rotting meat.

Yet when Lady Ellenghast is done, the pain is gone.

“Shall we continue?” she asks gently, rising to her feet as you hasten to button your shirt back up. Still not quite able to believe what just happened, you hurry after her. Your whole body feels new and untouched, filled with a surging vitality. “Tell me,” Lady Ellenghast adds as you walk, “Do you know where we are going?”

You don't answer straight away, thinking carefully before speaking. “The dark heart of the forest,” you recall, “A place in the forest that has never seen the sun.”

[2]

>>5899061

“You remembered,” Lady Ellenghast murmurs, sounding genuinely pleased with your answer

“You said we'd meet again, and then we'd see that place together. I wasn't going to forget that promise,” you pause, shudder, “But I'm afraid. Afraid of what I might find there.”

Lady Ellenghast just smiles. “I can tell you what awaits us there, but it will mean little to you until you see it with your own eyes,” she muses, “The spirit world awaits us... and worlds beyond that.”

“...You're right,” you admit, “That means little to me. There's already no Veil in the forest kingdom. Why should the heart of the forest be any different?”

“You will see,” she promises, smiling that enigmatic smile of hers.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today – I've got a bit of planning to do. I'm planning to continue this tomorrow, starting at the same approximate time
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>5899063
Thanks for running!
Gonna be a spicy workday tomorrow

>>5899063
Thanks for running!

>Quick update. I've had a bit of an emergency dumped in my lap for today, and that's going to take up a chunk of my time. With that in mind, I think I'm going to push the next updates to Saturday rather than try and juggle too much at once.
>I'm sorry for the inconvenience. This was very much a last minute change

>>5899063
>“The spirit world awaits us... and worlds beyond that.”
>“...You're right,” you admit, “That means little to me. There's already no Veil in the forest kingdom. Why should the heart of the forest be any different?”
Is the Great Mother itself its own barrier separating the spirit world from the multiverse?

This is setting up for Lucas to either upgrade into something that can take the Sun God's place, or maybe burning the forest itself as kindling.

>>5899754
No problem, hope everything works out fine

File: Sil Ellenghast.jpg (65 KB, 850x1202)

65 KB JPG

You walk, as Lady Ellenghast said you would, but you don't do a whole lot of talking. Not at first, at least. Instead, you find yourself glancing around at the forest surrounding you. The deeper you go, the more warped the trees become. At some point, and you can't remember the exact moment when it happens, they seem to bend over to form an archway above your heard, their branches entwining until you can't see a hint of sky. The only light comes from a dim glow peeking through the trees. You could light your pocket lantern, but somehow you know that it won't help. This is a different kind of darkness.

“How does he do that?” you ask, daring to break the silence, “The Sethian, I mean. How does he do that disappearing act?”

“He has learned to travel the secret pathways of the world,” Lady Ellenghast answers, “The same pathways that we now walk.”

You pause and look around you once more, feeling a new sense of unease. “You know him,” you continue, “Or, at least, you know what he is.”

“He is the man who almost achieved greatness,” she murmurs, “The man who stood at the threshold of transcendence.”

“You're talking about Apotheosis.”

“If that is what you wish to call it,” Lady Ellenghast replies, tilting her head to the side as she considers her next words. “Once, many years ago, he was just a man – a man who sought to uncover the secrets of this world. Of all his companions, he came the closest to realising the truth... and that is when your Exorcists came,” she recalls, “They burned everything that they found. It was then, as he was trapped within a blazing ruin, that he had a revelation. As his body burned, he saw the true shape of the world. Yet, he could not grasp what he saw. At that final hurdle, he failed.”

“Like the Artisan...” you think aloud, the words slipping from your unguarded lips.

“Yes,” the priestess answers, “But where the Artisan succeeded, the Sethian failed. Where the Artisan achieved true greatness, the Sethian was left with mere fragments of power. Yet even these fragments are enough to make him a potent threat – as you, I am sure, have learned.”

Cryptic as always. Though perhaps you're getting used to Lady Ellenghast's riddles, because this time you can cut straight to the heart of the matter. “So he could have become like the Sun King...” you murmur, only to look sharply around as you realise what she just said, “You know of the Artisan?”

Lady Ellenghast smiles – a lifeless reptile smile. “No,” she corrects you, “I knew the Artisan.”

The bottom seems to fall out of your stomach. Grinding to a halt in mid-step, you turn to stare at the woman, the creature, by your side. The more you look at her, the more you feel yourself drawn into an abyss of time. It's a wonder that you didn't see it before, or perhaps you didn't want to see it. Silas... Lady Sil... the face may have changed, but the eyes remain the same.

[1]

>>5905170

“What are you?” you whisper eventually, feeling yourself automatically drawing back from Lady Ellenghast. If she's offended by your reaction, she doesn't show it – there are countless centuries between you, after all, so what difference will a few inches make?

“I am a human, just like you. A creature of flesh and blood, born from man and woman,” she replies, her voice dropping to a low whisper, “But long, long ago, the Great Mother took me into her service – and she still has need of me.”

Far from being reassured, you just feel your horror deepen at the thought of her long, unending duty. It must show on your face, because Lady Ellenghast turns sharply away and gestures towards the path ahead. “We should not waste time,” she chides, “Even now, our enemies converge in the catacomb city. We have almost reached our destination, but you cannot falter now. Falter now, and all of this will have been for nothing.”

What choice do you have, but to continue on ahead? You've come this far now, turning back is not an option. So, even as your mind churns with fearful ideas, you find yourself obediently following Lady Ellenghast as she leads you through the forest pathway. At some point, and it's hard to tell exactly when, something changes. The air takes upon a new character, and the forest around you starts to seem a little more... real. Real, but far from normal.

Lady Ellenghast was true to her word when she claimed that this place had never seen the sun. The trees here have grown tall, but bent and bowed in order to form a kind of dome, their branches woven together until they have become a dense ceiling. Hanging transfixed beneath that dome are a scattering of cold lights, shining down like distant stars. It's a dizzying sight, like feeling as if you could reach out and touch the night sky.

Averting your eyes from... from what you can't help but think of as a sky, you study the lumpen form swelling up from the soil. A barrow, the kind of primitive burial site that is supposed to hide in the oldest parts of the Forest Kingdom. You heard stories about these things when you were growing up but, for obvious reasons, you never had a chance to see one with your own eyes. Until now.

“When the Great Mother entered this world, it is said that her arrival tore a great hole in the fabric of the world,” Lady Ellenghast murmurs, “A tear that remains open, even to this day. Strange tides have brought many otherworldly things to this place – that is why we are here.”

Slowly, you circle around the barrow until you come to an entrance – stone steps that glisten with a cold damp as they lead down into the bowels of the soil. Yet somehow, it all feels terribly familiar.

>I'm ready. Let's go
>I don't need your help. I'll go alone
>What are we looking for down there?
>First, I want to know why you're helping us
>I want to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>5905171
>First, I want to know why you're helping us

>>5905171
>What are you hoping for, at the end of all this?
>For the forest to burn as kindling for a new form?
>For the Machine to become truly complete, instead of an endless cycle?
>Or are you just waiting for the Great Mother to make someone who actually fixes things instead of making a bigger mess?

>>5905171
>What are we looking for down there?

You stare at the stairs for a long moment, questions – too many to count – racing through your mind. One rises above all the rest, though. “First, I want to know something,” you say slowly, “I want to know why you're helping us. You say you're in opposition to the centipede cult, but that doesn't tell me anything. What are YOUR designs?”

“I seek to preserve the natural order of things,” Lady Ellenghast replies simply, unperturbed by your question, “When the Artisan achieved transcendence, he set in motion a chain of events – events that will lead us far beyond today. Yet Kalthos seeks to subvert this for his own ends. I cannot allow that.”

“Lead us WHERE, though?” you press, “To the Sun King... the Artisan's perfect world? Or are you waiting to see the Forest Kingdom burn?”

“Not that,” she answers sharply, “Not... like this.”

“What do you mean?”

For a moment, Lady Ellenghast hesitates. “It is not I who wishes to see the forest burn. For if that were to happen, all would be lost. The Forest Kingdom itself is a seal, a great seal upon the wound left by the Great Mother's arrival. Should the forest burn, the last of the Veil would be washed away in an instant and the world would return to it's primal form. That, I fear, is what the Sethian wishes for.”

“Everything would change,” you murmur, “Isn't that what you want too? Isn't change in the Great Mother's nature?”

“Not like this,” she repeats, “This world will change, yes. The Artisan saw to that. But it will be a slow change, a gradual process. The Sethian will not being change, he will bring disfigurement.”

“Then the Sun King's machine...”

“Whether he succeeds or fails is not my concern,” the priestess answers, “I merely wish to see his vision play out, whatever the outcome.”

You just stare at Lady Ellenghast for a long moment, once more feeling the weight of uncounted years that she carries. You wonder if you'll ever be able to truly understand the strange creature before you, if she even thinks in a way that you might recognise. Master Brehm and the other instructors seemed like mysterious, unknowable minds when you first arrived at the academy, and it was just a matter of decades between you. For her, though...

“I owe him that much,” Lady Ellenghast adds, almost as an afterthought, “Now come. We should not delay any further.”

“What are we looking for down there?” you ask, glad to be changing the subject.

“A weapon,” she answers, “Think on the Sethian's words. You will understand.”

A weapon... a weapon born of some other world.

[1]

>>5905207

The tunnel is as dark and bleak as it seemed from the outside, and a chill soon sinks into your bones. Lady Ellenghast's touch may have banished pain and mended your wounds, but it did little to ease your fatigue. Just the sight of the winding stairs fills you with a sudden doubt, a sudden fear. Steadying your nerves as best as you can, you start the slow descent.

Before you've gone much more than a few paces down the darkened stairs, Lady Ellenghast puts a hand on your arm. You would recoil from her touch, but the tunnel is too narrow to allow such a thing. “Before we venture much deeper, we will require light,” she warns, only to shake her head as you reach for your lantern, “No. That will be no good here.”

“It's the only thing I've got,” you reply with a weary grimace, “The only thing I can rely on, I mean.”

“Because you lack faith.”

“Faith,” you repeat, secretly appalled by the derision in your voice.

“Men command spirits by virtue of the Sun King's authority. That is what you were told, is it not? But now, you know this to be a lie,” Lady Ellenghast muses, “Men command spirits by the strength of their will, and faith is just one source of this strength. Even the greatest rite or ritual will fail if the will is weak. If you have lost your faith, then seek strength elsewhere.”

You consider these words, your thoughts drifting back to your ill-fated infiltration of the centipede cult. Your faith had been badly shaken then, as you came to think of yourself as somehow sullied. It was only later, after you'd made peace with yourself, that your guardian spirit had returned. It was the thought of fire that brought it back, you recall, the same fire that you've been dreaming of for as long as you remember. You no longer know if it's an omen of good or ill, but it feels like the only thing you've got left. You need only the strength to grasp it once more.

“And what about YOU?” you ask, “Where do you find your strength?”

“By my own authority,” she answers simply, “The Great Mother has taken me into her service, but it is my own strength that serves her. The spirits heed my call because I know that I am stronger than them.”

“Some people might call that arrogance,” you remark with a humourless smirk.

“Let them call it what they will. It changes nothing,” she counters, “Some men take strength from hate, and some from love. The source does not matter. Where will YOU turn for strength?”

>My strength is... (Write in)

>>5905212
>My friends
We shounen now.

>>5905212
>Dignity
>No matter what anyone plans for me, the only one who can make me choose to do wrong is me.
>I fight because the lives we live deserve dignity. Even as we crawl, and bleed, and kill, and turn into god knows what, I won't abandon that.

Well I picked a fine time to stay awake for one more choice.

>>5905212
>My ideals

Put on the spot like this, you find your mind going blank. There's no easy way to put your thoughts into words, not even close. As the seconds drag on, you suddenly wonder what your friends might say. Certain, Persephone never seemed to struggle for something to believe in, and you're fairly sure that's not because of her faith in the Sun King. Her own massive arrogance, perhaps, but... like Lady Ellenghast said, the source does not matter. Just thinking about her seems to focus your thoughts, your mind, and you find words springing to your lips.

“I have my dignity,” you answer, “And the dignity of my friends. No matter what anyone else has planned, I know that we can make the choice for ourselves. Right or wrong, we can choose our own paths. No matter what happens, no matter how much blood is shed or how much filth we have to crawl through, that can't be taken from us – not by the Sethian, not by you, not by anyone.”

A heat builds in your breast as you talk, and you close your eyes tight.

“I won't abandon that,” you promise, “I'll find the strength to fight, as long as it takes.”

And then, even before you've opened your eyes, you can feel the golden light burning forth.

“Good,” Lady Ellenghast says simply. One single word, and then you're off again.

-

You've just reached the bottom of the stairs when you see your first vision, a distorted image like glancing into a warped mirror. The vision is fleeting, there and gone so quickly that you only just make out a hint of a city – perhaps Ixtab, perhaps not. Like in the monastery high above, the images seem to drift through a thick churning mist that boils forth from the centre of the tomb. The golden light of your guardian spirit pushes the mist back a little, but not far.

Even with your eyes set straight forward, you keep catching glimpses of strange things – here, you see savage men fighting each other with tooth and nail, there you see a vast moon rise over a great plain of snow and ice. A young man with white hair glances up from his desk and seems to notice you, just for the briefest of moments before the vision is gone.

You forge ahead, yet you don't seem to be making any progress whatsoever. It's impossible to say for certain with this mist surrounding you so closely, hiding any trace of the outside world from you. The only hint that anything at all might be changing is the wind that starts to pluck at your clothing with increasing violence. As the wind batters you, tugging you back and forth, you see a flash of red raw flesh looming up ahead of you. The image is gone in an instant, but it leaves you with a powerful sense of being SEEN.

“Did you think that I would not notice you?” the Sethian's hollow voice rings out, seemingly carried on the wind, “You cannot hide from me. Not even here.”

“Pay him no heed,” Lady Ellenghast urges, although her voice is strained and taut, “He can do us no harm.”

[1]

>>5905240

“You will fail,” the Sethian continues, his words needling your mind even as you stop up your ears, “You, and your Sun King too. He MUST fail. The world he seeks to create must be stopped.”

“You're the one who will fail,” you hiss, neither knowing nor caring if the Sethian can hear you.

“Foolish words, from a man who does not even know what he fights to protect,” he taunts, “Yours is a cruel master, a jealous and spiteful master. His vision of perfection is nothing but a race of slaves, their minds wiped clean of everything but awe and adoration – a sea of blank, unthinking faces, eternally turned towards the sun.”

Beside you, Lady Ellenghast stumbles as a particularly powerful blast of wind crashes into you both. You reach for her, only to recoil at the sight that greets you. Blackened with corruption and flowing like molten wax, Lady Ellenghast's flesh writhes and reforms itself before your very eyes. Caught in the throes of transformation, her form shifts and distorts – you see the harsh angles of Silas' face pushing their way to the surface, only to soften and melt into Madam Lilas' features which are, in turn, chased away by a parade of unfamiliar faces.

“Go!” she yells, her voice caught between a woman's scream and the roar of a beast. You hesitate for a moment, only to turn away as you start to see new, even more extreme changes distort her flesh. Blocking out the wet sounds of flesh and blood, you push against the raking wind and advance. Something sticks to your boot, and you glance down to see a sheen of slime glistening on the rocky ground. Just out of sight, just beyond the circle of light you carry with you, some formless white thing flops and flounders. There are more of them ahead of you, all around you now, but they squirm away from the light as you lurch forwards.

“Even if we should fail, even if you destroy every one of us, it will change nothing,” the Sethian continues, his poison dripping into your mind, “A Centipede will never truly die. From the darkness and the rot, we will rise again. Your Sun King is weak, tired. He bleeds from a thousand wounds. Whether it happens in an instant or over centuries, the Veil will fall.”

“Why fight against the inevitable?” he asks, “Better to cast off your burdens and let the old world burn!”

With a curse on your lips, you see a glint of metal shining through the fog. A sword sticks upright, plunged into the living rock like a flagpole. With one final burst of strength, you lunge forwards and close your fingers around the sword's grip. A sudden silence crashes down upon you as you grasp the weapon, leaving you with just the ragged sound of your breathing.

The sword pulls free easily, with just the slightest hint of resistance. It's old, but even at a glance you can tell that it's a beautifully made weapon. Just how it ended up in a place like this, though...

[2]

>>5905267

With the formless white things writhing like worms as they flee from your golden light, you start the slow trek back towards the surface. It's not long before you see a distorted shape forming in the mists ahead, a misshapen lump of flesh that pulses softly like a beating heart. A few shreds of cloth lie scattered about, the only things to suggest that the mass was once a human being.

Dropping to your knees by the pulsing mass, you reach out a trembling hand to touch it. It's warm, sickeningly so, and leaves a bloody film on your hand when you draw it back. Then, suddenly, you think back to the first time you met Lady Ellenghast – and the strange corpse that had washed ashore. Putting your new sword to good use, you awkwardly stab down into the fleshy sack and carefully slice it open. Colourless fluid bursts forth, washing over your hands, but you pay it no heed. Dropping the sword, you dig your fingers in and pull back the flaps of flesh.

Inside, looking no different to a woman enjoying a well-earned nap, Lady Ellenghast lies motionless – until her eyes flick open.

“The tables have turned,” she whispers, “It seems that now, I must ask for your help.”

-

Even streaked with gore and dripping with slime, Lady Ellenghast manages to carry herself with poise and dignity as you tackle the stairs back towards the surface. You gathered some of the rags left from her clothing in the hopes of giving her something to cover herself with, but they were beyond salvaging – only good for wiping away the worst of the filth that covers her. She doesn't seem to care about her nakedness, not nearly as much as you do. Following her back up the stairs, you don't know where to look.

“Normally I'd offer you my coat,” you mention awkwardly, “But I gave it to a dying man and never asked for it back.”

“It matters not,” Lady Ellenghast assures you, “And that is not what truly bothers you. Is it?”

“...No,” you admit, “The Sethian said something back there. He said a lot of things back there, I mean. But he said that this was all inevitable. One way or another, the Veil will fall.”

“Perhaps so,” she concedes, “The Veil is a product of the Sun King, and it may be that the Sun King's strength will one day fail him. But not yet. Perhaps the Sun King's wish will be unfulfilled, and men will never be made perfect. But men can be made strong, and they can meet the coming world with the will to survive. This is the natural order of things – the order I wish to protect.”

>Maybe the Sethian is right. Better to get it over with
>As do I. Men must learn to stand on their own, however long it takes
>The Sun King's plan must succeed. Is there nothing I can do to aid it?
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>5905281
>Maybe the Sethian is right. Better to get it over with
I don't want the world the Sethians seem to want, but the current order is untenable. Something else could replace it. Something attainable, and sustainable, rather than the Architect's pipe-dream.

>>5905281
>Something must change, that is readily apparent. The current state of things is untenable. The question isn’t how to achieve perfection, that is fleeting at best and leads to stagnation. The question is how to make it better, for everyone. For those who went before and those who come after.

“Maybe the Sethian is right, at least when he says to get it over with,” you muse, “The current order is unsustainable, and the Sun King may very well be chasing a pipe dream. Something has to change, if only to give rise to a world that's going to last. A world that is better for everyone.”

“The world will change. Of this, I am certain,” Lady Ellenghast answers, “But the shape of the new world remains to be determined. The Sethian would see a new world born out of blood and fire – what kind of world would that be, do you think? Even we people of the Forest are not prepared for a world such as his.”

You shudder a little as you consider this. Your mind keeps going back to one of the visions you saw in the barrow – the glimpse of men fighting, men tearing each other apart with their own teeth and nails. Men with all civilisation stripped away, men reduced to nothing but bestial strength. An orgy of violence, ruled over by a mad king. “And what of Kalthos?” you ask, shaking off the grotesque vision, “That can't be what he wants. It just doesn't... feel right.”

“No,” the priestess agrees, as if she shared your dark thoughts, “Kalthos would sweep away the old order, yes, but I cannot envision the world he would bring about instead. He has spent a great many years beyond the land of the living. He... is no longer the man I once knew.”

“Even he can change,” you muse, “A change for the better?”

Lady Ellenghast thinks on this for a long time. She doesn't answer until you're finally above ground once more, standing beneath the unnatural stars. “No,” she decides at last, “I doubt it.”

-

You don't waste any more time by the barrow, setting off once more into the “hidden pathways” as Lady Ellenghast calls them. You examine the sword a little more as you walk, turning it over in your hands. The blade is a little worse for wear, with a few notches and marks across it that suggest a life of long, hard use, but it's beautiful nonetheless. The blade is particularly special, engraved with images of water and crashing waves. You try to imagine the sort of man, the sort of person, who once wielded the blade, but your mind comes up blank.

Hunger and fatigue gnaw at you as you walk, but you push aside the nagging weaknesses. While you think of napping, Kalthos is steadily working towards his great design... whatever that might be. It's just not a luxury that you can afford.

But this time, it's not long before the path ahead starts to grow brighter – not the spectral light of a roaming spirit, but the purity of actual sunlight. At some point, and you never noticed exactly when, you seem to have dropped back into reality. Still seemingly oblivious to her nakedness, Lady Ellenghast marches on ahead with renewed strength. You hasten after her, the sight of the outside world breathing new life into your weary legs.

[1]

>>5905331

The Forester doesn't seem surprised to see a naked woman march out from the trees, or for you to come hurrying after her. Merely averting his eyes, he takes off his long cloak and reverently drapes it around Lady Ellenghast's shoulders. Nodding her thanks, Lady Ellenghast urges the Forester away with a gesture and follows on as he scurries away. A horse is waiting a short distance away, the reins held by another Forester. Both men are silent, only pausing to study you with a strange mixture of resentment and awe.

“For your travels,” Lady Ellenghast urges, patting the horse and nodding towards the murky smear on the horizon that is Ixtab, “Although you do not have far to go.”

Setting aside how impossible it is, for you to have arrived here after walking for what feels like no more than a few hours, you allow the priestess to help you up into the saddle. You can see the river Graf snaking out into the sea, with the town waiting beside it. You told Johannes to wait for you there, but it seems like you're the one who'll be doing the waiting.

“Lucas,” Lady Ellenghast says, the sound of your name causing you to look around in surprise, “We may not see one another again.”

The thought stirs up no small amount of feelings in you – complicated feelings.

“Stop Kalthos. His monster, too” she urges, “Whatever else comes after that, let it come. But they must be stopped.”

“That's the plan,” you mutter to yourself. Easier said than done, however.

“I cannot go with you,” the priestess continues, “I fear that Kalthos, working through one of his agents, is seeking to rouse the Forest kin to war. A distraction, perhaps, but a needless loss of life. I will find the serpent and take its head, but it may take time – time that you may not have.”

You feel the horse shifting restlessly beneath you, then turn your gaze back towards Ixtab and whatever awaits you there.

>Then I suppose this is goodbye
>Before we part ways... (Write in)
>Other

>>5905359
>Then I suppose this is goodbye
Wish me luck :(

>>5905359
>Before we part ways...
A question. Why do some people see Shang-Han?

The longer you spend looking at Ixtab, the stranger it seems until, eventually, it feels more like you're looking at a whole other city. “Lady Ellenghast,” you begin, breaking your silence, “Why do some people see Shang-Han?”

“That city is a thing of the Outside. The Artisan saw it in his meditations, casting his mind far out from this world. Kalthos too, I suspect. His master, the Pale Wanderer itself, was said to hail from that city,” Lady Ellenghast muses, “It is no easy feat to look into the Outside. There are certain orgiastic rites that can reveal it, terrible rites from those who came before. It is easier when the stars are right, and the city is brought into alignment with our world. But still, it is an act of great desperation to cast the mind out that far.”

“But some men could live their whole lives without seeing the city.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “And perhaps those men are lucky, to have lived without being pushed to the very limits of what men can withstand. They will live and die, ignorant to what they have missed.”

You lapse into silence, the deep sadness in Lady Ellenghast's voice striking you dumb. Your mind goes to Persephone, and the terrible rite that swallowed her home. It's a long time before you're able to break your silence.

“Then, I suppose this is goodbye,” you sigh eventually, unable to take your gaze away from the distant catacomb city, “Wish me luck.”

“You have no need of luck,” Lady Ellenghast scolds, “You already have everything that you need, and your friends will arrive soon. That will suffice.”

“Maybe so,” you agree, giving her a humourless smile, “But I'll take everything that I can get.”

Lady Ellenghast considers this, tilting her head as she thinks. “Then...” she says at last, “I wish you luck.”

With that, without so much as a touch of your heels, the horse wheels around and starts to trot off towards the river.

>I think I'm going to pause here for today. I'm potentially looking at reaching a conclusion tomorrow, assuming nothing goes seriously wrong or off-track
>Thank you to everyone who's stuck around this far!

>>5905394
Thanks for running it! I have a bit of fanart incoming, after a fashion.

>>5905394
Thanks for running! Will try to derail things as much as possible tomorrow

>>5905394
So ultimately, Persephone will want to go multiverse hopping since the only thing staying will help with is refining her powers.

Johann will eventually need to know the truth, and there's a good chance he'll spend his life repairing the machine.

While Harriet is....perfectly content with not doing anything and just letting the next iteration of her deal with the problem?

Graffen hasn't changed much since you were here last, although it seems much quieter. With the Reivian threat removed, most of the Third Army has departed with just a small garrison left to watch over the river. A pair of soldiers stare at you in disbelief as you come riding into town, although neither of them makes a move to stop you. Dismounting the horse, you feel yourself nearly wilt with fatigue – and that's when the soldiers finally make their move. Rushing in to keep you from fainting, they carefully escort you to the old field hospital.

“I'm fine,” you inside, even as they bodily carry you along, “I don't need a doctor.”

“No,” one of the soldiers agrees, “But you sure as shit look like you need a soft bed.”

“Aye,” the other agrees, “Shame that there aren't any in the hospital. A hard bed will have to do you.”

They both laugh at this well-worn joke, and you give them the wearied smile that they expect. A bed for the night isn't such a bad idea, hard or otherwise, and you've got some time to kill until the rest of your cohort arrives. You'll just have to trust that the world won't end before then – it seems to be doing okay so far, after all.

-

The old world is burning, a great fire rising up to consume the pure and the impure alike. You walk through the flames, heedless of the destruction that follows in your wake. All that is stagnant and decrepit burns away to ash, with new life springing forth from the destruction only to be consumed in turn. You ignore the screams of the dying and the terrified, marching on as you search for your true goal.

You find it in the blackened ruins of the capital, now a maze of gutted streets and collapsed buildings. Wading through ash and breathing in smoke, you venture forth until you finally arrive at the palace, now rent open like a shattered jug. Within what was once the deepest heart of the palace, you come face to face with the Sun King's image – the scowling sun emblazoned across the vast golden doors. The flames have dealt terrible damage to the image, distorting it until the stern glare resembles a glare of rage and fear.

A cruel master, the Sethian called him, a jealous and spiteful master. How can he be anything BUT jealous, when you burn brighter than he ever has?

“This is my world now,” you murmur, reaching out to touch the golden doors. They melt away in an instant, washing away the image of the Sun King and opening your way to the new world beyond.

-

The distant rattle of gunfire jolts you from your dream, and just for a moment it feels like you're back in Ixtab all over again. For a single insane second, you feel certain that Clarissa is going to burst in and announce that the Reivians are attacking again. But, of course, she doesn't.

[1]

>>5906524

You dress quickly, trying not to notice just how soiled your clothes look, and wolf down the meal that your hosts left for you. It's soldier food, bland but filling. The sort of meal that means you won't die on an empty stomach, which is all you really need right now.

The crack of rifle fire continues as you peer out the window and look out at the distant catacomb city. Strange lights flash and flicker there, seemingly separate from any gunfire. As if hypnotised, you stare at the ethereal lights for what seems like a long time. Yet, you feel oddly indifferent to the display. Something is happening in Ixtab, there's no doubt about that, but it all seems very distant and unimportant.

Aside from the gunfire drifting across the river, you hear something closer to home – the muffled sound of shouted voices. This is what snaps you out of your eerie calm, sending you hurrying from the field hospital. You're not the only one who was woken by the sound of gunfire, it seems. A good number of soldiers have hurried out into the streets, only to linger, confused, as they wait for orders. At the far end of town, the unexpected arrival of a wagon seems to have given some of the soldiers something to do, which explains the raised voices.

You follow the sound of voices, breaking into a run when you see a flash of white from atop the wagon. The soldiers fall silent as you hurry over, which Persephone takes as a sign of victory. The smug smile melts from her face as she notices you, then hastily leaps from the wagon and runs over. She hits you like an artillery shell, slamming into you and throwing her arms around you. The embrace lasts only a second before she pulls back, as if scalded by your touch, and adopts a suitably aloof expression.

“Ahem,” she begins, “What I meant to say was-”

“That you missed me?” you finish for her, “That you were desperately worried about me?”

“Yes, actually,” Persephone admits with a pout, “But there's no need to look so smug about it, you know!”

“I disagree. And that's rich, coming from you.”

“Well, as the local expert in unearned smugness....” Persephone begins, only for a load groan of irritation to interrupt her. You both look back to see Johannes scowling at you.

“Save the flirting for later,” he scolds, jerking his head back towards the wagon. Suitable chastised, you climb up aboard as he goads the horse into motion. He doesn't wait to see if any of the soldiers are about to volunteer to join you, but none of them show any sign of stepping forwards anyway. They'll all have their own duties to attend to, you suppose, something much more important than the end of the world.

So be it.

[2]

>>5906526

Tortuously slow, the wagon bumps and grinds its way towards Ixtab. The open plain leading up to the catacomb city is still torn up and cratered, bearing the scars of war. Between that, and the horse's growing skittishness, it almost feels like you'd be better off walking the rest of the way – but it would be a long, gruelling march, and you want to save your strength.

“How was Master Brehm doing?” you ask, speaking up to take your mind off the task ahead.

“Fine,” Johannes answers bluntly, “As fine as you can expect, under the circumstances. He wanted to come with us, of course, but there's no way that was going to happen. We just saved his life, and he wants to go right back to sticking his neck on the cutting block. Typical.”

“We left him with the village. There was someone there claiming to be a doctor, and they actually seemed like they knew what they were doing,” Persephone adds, “I suppose they aren't all revolting degenerates.”

“Master Brehm mentioned something,” the heavyset man continues, “Something that that masked freak said. He said that the world was about to change.”

That's certainly one way of putting it. You think about the Sethian's mad schemes, and Kalthos' more obscure designs. The slow erosion of the Veil, or the sudden conflagration of a new world being born – and it might all be decided today, perhaps even by your own hand. The thought alone is enough to cause your stomach to lurch.

“I'm reluctant to place any weight on the words of a monster,” Johannes admits, “But I have to ask. What did he mean?”

Persephone says nothing, but cocks her head and listens carefully.

>Offer them a comforting lie. Better not to burden them now
>Keep it short and to the point, tell them what you know about the necromancers' plan
>Tell them about the potential futures ahead. Perhaps they can offer some advice
>Tell them... (Write in)
>Other

>>5906528
>Tell them about the potential futures ahead. Perhaps they can offer some advice
Now is a better time than at the last moment

>>5906528
>Tell them about the potential futures ahead, perhaps they can offer some advice

>>5906528
>Confirm the obvious and the power-related heresy. The necromancers are using something in Ixtab to destroy the Machine now that its weakened.
>Spiritual power comes from conviction, not strictly Faith. It's why Persephone here can't stop and won't stop, and we're going to need at least this much heresy to even scratch the Sethian.
>Actually fixing the Veil is going to be a lot more complicated, but we're not out of options as long as Harriet isn't used as a blood sacrifice or something.

>>5906528
>Tell them about the potential futures ahead. Perhaps they can offer some advice
Johannes is a lot more practical-minded than Persephone, or even us maybe. He can probably offer some moral clarity.

Better that they know now, no matter how bleak the news may be. Better now, you reason, than later, perhaps in the middle of the crisis. It's all too easy to imagine the Sethian, or Kalthos himself, spitting their poison at you at the worst possible time. Even if it brought nothing more than a moment's hesitation, that might be enough.

“Change is coming. He's right about that,” you tell Johannes slowly, “This might be a long story.”

“We've got time,” he replies sullenly, scowling as the wagon jolts over another scar in the road.

“The Sun King has a design,” you begin, “A plan, one that would see mankind ascended into something greater. A pure, perfect race – without hunger or pain, without disease or the decay of age. Through the cycles of life and death, he seeks to refine men until they... we are more akin to the spirits. But it's been a long, slow process, and there's still no end in sight.”

“And the Sun King is growing weaker. His flame is burning low, and the Veil grows thin along with it,” you muse, “If the great work is not completed, and the Sun King fades away completely, then the Veil will fall with him. Mankind will be thrust into a new world, or rather the old world – the world before the Sun King.”

You pause, glancing around. Johannes' face is stoic, motionless, as he listens to your tale. It's impossible to tell what he might be thinking – you'd get more hints from a stone statue.

“The Sethian wants to burn away the last of the old world, of our world, to make way for his new world. A world of blood and terror,” you explain, “And Kalthos... I don't know what he wants. But if he's claiming to be the Sethian's master, I know it can't be anything good.”

“And what about her?” Johannes asks, “The Forester. Don't tell me she wants to protect our world.”

“She does... in her own way,” you answer, “She wants to see the Sun King's design run its course – whatever the outcome may be. She claims that even if the Veil should eventually fall, men will have learned the means to survive in the world that follows.”

“How?” he grunts, “If the Sun King was to... cease to be, how else could men survive without his protection?”

“Men lived and died before the Sun King. They had their own ways,” you hesitate, thinking how to explain this to the stubborn man, “Faith – faith in the Sun King - is not the only source of strength. Why do you think Lady Ellenghast is able to command spirits as she does? Or even the necromancers themselves?”

“It's strength of will that commands the spirits. It's conviction. Faith is just one form of strength,” you look back, glancing at the proud banners fluttering above the military garrison, “But men can place their faith in many things, not just the Sun King.”

Johannes considers this for a long moment. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Load of bullshit,” he decides.

“What is?”

“All of it.”

[1]

>>5906556

“You're doing it again,” Johannes continues, “That “thinking” thing. I told you that it's no good.”

“I can't help it,” you admit, “You don't believe me?”

“No, I believe you,” he states, “I've got no reason not to. I just think it's all bullshit. We're going to stop those bastards, whatever they're planning to do. It's as simple as that.”

“It's NOT as simple as that,” you stress, “Even if we stop them, even if we wipe them out completely, it still doesn't fix everything. The Veil will continue to fade, and I don't know if there's a way to fix it. I'm not about to give up hope, but... what more can we do?”

“Have faith,” Johannes answers simply, “Maybe I'm the foolish one, but I've lived my life by two things – the strength of my arm, and the Sun King's laws. As far as I'm concerned, they haven't failed me yet. If the Sun King has a design, I say let him continue the work. You're acting like it's already failed, but it hasn't.”

“But it might,” Persephone interjects, “Honestly, this is all so... frustrating! I almost see the appeal in burning the whole damn lot of it down, just to get rid of it. I can't say that I fancy the idea of living out the rest of my days in a broken, decaying world. But somehow, I doubt that any new world that those bastards might create would be any better. Do you know what I'd do?”

“I'd cheat,” she continues, before you have a chance to answer her question, “I'd find some way to break their stupid little game and come out on top.”

“Persephone?” Johannes asks, turning to give the pale girl a scowl.

“What is it, dear?”

“You're full of shit.”

-

There comes a time when the horse refuses to go any further, no matter how much you goad the beast. It bucks against its harness, stamping at the ground and frothing at the mouth. Abandoning the wagon and cutting the horse loose, you step back as it bolts off towards the river. Gathering your weapons, you set off to finish the long march to Ixtab on foot. A thin mist hangs in the air, lit by the occasional glint of spectral light in the distance. The Veil here is only just recovering after the battle, and it seems ready to tear asunder once more.

A rifle shot rings out as you draw near to the city, causing you to throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender. When no second shot comes, you take this as a chance to slowly continue on towards the city. A group of ragged, harried soldiers emerge to meet you, their initial fear melting into relief once they recognise your face.

“Master Exorcist, I apologise!” one of the soldiers yelps, “I thought... come with me, I'll take you to General Lowe!”

“What's the situation here?” you ask as you hasten after him.

The soldier glances around. “I don't even know,” he admits, “It's a mess. It's a real mess.”

[2]

>>5906576

You find General Lowe lingering in the lower city with a group of his men, his face set in a spectacular scowl. Every so often a few cracks of rifle fire ring out from the upper city, but he doesn't seem to notice them. He's too busy brooding to notice them.

“Master Hearne, Master Crane,” Straub says, greeting you with a salute, “I won't pretend to understand how you got here so quickly, but that's not important right now. We're just glad to have your assistance. Ah, but I don't think we've met. Miss...”

“Cross,” Persephone answers curtly, although her eyes twinkle with a hint of amusement. It's just another game for her, getting the chance to play at being a tough military sort.

“Miss Cross, very good,” Straub nods, “I'll be brief. We don't know how it happened, but the city has come under attack – an attack, it seems, from within. Somehow, a group of attackers was able to infiltrate the city and advance towards the catacombs, attacking any guards they saw along the way. We intercepted them, but-”

“They hit us hard,” General Lowe interrupts, “Some kind of damn Reivian trick.”

“They summoned a spirit?” you ask, guessing his meaning.

“We believe so. It spread madness among the ranks, and drove men to fight one another. But fortune was on our side, at least partially,” Straub explains, holding up one of the holy icons you made during the battle, “Many of the men still carry these with them, and they were spared the worst of the spirit's attention. But even so, the confusion allowed the attackers to advance deeper into the city. They've taken the grand cathedral, and we've not yet been able to dig them out.”

The vile scowl on General Lowe's face tells you exactly what he thinks about that particular dishonour. Or perhaps he's just thinking about his office, now surely in enemy hands too. “Did you see who was leading them?” you question.

“Some clown in a mask,” the General drawls, “Painted red like a skinless corpse.”

As you feared.

“We have troops stationed near the grand cathedral, but we're yet to launch a decisive attack,” Straub continues, “We feared what other weapons they might have in their arsenal, and planned to send for academy support. Your timing is impeccable.”

“This is academy business,” General Lowe states bluntly, “You hold the authority here. My men are at your disposal – use us how you will.”

>We need to get inside the cathedral. Gather your men for a decisive attack
>Have your men stage a diversionary attack. We might be able to infiltrate the cathedral
>Let me go on ahead. I have business to settle with their leader. If he falls, the rest of them will break
>I have a plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>5906600
>Have your men stage a diversionary attack. We might be able to infiltrate the cathedral

>>5906600
>Have your men stage a diversionary attack. We might be able to infiltrate the cathedral

>>5906600
Hmm. Explosives? No, that would keep everyone in AND out, which is more advantageous for them. Driving a vehicle straight into the scene is still an option, though.

If Lucas can engage the Sethian, the army can get into the tunnels with relative ease to secure the ritual site. Johanne would have to use nothing short of a machine gun to dent the red dude, though.

>>5906640
Have them give us 6 machine guns
We can all go in there dual wielding

>>5906653
We'd blow our noddle arms off. Persephone too, maybe.

You're initially left a little speechless, startled by the ease with which General Lowe relinquishes command. But then, it's just as he says – this is an academy matter, not a question of military orders. When the Reivian army was on the march, he quite rightfully took command. This, however, is different. It's a lot of responsibility.

“Have your men stage a diversionary attack,” you begin, “Something to draw out the attackers and bog them down. While they're distracted, we can infiltrate the cathedral and strike at their heart.”

General Lowe considers this with a grunt, then nods. “Straub. Relay the order to the men. On my command, have them move forwards in a probing attack. Make sure those bastards know we're here.”

“Very good,” Straub murmurs, bowing his head for a moment before gesturing for you to follow him. With a guard of soldiers flanking you, you advance into the upper city. A few crude barricades, perhaps even left over from the siege, have been dragged into the street to block off the cathedral, although you can't say whether it was General Lowe's men or the cultists who did it. Regardless, the soldiers have taken cover behind the barricades as they await further orders.

Straub gestures for you to stay low, to stay hidden, as he joins up with his men. Taking shelter behind one of the numerous mausoleums lining the city streets, you peer out at the cathedral. The mist has grown thicker since you arrived here, which should help cover your advance, but it's not so thick as to hide the cultists entirely. A motley rabble of men in ragged clothing, even a few soiled uniforms, they seem to have abandoned all traces of civilisation long ago. Every so often, one of them will shoulder his rifle and fire a shot or two at the waiting soldiers, then yell some vile curse.

“Wish I could get up there and break some heads,” Johannes mutters to himself, toying with his oversized revolver.

“Focus,” you warn him softly, “They're just here to slow us down.”

“I can break heads quickly,” he counters, but lets the matter drop. You glance past him to where Persephone waits, her eyes closed as she takes a deep breath to steady her nerves. The air above her head shimmers ever so slightly as she prepares to call upon her guardian spirit and hide your advance. Leaving her be, you look around for Straub. What could be taking him so long?

Just as you're about to go looking for the officer, you see him hastily returning to your hiding place. “Get ready,” he announces, “We'll try to draw as many of them out as possible, but I don't know what might be waiting for you inside the cathedral itself. Once you're inside, you'll be on your own.”

“As expected,” Persephone sighs wistfully, opening her eyes and giving you a coy smile, “Well, I suppose it's better than getting old and frail. On your command, great leader!”

[1]

>>5906664

On Straub's command, the men of the Second Army begin their attack. First rising up from their hiding spots to lay down covering fire, they begin their cautious advance as some of the cults fall. The remaining savages return fire with all the ill-discipline that their ragged appearance would suggest, howling blasphemies as they fight. More of their unclean ilk emerge from the cathedral as the fighting draws out, soon joined by the Sethian himself.

These new arrivals are different – they fight with a controlled ferocity that sends a chill down your spine, their deadly motions occasionally broken by familiar spasms and convulsions. Bullets don't seem to give them pause, even the kind of direct hit that would kill a man in an instant. But then, it's not really men that are fighting.

“Now!” you hiss, tearing your gaze away from the possessed soldiers. Persephone nods sharply, and an inky darkness descends upon the scene. Immediately, the sounds of battle are broken by cries of confusion and alarm. Before the moment can be lost, you rush from your hiding spot and cross the open ground. The darkness parts just once to reveal a particularly startled cultist, but your blade is cutting through him before he even realises what's going on. Split open from breast to hip, the cultist falls in a gurgling heap and then you're at the ajar cathedral door.

Glancing back to make sure that your friends have followed, you and Johannes heave the heavy door closed behind you. It won't stop a monster like the Sethian, but it might slow him down. With the door closed, the sounds of battle are almost completely muted. It's only when Persephone tugs at your sleeve that you slowly turn, automatically raising your blade at the sight that greets you.

A loose handful of cultists wait inside the cathedral, rifles held slack in their hands, but they make no move to stop you. They just stare with wide, blank eyes until one slowly raises his arm and points to the rear of the cathedral. One after another, the rest of the cultists follow suit until they are all in unison. With the silence pressing down on you like a lead weight, you carefully move past the cultists and follow where they point. You almost expect them to fall upon you as soon as your back is turned, but they remain perfectly still.

When you reach the spiral staircase, you don't waste a single moment in hesitation. Turning from the cultists, you start the long ascent up the stairs. You have a terrible feeling that you know what you'll find at the top.

You've been here before, haven't you?

[2]

>There might be a bit of a delay while I get the next set of posts written up. THis might end up running a little long, longer than I'd normally like, but I don't really want to cut it down. I'm going to be self indulgent and you can't stop me. Probably going to be ready in about 45 minutes, estimated
>Please wait warmly

>>5906724
I get the feeling we're in the endgame, so i think a bit of flowery detail and a few delays are all well above board.

>>5906724
A few delays and such are well worth it for a finale. Thanks for the information Moloch!

When Clarissa summoned the Angel of Ixtab, you remember how violent it had seemed. There was an orb of shadow, just as there is now, but it had struggled and strained against your makeshift ritual. It had bristled with spikes and broken shards at the slightest slip of her concentration, threatening to break apart at any moment. Not so, here. Here, the orb is perfectly smooth and calm – so still that you almost feel as if you should be able to see your reflection in it. But, of course, you cannot.

“You are too late,” a ragged voice snarls, and you find your gaze drawn to the madman before you. Kalthos is an emaciated looking thing, naked save for a filthy loincloth and slathered in cracked white paint. His eyes are wide and white, his teeth sharp and jagged. “I knew the exact hour of your arrival, the exact second,” he jeers, “I want you to see this. To bear witness to the birth-”

The gunshot seems incredibly loud in the confined space, and Kalthos drops like a stone. You jolt around to see a coil of smoke rising up from Johannes' revolver, his blunt face set in an impassive scowl. His aim drops low as Kalthos starts to stir, and you manage to clap your hands over your ears just in time before Johannes empties the rest of his cylinder into the necromancer. Each shot causes the body to jump and dance, plucking at it like a carrion bird plucking meat from the bones. His ire expended, Johannes pulls back the gun and starts to dump the empty casings.

And that's when Kalthos rises up once more.

Like a puppet on unseen strings, the necromancer is pulled upright to face you once more. His body is hideously damaged, with one shot all but tearing his lower jaw off entirely, but it's not enough.

“I will wipe this world clean of all life,” Kalthos announces, the words emerging not from his mouth but from deep within his undead form, “And then I will start my next work. The sacred city will be mine.”

With your sword drawn and a curse on your lips, you lunge forwards. Golden fire wreathes your blade as you thrust towards the ancient sorcerer, but the hideous shudder of blade on bone that you were expecting doesn't come. Your blade is caught, transfixed, the necromancer casually holding the tip with all the effort of a man catching a falling leaf. Even the fire rolling off the blade doesn't seem to bother him.

“Useless. Bold, but useless,” he sneers, “I am Kalthos, mine is the name of my master, and I command all spirits – even yours, BOY.”

[1/4]

>>5906751

No matter how much strength you put behind your blow, the sword doesn't move an inch. It doesn't even waver, even as your arms tremble with exertion. All you can do is watch, transfixed and horrified, as the orb of darkness swells and grows behind Kalthos. His eyes blaze in triumph, even as his hideously disfigured mouth tries to twist into a lunatic grin.

Like some terrible flower, the orb of darkness splits open and spreads its petals wide, the liquid shadow flowing up to take on the shape – the suggestion of a shape – of a robed, winged figure. The Angel's hood hangs low over a gaping void of shadow, yet you see two points of blackness somehow gleaming within the darkness. The eyes, if eyes are truly what they are, bear down upon you with a terrible weight, and you feel certain that death is here.

And yet, you live. The ghoulish light in Kalthos' eyes dims, replaced first by confusion and then by terror as an inhuman voice echoes out around you.

“For the sake of my country, and my father, I would shoulder any burden. I would commit any sin,” the voice calls out, awesome and terrible all at once, “I have no regrets.”

And then the whole world turns white.

[2/3]

>>5906752

It takes a long time, or perhaps no time at all, before the white light dims enough for you to see by. It's still bright enough to pain you, but gradually you see a number of blurry figures coming into focus around you. The first one you see is the Sethian, his bloodshot eyes staring out from behind his iron mask with utter hatred. Beside him is something that almost wears Lady Ellenghast's face, although twisted by the hard lines of Silas' features. Then, finally, you see the Artisan himself – the first one to speak.

“Give it to me,” he rasps, holding out one trembling hand. His hand seems to distort before your eyes, the hale and hearty image above flickering for a moment only to be replaced by a withered, mummified claw. His face is no different, a leathery eyeless corpse peering out from behind a proud human mask. “Your sun...” he croaks, “Give it to me.”

“Your guardian spirit,” Lady Ellenghast murmurs, “Ah... how to explain it?”

“There is a theory that the spirit world is a reflection of our own,” the Sethian interrupts, although his voice is that of Master Rosenthal, “If enough men believed, and offered prayers in the name of the Sun King, such a spirit may actually come to be.”

“The Sun King was never anything more than an illusion, a beacon for men to follow. Yet those thoughts and prayers have given rise to something – something terrible and magnificent,” Lady Ellenghast continues, reaching across and placing a hand upon your breast, “Something that now lives within you.”

“Give it to me,” the Artisan repeats, his voice caught between pleading and demanding, “Give it to me... and the great work can continue. I am close, I know I am. I just need... a little more... time.”

“Or set it loose,” Lady Ellenghast offers, “And give men the sun that they have always believed in. A true sun, that will give men the strength and protection that they have always sought.”

“Would you surrender your own guardian spirit to this withered corpse, or turn it over to these weaklings?” the Sethian snarls, and this voice is his own once more, “Foolishness! This power is yours and yours alone – keep it, master it, and take a torch to the old world!”

Your path has led you to this point – and now, you must decide how it will end.

>The great work must continue. Offer up your sun to the Artisan
>Mankind will have their Sun King. Offer up your sun to the masses
>This power is yours and yours alone. Keep it, to do with what you will

>>5906755
>Mankind will have their Sun King. Offer up your sun to the masses
Dignity for many, idealism at its foundation, and with obvious benefit to our friends as well.

>>5905223
>>5905226
>>5905239
Seems like the play to me.

>>5906755
>Mankind will have their Sun King. Offer up your sun to the masses
Sorry Artisan
I wanted to believe in you but you're still missing too many answers, and this is what our spirit was made for
Maybe before we release it we can nuke the Sethian real quick though, fuck that guy

>>5906755
>>Mankind will have their Sun King. Offer up your sun to the masses
>But make sure to keep some for ourself. Because we're not falling on our sword for this.

>>5906755
Waiiiit
I almost voted to give the sun to the masses, but now I think this may be a closed time loop. The Sun King's origins are unknown. Maybe he only exists because we gave the sun to the people. And since it didn't seem to work out well,
>The great work must continue. Offer up your sun to the Artisan

>Going to close the vote here and do some writing. Hoping to have the next section out reasonably soon, unless I just doomed myself by saying that

You gaze into the Artisan's face, both the human mask that he wears and the nightmarish corpse beneath, for a long while before shaking your head. “I'm sorry,” you tell him, “I want to believe in you, but... your time has passed. This cannot continue. Mankind deserves something better than stagnation.”

“No...” the Artisan whispers, “No... you cannot... Everything that I have worked for...”

But he says no more than that, his phantom image fading out into nothingness. The Sethian starts to fade too, vanishing with a wordless snarl of rage and frustration – a snarl that seems to linger long after the monster himself has vanished. As the last man standing, Lady Ellenghast bows her head to you and smiles.

“Let mankind have their sun,” you decide, “Let them have a sword and a shield to protect them. Let them all have a guardian spirit that is worthy of their strength and devotion.”

“Let it be so, child of the sun,” the phantom image replies, placing her hand on your chest once more. You shudder at her touch, but the pain you expect is nowhere to be found. There's a strange sense of dizziness, of disorientation, and that is all. Yet when Lady Ellenghast draws back her hand, a bright flame of gold burns there. Meeting your eyes, she smiles once more before the whole world, once more, goes white.

-

All this takes less than a second, less than a heartbeat.

When the bright light fades, you find yourself staring into Kalthos' empty eye sockets. The light has faded from these too and, robbed of its animating force, the ancient corpse soon crumples down to the ground. It has collapsed into dust and ash before it hits the floor, with scarcely any trace that it had been here to begin with. Exhaustion crashes down upon you, and you nearly collapse face first into the unclean remains.

Johannes is there in an instant to catch you, heaving you upright and lending you a shoulder to lean on. As he does, he can't help but stare at the necromancer's scattered remains. “What...” the burly man growls, “What happened?”

“He called up something that he couldn't control,” Persephone answers for you, prodding at the dusty with the toe of her boot, “His arrogance was his undoing.”

“You could learn a lesson here,” Johannes suggests, giving the pale girl a humourless look somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

“I could,” Persephone laughs, gently pushing him away and taking you in her arms instead, “But I won't!”

Holding you close, Persephone turns her face towards yours and leans closer still. Just as your lips are about to touch, however, a muffled rattle of gunfire rings out from somewhere down below you. Startled, Persephone draws back and scowls at the interruption.

“Save it for later,” Johannes tells you both, slapping you roughly on the arm, “Duty calls.”

[1/4]

>>5906840

Hurrying down the stairs, you hesitate for a moment at the sight of the dead cultists laid out before you. Not one of them has a single mark of violence on them, yet their bodies are cold and still. More of the Angel's handiwork, you assume. But if it reaped the cultists as well as Kalthos himself, what could have caused the shooting outside? When Johannes heaves open the cathedral door, you get the chance to see for yourself.

The Sethian stands alone, surrounded by a sea of broken bodies. His body is red with blood as much as paint, covered in countless wounds – blade, bayonet and bullet have all tasted his flesh, but still he stands aloft. A thin haze of gunsmoke still hangs in the air, a remnant of the latest failed attempt at his execution, and the Sethian slowly turns to regard you through the mist.

“I will not be denied,” he growls, panting like a wounded beast, “Your flame. Give me... your flame.”

“I can't,” you answer, spreading your arms wide, “It's not my flame any longer.”

Something within the Sethian snaps. With a bellow of animal rage, he lunges towards you with outstretched hands but you're too quick for him. Like a serpent's tongue, your otherworldly blade lashes out and splits the Sethian wide open. His lunge turns to a stumble, and he falls to his knees before you. With both hands clasped to his gut, trying to hold in the ropes of steaming entrails leaking from his wound, the Sethian looks up at you. There's nothing in his eyes save for rage and frustration.

Even when your blade parts his head from his shoulders, that look of rage remains undimmed.

Like Kalthos before him, the Sethian's body slowly collapses into ashes. He burned long ago, you suppose, and now it's finally catching up with him.

“It's over,” Johannes says, looking down at the corpse, “Thank the Sun.”

“It's over,” Persephone repeats, leaning close and whispering in your ear, “We've got some unfinished business, you and I.”

[2/4]

>>5906842

EPILOGUE – SOME TIME LATER

It's midwinter time, and the stars, as they say, are right.

Cold wind rakes across your cheeks as the sled glides through the deep snow, and you pull your hood a little tighter against the chill. You've been travelling for several days now, first by carriage and then, after arriving at the grim northern outpost, by dog sled. That outpost was the last real trace of civilisation for countless miles around, yet you still had further to go.

Persephone seems like a different person behind the reins of the dog sled, her usual mockery melting away to reveal something hard and practical, something engrained in her from her early years growing up in this harsh, unforgiving landscape. It feels strange to sit back and let her take the lead, but it's not exactly unpleasant.

The sky above seems infinitely deep and infinitely dark, yet alive with countless twinkling stars and streaks of shimmering colour. Persephone once wrote about how beautiful the north could be, and now you can well believe her. It's just then, as your gaze is settling upon a certain scattering of bright stars, that the sled trails to a halt.

“We're here,” Persephone announces, dropping the reins and leaning towards to pat one of the powerful hounds. You nod, suddenly finding yourself lost for words, and rise to your feet. Snow crunches underfoot as you stride forth, stretching out your weary limbs as you look around you. The moon casts a silver light down upon the tundra, and a chill entirely separate to that of the temperature runs down your spine. There's nothing special at all about the landscape around you, no sign that it was once home to a humble village, but you trust Persephone's words. This is the place.

Snow crunches underfoot as you walk on, laying a thick hide out on the ground and sitting down once more. Persephone sits down beside you, leaning against your body as you both stare up at the stars. Neither of you says a thing, but that's okay – there's no need to talk.

You sit like this for a long time, staring up at the sky and the stars together, before Persephone finally stirs. She rises to her feet and, with a casual gesture, casts off her heavy coat then kicks off her boots. Clad only in loose, flowing garb yet untroubled by the cold, the pale girl takes a few steps away and raises her hands to the night sky.

And then she begins to dance.

[3/4]

>>5906843

It's slow at first, almost sluggish as if she was moving through deep water, but her pace soon increases. She steps through the snow and twirls, long hair fanning out behind her. Her hands thrust up to claw at the sky, while her expression turns rapt with concentration. Driven by a beat only she can hear, Persephone's dance hastens until it reaches a beautiful frenzy. It grows and grows until it strains at the limits of what the human body can achieve. When it seems like her body cannot take any more, she drops, silently and suddenly, to the snow.

You rush to her side and touch a hand to her face, only to recoil at the unexpected warmth you feel there. Trembling with exertion, yet smiling victoriously, she raises a hand and points up to the sky. Collapsing down to your knees beside her, you turn your gaze to the stars and watch - watch as the sky unfolds and the City appears, radiant and magnificent with the promise of life eternal.

THE END.


>I'd just like to thank everyone who has posted, lurked, or glanced at the thread in the catalogue. It's been a real pleasure working on this project, and I hope it brought some entertainment.
>I think I'm going to take a bit of a break now, but I've already started work on my next project. So I hope you'll keep an eye out for that – THE PALE INHERITANCE, coming soon!
>And if anyone has any last questions, leave them here and I'll try to pick them up later – probably tomorrow

>>5906844
Thanks for the Run Moloch! What a ride! I can't help like feel we dumbassed our way through things mostly. Still a great ride.

What affects did giving the Sun out do to Lucas and the world? Did the Forest actually burn down? Was the Veil still up but fading or was it sundered? How'd Brehm take all this?

>>5906844
Thanks for running! Fantastic writing as always.

It seems like we got the best ending but suddenly I am wracked with doubt - if we had picked the Artisan would he have done better?

>>5906854
These questions too, though I can't imagine Ellenghast backing the Sun release if it would burn the forest down.

>>5906844
> THE PALE INHERITANCE
Persephone Quest? Based.

I don't have any questions, but keep an eye on the thread. Your artwork should arrive within the week.

>>5906854
I imagined granting the sun to the masses as creating a world that is "naturally" safe, as opposed to the Artisan forcing the world into an inherently unnatural state. The new world would be pretty familiar to the old/current one, but perhaps a little brighter - a world where men really do have a benevolent god looking out for them.
While I chose to leave it ambiguous, I imagined Lucas as giving up his guardian spirit and the power it had - it was, after all, a power capable of serious destruction. Perhaps not something that should be in the hands of man.
In this ending, the Forest Kingdom remains unburnt and will likely always remain so. Likewise, the Veil is restored - and since the new Veil is linked to a truely permanent spirit, as opposed to an ascended man, it's not likely to weaken and fade in the same way.
Master Brehm is, of course, too old for this shit. At least he gets to enjoy his retirement this way!

>>5906857
Giving our sun to the Artisan would be, in a sense, a continuation of the status quo - it would grant him the strength to continue the great work, although he may still be chasing an impossible dream. In one sense, it's a kind of "neutral" ending - the world is safe, but nothing really changes. Although I did imagine the Artisan as growing somewhat bitter with time, and granting him the sun would restore some of his lost humanity. So, still an improvement of sorts over what came before

>>5906878
So do we still have that sword? How'd Persephone take us losing our spirit?

>>5906844
Thanks for running! Though the ending felt quite abrupt to me and not really wrapping anything.

>>5906878
So when is Persephone taking that trip into the Great Cosmos?

>>5906844
Thanks for running

File: Lucas Hearne pote.png (570 KB, 2000x2000)

570 KB PNG

Thanks again, and please enjoy this art I got you, QM, courtesy of Indonesian Gentleman of Jail Quest!

>>5913966
That is awesome!