*set part 1 *set health 100 *if (shepherdsjoin = true) and (blade > 25) *achieve firstimpressions *if shepherdsconscript *achieve conscripted *if codexnotification *if (music) *sound alert.wav [i][b]Codex Entry Unlocked:[/b] The Shepherds' Oath [Story][/i] *page_break *set rank "Officer" *set clothes "the crisp, black-and-silver-threaded uniform of the Shepherds, the rampant hound shining proudly on your chest" *temp rika false *temp rika1 false *temp rika2 false *temp ratvisit true *temp ratscondition 10 *temp visithouse false *temp rattry 0 *temp equ false *label chapter1start *text_image chapter1.png center Chapter One *page_break Summer in Haven is an ugly thing. Your first few weeks as a Shepherd stream by in a hot, gritty blur. It takes a few days for you to get settled into the Shepherds' compound—a sprawling, closed-off building in the heart of Ashtown, high-walled to stave off vandals and replete with its own courtyard, training grounds, refectory, and residential quarters. Shery informs you that the building was once the base of a great Mage's tower, from the time before Haven was claimed by Norms: if that's true, you can't even imagine the original structure's immensity, because it already seems quite tall, and bizarrely, some days it seems to grow even taller. Sometimes you get an uneasy feeling wandering the halls at night, and a few wrong turns have gotten you dizzyingly lost until every door seems to lead into the same room. But it's a home, of a sort. Your initiation into the Shepherds was a short, no-frills ceremony where you recited the Shepherds' oath and signed a contract in blood. There are only about a score of fighters in the Shepherds, almost all of them newly-recruited, like you. Trouble is the only Norm among them, leading you to wonder how he joined up in the first place. "Norms can hate demons, too," he laughs when you ask him. "And they can fight. When I heard Blade was forming this ragtag little team, I told him I'd be the first to sign up." "You don't care that everyone else is Diminished?" Trouble snorts. "Diminished, Norm," he says. "It's all just words. Why do I care if you can throw a fireball? I can shoot the pinfeather off of a hawk from almost a league away. Does that mean you should shun me?" You grin. "That attitude can't make you popular with the Autarchy. Or, for that matter, other Norms." Trouble lights a stick of charch and blows a cloud of white, savory-smelling smoke over his shoulder. "Let's just say they've disowned me," he says. "Which doesn't bother me, since I disowned [i]them[/i] long ago." *page_break That seems to be the story with every Shepherd you meet: it's a group of misfits and outsiders that Blade has scrounged up, skilled though they are. No one brings up his own supposed dark past, and you know better than to ask. But it gives you a sense of comfort, knowing that you're not the only one trying to move on from a troubled history. Not the only one harboring secrets that you don't quite understand. The only time anyone asks you about your past is when the topic of your education comes up: everyone wants to know what type of magic you lean towards, where your strengths and weaknesses are. What order you would have been grouped into before the Castigation. Although specialized magical tomes and spells have largely been destroyed by the Autarchy, leaving behind knowledge of only general magic use, you think you would have belonged to one of the three main Orders of Mages… *label order *choice #The Psionic Order. ([i]Read more[/i]) *goto psionic #The Astral Order. ([i]Read more[/i]) *goto astral #The Arcane Order. ([i]Read more[/i]) *goto arcane *label psionic The Psionic Order, sometimes known as the Clarion League or the Mindsearers, was a sect encompassing Mages who dealt with psychic energies and powers of the mind. Among the Psionic Order's ranks were… *choice #Wild-Mages. ([i]Read more[/i]) Wild magic involved using animals and wild creatures as an extension of the self: speaking to, controlling, summoning, or borrowing the bodies of wild creatures and living things. Wild Mages often had familiars bound to them, and could sometimes even speak to ancient trees and plants. *choice #I think I could have been a Wild Mage. *set cunning +3 *set charisma +3 *set psionic +15 *set specialization "wild" *set specializationtitle "Wild Mage" *set obscura "Fera" *goto done #Let me see the Psionic Order again. *goto psionic #Diviners. ([i]Read more[/i]) Divining magic was often divided into three categories: magic that spied on things and scenes in the present; magic that divined what happened in the past; and magic that made prophecies about what might happen in the future. *choice #I think I could have been a Diviner. *set intelligence +10 *set psionic +15 *set specialization "diviner" *set specializationtitle "Diviner" *set obscura "Argentis" *goto done #Let me see the Psionic Order again. *goto psionic #Enchanters. ([i]Read more[/i]) Enchanting magic involved using one's willpower and persuasion to bend the minds and wills of other people to the user’s whims. Charms, bewitchments, and glamours fell under enchanting, as did illusions such as invisibility and spells that caused sleep or paralysis. The strongest Enchanters could probe their opponents' memories for truth or knowledge, enslave another's mind to them, or even drive their victims mad. *choice #I think I could have been an Enchanter. *set charisma +10 *set psionic +15 *set specialization "enchanter" *set specializationtitle "Enchanter" *set obscura "Dulcetis" *goto done #Let me see the Psionic Order again. *goto psionic #Actually, I think I would have been part of a different order. *goto order *label astral The Astral Order, sometimes known as the Star-Crowned Order or the Burning Hand, was a class encompassing Mages who dealt with the energies of the universe and the ether. Among the Astral Order's ranks were… *choice #Battle-Mages. ([i]Read more[/i]) Battle magic involved the use of powerful combat spells and potent destructive energies to turn the tide of battle in the user's favor. Summoning weapons from the ether and armor from the earth, hurling meteoric impact blasts and bolts of magical lightning, using superstrength to shatter bones or density-shifting to phase through enemies, casting shields and wards, and more were all part of a Battle-Mage's arsenal. The most powerful Battle-Mages, called War-Mages, could pull mountains down over their enemies or rend the very blood from their bodies. *choice #I think I could have been a Battle-Mage. *set courage +3 *set strength +3 *set astral +15 *set specialization "battle" *set specializationtitle "Battle-Mage" *set obscura "Duelki" *goto done #Let me see the Astral Order again. *goto astral #Elementalists. ([i]Read more[/i]) Elemental magic involved controlling and manipulating the natural elements, generally those of fire, water, air, and earth. Some Elementalists could only control one element, while others forged special connections with Elemental creatures. The most powerful Elementalists were called Weather-Mages, and they could summon storms or raise the land to their aid. *choice #I think I could have been an Elementalist. *set intelligence +3 *set cunning +3 *set astral +15 *set ayla +5 *set specialization "elementalist" *set specializationtitle "Elementalist" *set obscura "Aetherai" *goto done #Let me see the Astral Order again. *goto astral #Healers. ([i]Read more[/i]) Healing magic involved using magic to heal people's bodies, soothe their minds, and restore and repair broken objects. The most powerful Healers could bring people back from the gates of death, perform transformative surgeries, regrow limbs and restore senses, or even extract and extinguish painful memories and nightmares. *choice #I think I could have been a Healer. *set compassionate +10 *set astral +15 *set specialization "healer" *set specializationtitle "Healer" *set obscura "Elae" *goto done #Let me see the Astral Order again. *goto astral #Actually, I think I would have been part of a different order. *goto order *label arcane The Arcane Order, sometimes known as the Bonebearers or the Order of Light and Shadow, was a sect encompassing Mages who dealt with occult rituals or magic manipulating form, essence, time, and space. Among the Arcane Order's ranks were… *choice #Shifters. ([i]Read more[/i]) Shifters, also known as Change-Mages, used transformative magic to change substantive objects from one thing to another: Alchemysts could change water into wine, iron into gold, blood into oil, while Shrouders transformed themselves into other objects, people, or beings. *choice #I think I could have been a Shifter. *set cunning +10 *set arcane +15 *set specialization "shifter" *set specializationtitle "Shifter" *set obscura "Mutai" *goto done #Let me see the Arcane Order again. *goto arcane #Binders. ([i]Read more[/i]) Binding magic involved magically binding, storing, or confining things to objects, usually for later use: spirits to artifacts, spells to inanimate objects, energy to weapons and armor. There were even those who could bind spirits or energy to corpses to reanimate the dead, called Whisperers. *choice #I think I could have been a Binder. *set intelligence +3 *set compassionate -3 *set arcane +15 *set specialization "binder" *set specializationtitle "Binder" *set obscura "Astrigai" *goto done #Let me see the Arcane Order again. *goto arcane #Conjurers. ([i]Read more[/i]) Conjuration magic involved summoning things from somewhere else: food from "thin air," jewels from far-away places, waiting armies from distant valleys. Travelers—conjurers who could conjure themselves across great distances—could translocate instantaneously across the world to explore unknown territories or deliver important messages. However, conjuration could also be misused: while Summoners, the most powerful Conjurers, could conjure living beings from other planes—often non-demonic creatures or spirits for service—they could also summon demons, becoming reviled Sorcerers in doing so. *choice #I think I could have been a Conjurer. *set intelligence +3 *set courage +3 *set arcane +15 *set red +5 *set specialization "conjurer" *set specializationtitle "Conjurer" *set obscura "Obsidai" *goto done #Let me see the Arcane Order again. *goto arcane #Actually, I think I would have been part of a different order. *goto order *label done *if codexnotification *if (music) *sound alert.wav [i][b]Codex Entry Unlocked:[/b] The Magics of Blest [Culture][/i] Of course, you add ruefully, it doesn't matter much, considering you've never had the resources to pursue or learn these specialized and niche spells. You're lucky to even know how to use functional magic at all: ninety-five percent of the Mage populace no longer can. Shery looks pensive when you tell her this. "I'll see what I can find," is all she says. "You're no longer under the Autarchy's thumb," Blade adds, looking up from his sui game with Trouble. "Not in a conventional sense, anyway. We'll see you well-equipped in the battle against the Endarkened." "And damn what the Inquisitors say about that," Trouble finishes. He scowls when Blade silently makes a move and wins the game. "If we're going to lay our lives on the line for them, we're going to do it on our terms." You can't help but smile at that. *page_break There is a procession of training, of testing, of familiarizing yourself with the idea of being a Shepherd. You brush up on your fighting skills, and relish the opportunity to let your magic stretch after years of dormancy and secretiveness. For the first time you allow yourself to light candles and wash dishes with a snap of your finger, and you think to yourself that being a Shepherd really isn't so bad. Then there are the patrols. Long patrols, wearying patrols—tedious patrols through the hot, dusty streets under an acidic blue sky or watched by the lidless moons. You only encounter another Endarkened once, a small imp skittering through an alleyway, which you dispatch with ease. The actual difficulty is something you didn't expect: enduring the stares of civilians as you walk by. The other Diminished fear you, because you work for the Autarchy, and many consider you to be traitors to your kind. And the Norms hate and fear you as well, since you are powerful and Diminished and allowed to use your abilities freely, with only the word of the Autarch as a thin chain to keep you in line. You have become used to the sight of people flinching away from you in the street, like a dangerous dog off its leash. But other than that, your initiation into the Shepherds is untroubled by nothing more than long shifts prowling the streets of Ashtown and Smoketown. You begin to tire of sweating under the brutal sun, of scanning the streets ceaselessly for any sign of a demon. Tallys tells you that the Autarchy usually dispatches the Shepherds on missions throughout Blest, to handle a village's demon infestation or to exorcise some Thrall, but ever since you joined up, there's been an unusual lull. "Lucky me?" you say. She smiles at you faintly. "Wait until things pick up again," she counsels. "You'll find yourself wishing for the days when you had nothing to do but patrol." *page_break *if (godspeaker = 6) Some of your patrols take you past the church where you first encountered the Revenants. Sometimes you allow yourself to glance over at the huge frozen demon that still looms there. Despite the church and the Autarchy's best efforts, the Revenant simply cannot be removed or destroyed; it stands there, utterly immobile, and eventually the stream of city life has resumed around it until it's become nothing more than a statue in the background. You even see birds shitting on it at times. Blade asks you what manner of spell you used to produce such a result, but you can only shake your head. You hope that the word of power doesn't wear off one day—that the Revenant doesn't suddenly just resume its rampage. That would be disastrous. But you can only make your circuitous patrol around it and hope. *page_break *goto now *label now *if cainesafe A few days after your initiation, Caine comes to visit you. He's no worse for the wear following his encounter with the Revenant, and his gratitude over being rescued by you is overshadowed only by his excitement that you've now officially become a Shepherd. *if avoidcaine He's also seemed to have forgotten all about your snubbing of him during your long caravan trip to Haven. *goto cainesafe2 *label cainesafe2 *if cainesafe "I knew it all along," he crows when he sees you in the dark-cloaked uniform. "I always knew you were meant to be a Shepherd!" "You did, did you?" you ask wryly. Caine nods his head vigorously. "My new master at the woolery—Zatani—he supports the Shepherds and thinks you all are heroes who keep us safe with no thanks. But he's [i]never[/i] going to believe I actually know one of you! Will you still meet with me sometimes, and tell me stories?" "So far there's not much to tell," you admit, but nothing can ever dampen Caine's enthusiasm. He only leaves after he wrestles many promises out of you to keep in touch. In exchange he'll bring you word of any gossip he hears in Smoketown or the Market Quarter. You watch him skip away into the glassy sunlight and wonder to yourself if you could have ever been that carefree, following your first near-death experience with a demon. *goto dayoff *if prihinesafe A few days after your initiation, a courier comes to visit you. He's a stiff-backed young Norm, sporting vaguely-familiar colors and the livery of someone belonging to the Consortium. For a horrible moment, you think you've been summoned by the Sun Court or its Inquisitors, but then you see that the courier bears a perfumed envelope addressed to you in feminine script. "A secret admirer?" Trouble asks, looking over your shoulder at the handwriting. "You hiding a lover from us, $!{firstname}?" You ignore him and tear open the envelope. Enclosed is a brief note: [i]$!{firstname},[/i] [i]You have my thanks. I will never forget what you've done for me. The gratitude of a Minister's wife has far reach within the Autarchy. If you ever need my aid, tell me at once.[/i] [i]Prihine Ushala[/i] *line_break [i]Wife of Turti Ushala, Minister of Trade[/i] When you look up from the letter, the courier hands you a hefty sum of money and trots away! *set gold +50 *goto dayoff *if bothdead A few days after your initiation, the Minister holds a grand funeral for Prihine. Hundreds gather in Whitestone to attend the burial, though Prihine was a transplant and had very few real friends in Haven. The newspapers write about her as if she were a saint: a beautiful young noblewoman snatched out of the prime of her life by a wicked Endarkened and (in some papers) the incompetence of the Shepherds. She is buried in the Norm tradition in a proud old graveyard near the Minister's home, and so many flowers pile on her grave that they overflow onto nearby plots. …Or so you hear. As a Diminished, you are not allowed to attend the funeral of such an esteemed personage. Caine is buried in an unmarked grave in Ashtown. When you go to lay flowers at his grave, you see that no one else has come to visit him—not even Ebert. *goto dayoff *if bothsafe A few days after your initiation, Caine comes to visit you. He's no worse for the wear following his encounter with the Revenant, and his gratitude over being rescued by you is overshadowed only by his excitement that you've now officially become a Shepherd. *if avoidcaine He's also seemed to have forgotten all about your snubbing of him during your long caravan trip to Haven. *goto cainesafe3 *label cainesafe3 *if bothsafe "I knew it all along," he crows when he sees you in the dark-cloaked uniform. "I always knew you were meant to be a Shepherd!" "You did, did you?" you ask wryly. Caine nods his head vigorously. "My new master at the woolery—Zatani—he supports the Shepherds and thinks you all are heroes who keep us safe for no thanks. But he's [i]never[/i] going to believe I actually know one of you! Will you still meet with me sometimes, and tell me stories?" "So far there's not much to tell," you admit, but nothing can ever dampen Caine's enthusiasm. He stays a while, talking with you about your new lives in Haven and begging you to keep in touch, before he suddenly remembers something. "Oh, the Lady paid me to give this to you," he says, drawing out a crumpled, perfumed envelope and a small pouch from his pocket. You open the letter first. [i]$!{firstname},[/i] [i]You have my thanks. I will never forget what you did for me and the boy. The gratitude of a Minister's wife has far reach within the Autarchy. If you ever need my aid, tell me at once.[/i] [i]Prihine Ushala[/i] *line_break [i]Wife of Turti Ushala, Minister of Trade[/i] When you open the pouch that she sent with Caine, you find that it's full of more gold than you've seen in your life! *set gold +90 Caine grins at you. "She may be a royal pain in the arse," he says, "but at least she's [i]royal[/i]." *set cainesafe true *set prihinesafe true *goto dayoff *label dayoff *page_break A few weeks after you join the Shepherds, you finally get your first day off. You're surprised when Blade stops by to tell you: somehow you didn't envision the Autarch's police force having holidays and leisure time. When you say this, Blade just smiles faintly as he walks away. "Make the most of it while you can," he says, ominously echoing Tallys' earlier words. "If we're right and demon numbers increase, days like this will come few and far between. Be sure to value your time." *gosub_scene dayoff *label dayoffover *page_break Time passes. The blazing Haven summer begins to wane, turning into early fall. The days are still warm, but the sky takes on a grey tint, losing its sharp blue acidity. Leaves begin to flutter in the street, crunching underneath your boots as you make your nightly patrols. Your life settles into the rhythms of life as a Shepherd. Still. Although your new home and life bring you some measure of comfort, they don't quite stop the dreams. At least once a week you find yourself tangled up in your bedsheets, sweating and fearful and near-feverish. You dream of blood and screams, fire and thrashing and burning pain. The dark laugh of a demon echoes in your ears—[i]Child. Long live the Nightwalker[/i]—and when you jolt awake, the words always drop from your lips before you can stop them: *fake_choice #[i]Father...[/i] #[i]Zori...[/i] #[i]Help...[/i] #[i]I'm sorry...[/i] Guilt and terror always roar up in you when you hear yourself saying that, the feelings sometimes as fresh as the day you turned thirteen. Shuddering, you tend to… *fake_choice #...revel in self-loathing for a while. Why weren't you strong enough to save them? What did you do? #...allow yourself to shed a few tears. You still miss them so much. #...force yourself to get up and do something else. No need to dwell on the past. #...clench your teeth painfully hard and glare at the ceiling. [i]Fuck the demons.[/i] They took everything away from you. #...close your eyes and force yourself into a meditative state. You're grateful that you survived, at least. About five sennights after your initiation into the Order, Blade leaves the city with a few other fighters to deal with a demon infestation in the nearby city of Ambryn, leaving Trouble in charge. *if (cainesafe = true) or (bothsafe = true) You're walking with the bored gunslinger on patrol when you hear a voice call out your name. You turn. Caine's there, looking both relieved and frantic. As he dashes up to you, Trouble says, "You know this kid?" *choice #"He's my friend." *set compassionate +1 *set loyal +1 "$!{firstname} saved my life," Caine adds, putting his hands on his knees as he pants for breath. "I'm glad I found you, $!{firstname}! I need your help!" *goto cainekidnap #"We're acquainted." *set cunning +1 *set loyal -1 "Acquainted? More like bonded for life!" Caine pants, putting his hands on his knees as he gasps for breath. "I'm glad I found you, $!{firstname}! I need your help!" *goto cainekidnap #"Never seen him before in my life." *set compassionate -3 *set loyal -3 Caine waves his hand and laughs like you've made a good joke. "We came here to Haven together," he tells Trouble as he puts his hands on his knees and tries to catch his breath. "I'm glad I found you, $!{firstname}! I need your help!" *goto cainekidnap *if (cainedead = true) or (bothdead = true) You're walking with the bored gunslinger on patrol when you hear a voice call out Trouble's name. You turn. There's a stout woman standing there at the end of the alley, breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed with exertion. She wears the simple clothing of a laundress—something her powerful arms also attest to. When you glance at Trouble, you see that he recognizes the woman. "Hey, Arta," he says. "What brings you to this part of town?" The woman bustles up to you, holding up her skirts. "Your quartermaster said you'd be around these parts," she gasps. "Take a moment to catch your breath," Trouble tells her. Slowly you notice that a furrow of concern is showing on his face. "She's a friend of my mum's," he tells you as Arta takes several deep breaths. "Always tried to help me out when I was a kid, even though she didn't have much herself. Lives in Smoketown." To Arta he says, "What's toward?" She finally straightens, and you can see the distress and fear stamped on her face. "It's Hal," she says. "Something's not right with him." "Her son," Trouble explains to you. He frowns at her. "Not right, how?" "It's like this," Arta begins. "In Smoketown there's been kids runnin' off. I didn't think much of it—there's always a scamp or two that comes back—but then my own Hal didn't come home one night. That's when I knew something tweren't right. [i]My[/i] boy wouldn't leave home like that, and scare me to death." "So I spent the next two sennights looking for him, high and low. Damn near scratched the eyes out of those Vice Guards, who laughed when I asked them to help." She frowns, then shakes her head. "Finally I found him a few days ago, dumped on my very own doorstep, barely breathin'. I bore him inside and swaddled him and looked after him, and he's—he seems stronger now. But he won't breathe a word about what happened to him. And he's [i]strange[/i]." "What do you mean, strange?" you ask. She presses her knuckles fretfully against her mouth. "I don't have the words to describe it," she says. She turns her beseeching gaze to Trouble. "Please, will you come have a look at the boy?" You glance at Trouble, who looks deep in thought. *choice #"It's not a Shepherd's concern." *set trouble -3 *set compassionate -1 "There's no evidence of demonic influence," you tell him. "It's not Shepherd work." Trouble half-glares at you. "Shepherds handle all manner of uncanny things, not just Endarkened kak," he tells you simmeringly. "And I wouldn't be going as a Shepherd. I'd be going as a friend." His gold-blue eyes flick towards Arta. "Besides, who's to say our patrol won't take us over to Smoketown anyway?" "Because we're supposed to be patrolling Ashtown today." "Good thing I'm in command, then," he says, lifting his brows. "Guess that means I can decide to patrol anywhere I want." Your opposition seems to solidify his resolve: he turns to Arta and says, "Lead the way. We'll have a look at the boy." You try not to roll your eyes as Arta clasps Trouble's hand gratefully and leads you back through the wending avenues of the city. *goto halpossessed #"Has the boy seen a Healer?" *set intelligence +1 Arta glances over at you, as if wondering for the first time who you are. "Aye, he saw one," she answers guardedly. "Healer said Hal is fine bode-wise. But he couldn't say what else could be ailing him." She shakes her head, her eyes a little wild. "But a mother [i]knows[/i]. His bones might be sound, but something else is wrong with him!" Trouble rubs the back of his neck. "I'll take a look at the boy." He glances at you sidelong. "You don't mind, do you, $!{firstname}? We were going to take our patrol over there, anyway. Shouldn't take long." *choice #Actually, I do mind. *set compassionate -3 It isn't Shepherd work, after all—or at least you don't think it is. But with Blade out of town, Trouble is acting Commander… So you just shrug. Trouble frowns, but he turns back to Arta and says, "Lead the way." She clasps his hand. "Oh, thank you, Trouble. I knew you would help." You close your mouth against your own protests as Arta leads you back through the wending avenues of the city. *goto halpossessed #I don't mind at all. *set compassionate +3 *set trouble +1 Trouble grins at you. "Knew you wouldn't," he says with a warm smile. Then he turns back to Arta. "All right, Arta. Lead the way." She clasps his hand gratefully. "Oh, thank you, Trouble." She glances at you, too. "Thank you to both of you. I knew the Shepherds could help." You follow her as Arta leads you back through the wending avenues of the city. *goto halpossessed #"You should help your friend." *set compassionate +1 *set trouble +3 Trouble glances at you sidelong, but it's a look of approval and appreciation. "Agreed," he says warmly. "Lead the way, Arta." Arta clasps his hand with gratitude. "Oh, thank you, Trouble." She looks at you as well. "Thank you, to both of you. I knew the Shepherds would help." You follow her as Arta leads you back through the wending avenues of the city. *goto halpossessed *label halpossessed *page_break Smoketown's name is fitting: this tier of the city is filled with a constant haze, not thick smoke necessarily but a veil of dirty air that rasps against your lungs and makes your face feel both dry and grimy. You follow Arta through the dizzying array of shacks and shanties, stacked crazily on top of each other so that they line the district like rows of uneven teeth. Finally she abruptly turns into a little hovel, indistinct from the rest. Hal is sitting inside on his thin bed, motionless. You examine him critically. The boy is about twelve or thirteen, with the thin, scrawny bird-build of boys that age and a tuft of pale hair. He doesn't look injured or hurt in any way: you can see no bruises or scars that would indicate a beating or some other type of trauma. And yet the boy is completely catatonic, responding to neither your cautious inquiries nor Trouble's snapping fingers in front of his face. His mother turns to you. "You see? He's afflicted with something." She stoops to peer worriedly into Hal's face. "I've brought Shepherds to see you, son. Can't you tell them what's happened to you?" Hal murmurs something, but it's too inaudible for you to hear. Hmm. *choice #I shake the boy roughly. Maybe that will snap him out of it. *set strength +3 You grab Hal by his thin shoulders and shake him vigorously. His head bobs back and forth violently with the motion, but otherwise the boy doesn't react. "Here, careful now," Trouble says uneasily. "You don't want to hurt the kid." *goto troubleeyes #I reach out to the boy with my magic. Maybe it will tell me if he's been infected by a demon. *set magic +3 *set psionic +3 You close your eyes and send out an investigative tendril of your magic towards Hal, searching for any hint of demonic influence on him. You feel around for a moment, probing. No, you can catch no indication that he's had any contact with an Endarkened at all—but there [i]is[/i] something unnatural there. Something you've never encountered before. It's almost the feeling you get when you're opening your senses to another nearby Mage, but also very different: there's something incomplete about this, something twisted and malformed. Like going to shake hands with somebody, only to come in contact with a metal hook instead of a hand. You open your eyes and quietly tell Trouble what you've found. He frowns. "And you don't know what it could be?" "No. I've never felt anything like it." *goto troubleeyes #I try to persuade the boy to talk to me. Maybe he's only frightened. *set charisma +3 You bend so that you're at the boy's eye level. "You can talk to us, Hal," you tell him kindly. "We're here to help you—we're friends of your mother. And we promise you won't get in trouble if you tell us what's going on with you. We only want to help." Hal just stares forward, his jaw slack. "Well, if his mother couldn't get him to talk, I doubt he'd be persuaded by even you," Trouble comments. "Or me, with my scary mug." *goto troubleeyes *label cainekidnap You glance sidelong at Trouble, who merely looks amused. "What's going on, Caine?" His cheeks are pink from exertion: the poor boy must have run the length of the city to come get you. "There's a boy at the woolery," he pants. "Hal. Another apprentice. Me and him are friends. Well, a few sennights ago, he disappeared. My master—Zatani—he said Hal must have run away, but I didn't believe that. Hal would have told me—and anyway we like our work with Zatani. There'd be no reason to run off. But no one believed me when I said something was wrong. I tried looking for him—I even told the Vice Guard—but no one gave two kaks about him!" "I'm not sure if I can help you with a missing boy," you begin. "Have you spoken to his family?" But Caine waves you off. "It's not his [i]missing[/i] that's the problem," he says. "It's that he [i]came back[/i]." You exchange glances with Trouble again. "I'm not sure I follow." Caine straightens, having finally gotten his breath back. "He came back today," he blurts. "Showed up again at the workshop… But something's… wrong with him. Something's different. It's not natural." *fake_choice #"What do you mean, 'not natural'?" Caine shakes his head. "I can't explain it. It's just like he's… not right. He's not the same Hal. And he won't tell anyone where he went." He looks at you with beseeching eyes. "Please, can you come look at him?" *goto cainechoice #"Do you think it has something to do with an Endarkened?" But Endarkened don't kidnap children, only to later let them go, you think. They either kill them on the spot or they don't. Caine is shaking his head. "I dunno. I just know that something isn't right. Please, can you come look at him?" *goto cainechoice *label cainechoice *choice #"I don't know... I don't think I could do anything to help him." *set compassionate -1 "Oh, come on, $!{firstname}, have a heart," Trouble butts in. "It's not like we have anything better to do, anyway." He turns to Caine. "Lead the way, kid. We'll take a look at your friend." You shoot him a glance. "This wouldn't be considered Shepherd work." He grins broadly and winks at you. "Then it's a good thing no one around here's gonna punish you for slacking off." He gestures to Caine. "Go on. We're following you." Caine's entire face brightens. "Thank you!" He darts off as he leads you back through the wending avenues of the city. *goto woolery #"Sure, I might as well take a look." *set trouble +1 *set compassionate +1 "You don't have to come along," you tell Trouble hastily. "I'm aware that this could very well be something mundane—not Shepherd work. But I think it must be serious, if Caine thought to come and get me. I might be able to help." Trouble shrugs indulgently. "You're lucky Blade isn't here," he says, "but [i]I[/i] don't care. Hael, I might as well come with. It's not as if we have anything better to do." The two of you follow Caine back through the wending avenues of the city. *goto woolery #"No. This isn't a Shepherd problem." *set trouble -1 *set compassionate -1 Caine's face falls. "Oh, have a heart, $!{firstname}," Trouble cuts in, exasperated. "It's not like we have anything better to do." He turns to Caine. "Lead the way, kid. If $!{firstname} can't help you, I'll at least take a look." Caine's entire face brightens. "Oh, thank you, sir!" You shoot the sharpshooter a glance. "Would Blade consider this Shepherd work?" He grins broadly and winks at you. "Dunno. It's a good thing Blade isn't here, isn't it?" He gestures to Caine. "Go on. I'm following you." Then he glances at you idly from over his shoulder. "Coming, recruit?" You roll your eyes as you follow your second-in-command back through the wending avenues of the city. *goto woolery *label woolery *page_break At the woolery, you find Caine's friend sitting on a pile of raw wool. The air is musty with the damp animal scent of the material as a few laborers work to spin it into plain cloth. Caine's friend, Hal, seems oblivious to the great noise and bustle of work all around him. He only sits there, dull-eyed, and nestles further into his pile of wool. You examine him critically. The boy is about Caine's age, no older than twelve or thirteen, with the thin, scrawny bird-build of boys that age and a tuft of pale hair. He doesn't look injured or hurt in any way: you can see no bruises or scars that would indicate a beating or some other type of trauma. And yet the boy is completely catatonic, responding to neither your cautious inquiries nor Caine's impatient bellowing. "You see?" he says, turning to you. "Something isn't right with him." "And he wasn't always like this?" Trouble asks, scratching his chin. "He's not just maybe slow?" Caine shakes his head vigorously. You notice he's seemed to have picked up the city burr. "Naw! He used to talk even more than me, before he went away." He turns back to his friend. "Right, Hal? You can tell the Shepherds what happened, can't you?" The boy murmurs something, but it's too inaudible to hear. Hmm. *choice #I shake the boy roughly. Maybe that will snap him out of it. *set strength +3 You grab Hal by his thin shoulders and shake him vigorously. His head bobs back and forth violently with the motion, but otherwise the boy doesn't react. "Here, careful now," Trouble says uneasily. "You don't want to hurt the kid." *goto troubleeye #I reach out to the boy with my magic. Maybe it will tell me if he's been infected by a demon. *set magic +3 *set psionic +3 You close your eyes and send out an investigative tendril of your magic towards Hal, searching for any hint of demonic influence on him. You feel around for a moment, probing. No, you catch no indication that he's had any contact with an Endarkened at all—but there [i]is[/i] something unnatural there. Something you've never encountered before. It's almost the feeling you get when you're opening your senses to another nearby Mage, but also very different: there's something incomplete about this, something twisted and malformed. Like going to shake hands with somebody, only to come in contact with a metal hook instead of a hand. You open your eyes and quietly tell Trouble what you've found. He frowns. "And you don't know what it could be?" "No. I've never felt anything like it." *goto troubleeye #I try to persuade the boy to talk to me. Maybe he's only frightened. *set charisma +3 You bend so that you're at the boy's eye level. "You can talk to us, Hal," you tell him kindly. "We're here to help you—we're friends of Caine. And we promise you won't get in trouble if you tell us what's going on with you. We only want to help." Hal just stares forward, his jaw slack. "Well, if his friend couldn't get him to talk, I doubt he'd be persuaded by even you," Trouble comments. "Or me, with my scary mug." *goto troubleeye *label troubleeye *label troubleeyes *if (cainesafe) or (bothsafe) He moves you aside to take a closer look at Hal himself, though you don't know what Trouble will find that you couldn't. You look away to gauge your surroundings: could something in the environment have caused this reaction in Hal? Some type of fume that addled his brain, some hidden abuse that Caine is oblivious to? *else He moves you aside to take a closer look at Hal himself, though you don't know what Trouble will find that you couldn't. You look away to gauge your surroundings: could something in the environment have caused this reaction in Hal? Some type of fume that addled his brain, some hidden abuse that Arta is oblivious to? It's not until you hear Trouble suck in a hard breath that you drag your eyes back to Hal. The sharpshooter has tilted the boy's head back and is peering closely into his face. Both of them have gone quite still. When you take a step to look closer, you finally see what's stopped Trouble dead in his tracks. There's a corona of gold around Hal's irises, easily missed because his eyes are hazel. But some intuitive sense tells you that that golden color isn't natural—more, it's [i]familiar[/i]. It's the exact same marking that rings [i]Trouble's[/i] eyes. *page_break "It's the Equalists," Trouble rants later, after storming back to the Shepherds' compound. He slams down his rifle onto the table and kicks aside a nearby chair. "It's the God-damned, pig-fucking, [i]kisich[/i]-worm Equalists!" "Calm down," you tell him, just as Tallys comes into the room with her eyebrows raised. "Who are the Equalists?" Trouble rips off the glove from his left hand and throws it onto the table, holding his palm out to you. "[i]This[/i] is the Equalists!" You stare. Carved in a ragged scar onto Trouble's palm is the emblem of an arcane rune, vaguely star-shaped, within a circle. *if (arcane >= 20) or (specialization = "binder") You think it might be a sigil for strength or power in the old Mage script. Something about looking at the scar makes your eyes ache and the back of your head itch; although the mark seems old, the scar tissue white and faded, something about it feels unnatural. Wounding. The room goes quiet. Tallys says softly, "What is that?" "[i]That[/i] is the work of the Equalists," Trouble says, his voice low and furious now. He suddenly drops his hand and puts his glove back on, avoiding your gaze. "You remember how I told you I used to be in a gang here in Haven?" *choice *selectable_if (troubletime >= 1) #Yes. *set trouble +3 *set intelligence +3 Trouble shakes his head. "I never said how I left," he says in a low voice, averting his gaze. "I don't like to talk about it—it wasn't in the best circumstances." *if (intelligence >= 15) "Something to do with these Equalists?" you guess. *else "Something to do with these Equalists?" Tallys guesses. Trouble nods. "One day when I was fifteen, me and the gang were out, running a grift. That was the name for when we hit multiple targets all over the city, so if the Vice Guard came, they couldn't get all of us at once. We only took a few things from each place—then, when we pooled it all together, we generally had enough to feed each of us." He shakes his head. "I drew the unlucky straw of stealing from Yevi, the butcher. He was waiting for us, though; clubbed me over the head before I even made it one step into his shop." He looks bitter. "I don't blame him. If I were him I'd kill to protect my own livelihood, too—especially from a kakhead like me." He sighs and rubs the back of his head, as if remembering the old wound. "But I suppose he hit me too hard. I was only a kid, see. Wasn't as hardheaded back then as I am now. And I guess he thought he killed me—bleeding from the skull as I was, and all. So good old Yevi panicked, took me out into the alley, and dumped me there to rot." "Gods above," Tallys whispers. Trouble doesn't look at her, as if made uncomfortable by her sympathetic gaze. "Anyway, I don't know much about what happened after that. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hideout of the Equalists." *goto equalistsintrointro #No. *if (troubletime >= 1) *set trouble -3 Trouble rolls his eyes. "My mother died when I was young," he tells you. "I was tossed out into the street to fend for myself—and I was forced to take up with a gang of street rats and hoodlums to survive. One day, when I was fifteen, I was out with them—we were running a grift—and we were supposed to steal from multiple targets from all over the city, at the same time, so the Vice Guard couldn't catch us all." He shakes his head. "I had the unlucky opportunity of stealing from Yevi, this butcher who hated our guts. But he was waiting for me—clubbed me over the head before I even made it one step into his shop." He looks bitter. "I don't blame him. If I were him I'd kill to protect my own livelihood, too—especially from a kakhead like me." He sighs and rubs the back of his head, as if remembering the old wound. "But I suppose he hit me too hard. I was only a kid, see. Wasn't as hardheaded back then as I am now. And I guess he thought he killed me—bleeding from the skull as I was, and all. So good old Yevi panicked, took me out into the alley, and dumped me there to rot." "Gods above," Tallys whispers. Trouble doesn't look at her, as if made uncomfortable by her sympathetic gaze. "Anyway, I don't know much about what happened after that. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hideout of the Equalists." *goto equalistsintrointro *label equalistsintrointro *page_break "So who are they?" you ask. Trouble's eyes burn with hatred. "They're cowards, is what they are," he answers. "Mages—a society of Mages and madmen. They think—they want everybody to have the Gift, in some way or another. They want to slowly convert the entire population into magical Diminished, make them [i]equal[/i]. They think that if everyone has the "gift" of magic, then the Autarchy can't persecute Mages anymore, since [i]everyone[/i] will be a Mage. And the Norms can finally be equal to all the others, to make it fair. That's what the Castigation was about, right? That inequality, that unfairness? So if they can fix that gap, everything will be fine between us." He looks disgusted. "Using that logic, they kidnap Norm kids from the streets—kids they think no one will miss—and experiment on them, trying to force magical ability onto them." *choice #"It makes sense, in a twisted kind of way." *set cunning +1 *set trouble -3 Trouble looks at you in disgust. "Only if you're a lunatic," he answers. "You can't [i]force[/i] a Norm to have magical powers. It's like sewing wings onto a horse and expecting it to fly." *goto equalistsescape #"How would they even do that?" *set intelligence +1 Trouble shakes his head in disgust. "Don't ask me," he says darkly. "They didn't exactly explain the logistics of what they were doing to their victims. All I know is the spells they used on me were… torturous. I've got all manner of weird energy swirling around me because of it." "Is that how you got your scar?" you ask. Trouble nods. "That, and my eyes. It's a mark of how they change you." *goto equalistsescape #"That's one of the worst things I've ever heard." *set compassionate +1 You're appalled: a society of rogue, cultist Mages kidnapping innocent Norm children to torture and mutate into Diminished? It's a horrible abuse of power—and more, it seems to fit exactly the kind of propaganda the Autarchy loves to spew. "They sully the name of Mages everywhere," you say angrily. "Yes, I'm surprised you don't hate them all, after what's been done to you," Tallys comments. Trouble frowns a little. "I at least have more sense than that," he says. "If you two don't hate me for all the things Norms have done to you, I can't hate Mages for what one group has done to me." *goto equalistsescape *label equalistsescape *page_break "So how did you escape their clutches?" Tallys asks. Trouble shrugs. "I wasn't there long before the Inquisitors got wind of what was going on and raided their hideout," he says. "One of the only things the Inquisitors were ever really good for. All of us kids who were there were freed, tested by the Autarch's Mages, and cleared as still… mostly normal. Not a threat, anyway. Then they just tossed us back to the streets because they didn't know what else to do with us." He runs a hand through his hair. "…I'd thought all of the Equalists died that night. I guess not." You and Tallys exchange glances as Trouble lapses into deep silence. Then the Elf folds her arms and says, "Explain to me why you think they've come back now?" She listens as you and Trouble bring her up to speed on Hal. "That's no proof that the Equalists have returned," she says after you're done explaining. "Just because his eyes look different?" "The pattern matches," Trouble retorts fiercely, his temper flaring up again. "Poor and destitute Norm kid disappears for a few sennights? Only shows up again, changed and traumatized—and with the same markings that [i]I[/i] got after my run-in with them?" Tallys shakes her head. "That's still some very circumstantial evidence. And why won't Hal just confirm that theory? And how did he escape? Surely they wouldn't just let him go?" Trouble throws a look at you. "[i]You[/i] talk some sense into her, $!{firstname}." *choice #I think Tallys is right... *set tallys +4 *set trouble -4 *set intelligence +3 You shrug. "I just don't think there's enough evidence to say definitively it's the Equalists. There could be other reasons for why Hal turned out this way." Trouble glowers. "I don't [i]need[/i] evidence," he growls. "I [i]know[/i] it's them. I feel it in my gut." *goto equalistsevidence #I think Trouble is right... *set trouble +4 *set tallys -4 *set loyal +3 "I think Trouble's on to something," you state. "Hal [i]did[/i] have the same look in his eyes. You can't explain that any other way. And it would make sense, considering the story of his disappearance." Trouble gives you a grateful look. *goto equalistsevidence #I remain silent. *set trouble -3 *set tallys -3 *set cunning +3 *set courage -3 *goto equalistsevidence *label equalistsevidence Tallys shakes her head. "It doesn't matter," she says. "Even if it [i]was[/i] the Equalists, it's not as if we can do anything about it." [i]That[/i] sends Trouble into apoplexy; you can almost feel the heat of his anger blasting from him in waves. His eyes seem to spark dangerously. "[b]What[/b]?" "It's not our business," Tallys reiterates, spreading her hands. "Tell it to the Inquisitors, maybe, and let them deal with it—but a bunch of rogue Mages, if it's really the Equalists, are still not Endarkened. Hal is not possessed, is he?" You glance at each other. "Not as far as I'm aware," you say. Tallys nods. "So it's not our responsibility. The Shepherds were formed to deal with the Endarkened and Endarkened-related threats. This isn't one of them." "The Shepherds were formed to deal with [i]any[/i] supernatural threat," Trouble fires back. "Diminished, demon, or otherwise. That was the whole point: to fight magic with magic, fire with fire. If rogue Mages go on a rampage, Norm soldiers don't stand a chance. That's why the Shepherds were formed—because they're the only ones who could." He glares at her. "It's our business." "[i]If[/i] you can prove it's the Equalists," Tallys retorts, folding her arms. "Which you can't." For a long moment, taut, furious silence reigns. You're wondering if you should get in the middle of this: Trouble, after all, is Vice-Commander and in charge of the Shepherds while Blade is gone, but Tallys certainly outranks him in terms of seniority and experience. "Why are you so callous about this?" the sharpshooter asks her finally. "Is it because the victims are Norms? Is that why you don't give a shit?" A wall slams up behind Tallys' eyes. "That isn't it." "It is," Trouble accuses, vehement. "If it was a sad little Elf or some orphaned Hunters, you'd be all over this. But because it's Norms, you're thinking, 'it's a Norm problem, so let the Norms deal with it without risking [i]my[/i] hide.' Right? Or maybe you even think they deserve it, so they can get a taste for how the Diminished suffer every day?" "That's unfair," Tallys says quietly, but she doesn't say anything more to dispute Trouble's accusations. Suddenly it seems as if she's retreated into herself, her shoulders hunching, but Trouble is relentless. "A lot of things are unfair," he tells her, throwing his hands into the air. "And we [i]all[/i] have to deal with that." Then he wheels around to lock eyes with you. "I'm going back to see Hal. He might be able to give me a lead on where the Equalists are hiding out. And if you're a good Shepherd—no, a good person—you'll come with me, $!{firstname}." Then he storms out of the room. After a moment of silence, Tallys also turns and leaves, her eyes downcast as she wraps her arm around to hug herself. *choice #I follow Trouble. *set troubleequalist true *set trouble +10 *set tallys -10 *set troublestatus "He's grateful to you for supporting him." *goto followtrouble #I follow Tallys. *set tallysequalist true *set tallys +10 *set trouble -10 *set tallysstatus "She's grateful to you for supporting her." *goto followtallys *label followtrouble You hurry to catch up with Trouble's long-legged strides as the sharpshooter sets off down the streets of Haven. By now, evening has fallen; lamplighters move down the street, laboriously lighting Ashtown's few streetlamps with wicks on long poles. The noise of the day's crowds has receded. Now most of Witchtown's Diminished are inside, enjoying dinners with their families or commiserating over drinks with their fellow workers. Trouble strides down the avenue, oblivious to it all. *choice #"Trouble, wait." Trouble glances back at you; his face relaxes only slightly when he notices you following him, but his eyes still blaze with the heat of his anger. "$!{firstname}," he says. "Figured you would come. You're one of the good ones." *choice #"I'm coming because it's my duty." *set loyal +3 "The Shepherds are sworn to protect the innocent," you tell him. "I can't turn away now." Trouble nods. "Like I said," he says gruffly. "One of the good ones." *goto troublemore #"I'm coming because I'm curious." *set intelligence +3 "I want to know if you're right, and if it really is the Equalists," you tell him. "And if they're really trying to force magical ability onto these kids." Trouble frowns at you slightly. "You've got a morbid sense of curiosity, $!{firstname}," he says. "Though I suppose I can't complain." *goto troublemore #"I'm coming to support you." *set trouble +3 Trouble looks back and stares at you. "You are?" You nod. "You need my support—and I can't let you go walking off all half-cocked. Especially into the lair of some nasty rogue Mages." Trouble grins, just briefly. "Well, I appreciate your loyalty, $!{firstname}," he says. "I'll remember it in the future." *goto troublemore #"I'm coming because I'm worried about Hal and the other victims." *set compassionate +3 *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +1 Trouble glances back at you. "He's a kid you barely know," he points out. You stare back at him. "So?" Then Trouble grins. "Like I said," he says, looking away after a moment. He seems a little pleased. "You're one of the good ones." *goto troublemore #"I'm only coming because I have nothing better to do." *set compassionate -3 *set loyal -3 *set trouble -1 Trouble stares at you. "You can't be serious." You shrug. "You want my help, don't you?" Trouble rolls his eyes. "I suppose so," he answers. "Though now I wonder if I'd be better off without it." *goto troublemore #"Slow down. I'm on your side." *set trouble +1 Trouble turns his head to look at you, and for a brief moment he smiles, like a sunburst flashing out from behind a bank of clouds. He slows his pace so that you can catch up to him. "Thanks, $!{firstname}," he says quietly. "I know you are." Then he looks away. "I wish I could say the same about the rest of the Shepherds." *goto troublemore #"You shouldn't have said that to Tallys. It was unfair." *set trouble -1 Trouble glances back at you, but doesn't slow his pace. "You think I was wrong?" he asks you. You nod. "Yes, I do. Tallys wasn't being a bigot. She was just analyzing the situation the way anyone would." He shakes his head. "You heard her," he says. "First she thought it wasn't the Equalists, then she said that even if it was the Equalists, we'd have nothing to do with it. What does she think the Shepherds are for? We're not just here to fight demons. We're here to keep things balanced between the Diminished and the Norms. If there's a group of rogue Mages out there, it's our job to stop them. Who else would have the power to? The Vice Guard?" "That doesn't mean you have to resort to name-calling," you tell him. "We can talk about our course of action without getting personal." Trouble turns away, though you can tell he's disgruntled. "I said what I said," he says shortly. "Let it be done." *goto troublemore *label troublemore He lapses into silence again as the two of you make your way back to Smoketown. You notice his gloved fist clenching and unclenching as he walks; his head swivels around and watches the night crowds, as if he'll catch an Equalist snatching away a child at any moment. After a moment you break the silence. *label troubleexplore *choice *hide_reuse #"So [i]can[/i] you use magic?" Trouble frowns. "Not in the conventional sense," he answers. "I can't consciously cast any spells. But I'm pretty sure my abilities have been—augmented, in some way or another. I can see way better than I used to. And when I shoot a gun, I can… [i]will[/i] the bullet to my target, sort of. That's a kind of magic, right?" "But I've seen you miss," you point out. He shakes his head. "I try not to use the ability as much as possible," he answers. "All magic has a price to pay. For Mages, it's energy, or willpower, or whatever. But for me, I don't feel anything when I'm using… whatever it is. And that creeps me out." He rubs the back of his neck. "What cost am I paying for what the Equalists did to me against my will? Am I selling my soul to Tapyt? Am I shaving a year off my lifespan every time I use the ability? I just don't know." *choice #"I wish you'd told me sooner." Trouble pulls a face. "I can't say I'm sorry," he admits. "It's a part of my past that I don't like reliving." Then he casts a dark look at the streets around him. "When I don't have to, anyway." *goto troubleexplore #"Is there any way to reverse the process?" Trouble shakes his head. "If there is, I haven't found it," he answers. "I'd guess not. I've just got to live with it." Then he casts a dark glance at the streets around him. "But that doesn't mean I'll let others suffer the same fate." *goto troubleexplore #"You should look at it as a gift." *set trouble -10 "It's enabled you to save others in your role as a Shepherd," you note. Trouble scowls at you. "I'd have preferred to do that the natural way," he spits. "I can live with what's been done to me, $!{firstname}, but I don't have to be [i]grateful[/i] for it." *goto troubleexplore *hide_reuse #"Where are the other victims who were rescued with you from the Equalists?" Trouble shrugs. "Hael if I know," he answers. "They all scattered to the winds once the Inquisitors turned us loose. Most of them were orphans like me—unwanted kids, urchins that no one would miss. I'm sure most of them have died since then." *goto troubleexplore *hide_reuse #"How did you end up joining the Shepherds after what happened to you?" Trouble shakes his head. "Couldn't go back to my old gang like that," he says, looking away. "By then they thought I was dead, and they'd been absorbed into another group. It wouldn't have been the same, anyway. So I took up some mercenary work for a few years, working as a soldier-for-hire around Blest. Then I met Blade, and a little while after that he invited me to join the Order." He looks briefly grim. "You know, I decided to join because I wanted to prevent what happened to me from happening to other helpless innocents. I wanted to stop the abuse of magic, Endarkened tragedies, and all that. But I never expected the Equalists to actually [i]return[/i]. And now they've fallen right into the Order's lap?" His mouth twists. "Doesn't it feel like fate?" *goto troubleexplore *hide_reuse #"Are you going to be all right?" Trouble looks at you. "What d'you mean?" "This is a pretty traumatic part of your past," you tell him. "Will you be able to handle it—or should I go on alone?" Trouble's eyes sharpen. "I appreciate the thought, $!{firstname}," he says tightly. "But if you think I'm sitting this one out, you're madder than the Autarch's son." Which doesn't answer your question, you note. But you choose not to press the issue further. *goto troubleexplore #Continue walking in silence. *goto hal2 *label hal2 It begins to drizzle lightly, then rain—fat drops of water strike your face with surprising force, and you pull up your hood to keep the downpour from your eyes. Beside you, Trouble's cloak steams: his very skin seems to sizzle with his determination and anger. Finally, you reach Hal's home in Smoketown. Here, the streets are almost completely empty, drained of the usual deluge of factory workers and laborers that shuffle to work each day. It gives the rain-drenched night an eerie feeling: the towers and chimney pipes of Smoketown look like dark monoliths, silently keeping watch over you. Inside, Hal is as unresponsive as ever, even when Trouble bends down in front of him and tells the boy quietly that he knows about the Equalists. He even removes his glove to show Hal the scar on his palm—but the boy doesn't even blink. He just keeps staring forward, expression blank. "He hasn't said a word still," his mother says doubtfully. "Not to me, not to his friends, not even to the Healer." "He's traumatized," you say, watching him. "Can't a Healer fix that?" "Sometimes… but Healing doesn't take away memories. Sometimes the wounds go too deep to be solved in a few minutes. Sometimes it can take months. Even years." Trouble looks up at you, looking both frustrated and helpless. "But we don't have that long," he says. "There's gotta be other kids—and right now they're suffering at the hands of those bastards. Hal's our only way to get to them." Hal's mother, watching from the corner of the room, spreads her hands. "I'm sorry. If I knew anything—if he'd said anything—" You stand there for a moment, thinking. The situation seems urgent: what will you do to learn the truth? *label searchfortruth *choice *hide_reuse #Try one last time to speak to Hal. *if ((charisma >= 30) and (compassionate >= 52)) *set charisma +10 You kneel down so that you're at Hal's eye level. "Hal," you begin quietly, gently, so as not to spook the boy, "I understand that you've been through a lot. And that you might be frightened, or… traumatized. But we're trying to find the ones who did this to you. They might have other children. Do you think you could try to help us help them?" For a moment, Hal doesn't speak. But you sense a kind of stirring behind his eyes: something kindling to life. You decide to push further. *choice #"Don't you want to punish those who hurt you?" *set compassionate -3 Hal's mouth contorts suddenly, and he takes a rasping breath, as if his lungs are constricted. Finally he grits out, with enormous difficulty: "…atacombs." "What? What?" Trouble asks, suddenly alert. Behind him, Arta covers her mouth. "What did he say?" "Catacombs…" Hal says again. He struggles to speak, as if he's not fully in control of himself. "…Hightown. Under…ground." His fists ball. "Get… those bastards…" Then his head slumps down onto his chest, and he says no more. Arta pushes you aside to envelop her son in her arms. *goto almostcompound #Don't you want to help those other children?" *set compassionate +3 Hal's mouth twitches, and he takes a rasping breath, as if his lungs are constricted. Finally he grits out, with enormous difficulty: "…atacombs." "What? What?" Trouble asks, suddenly alert. Behind him, Arta covers her mouth. "What did he say?" "Catacombs…" Hal says again. He struggles to speak, as if he's not fully in control of himself. "…Hightown. Under…ground." His fists ball. "Save… them…" Then his head slumps down onto his chest, and he says no more. Arta pushes you aside to envelop her son in her arms. *goto almostcompound *else You kneel down so that you're at Hal's eye level. "Hal," you begin quietly, gently, so as not to spook the boy, "I understand that you've been through a lot. And that you might be frightened, or… traumatized. But we're trying to find the ones who did this to you. They might have other children. Do you think you could try to help us help them?" Hal's mouth twitches… but in the end he says nothing. He just keeps staring forward. You sigh and look up at Trouble, who shakes his head. *goto searchfortruth *hide_reuse #Forcefully look at Hal's memories with your magic, even if it hurts the boy. *if (((compassionate <= 49) and (psionic >= 25)) or ((specialization = "diviner") or (specialization = "enchanter"))) *goto halmemory *else You tilt Hal's chin upwards so you can see his strange, changed eyes. He stares up at you, his expression first blank, but as you reach towards his mind with your magic—a scalding, scouring probe, rooting through his memories—he begins to react. His face contorts as he recognizes your mental touch, and he tears his face out of your hand suddenly, crying out. His thoughts slam shut against you: someone has invaded the boy's mind before, and he has built a resistance to the intrusion. You step back and take a breath as Hal turns his face to the wall and begins to cry; his mother hurries towards him and folds him into her big arms. You weren't strong enough to read his memories, after all. Trouble stares at you. "What was that just now?" *choice #"Don't worry about it." Trouble gives you a strange look, but turns back to Hal and says nothing more. *goto searchfortruth #"I tried to read his mind. He's not open to it." "I don't think [i]anyone[/i] would be, let alone a kid who's been through what he has!" the sniper exclaims, appalled. You raise an eyebrow at him. "I thought you said we needed to get the information from him, no matter what. For the other children?" Trouble looks away and falls silent. *goto searchfortruth #Search the area around Hal's home. *set cunning +3 *set intelligence +3 *goto search *label almostcompound *line_break Trouble turns to you and speaks quietly over the sound of her shuddering sobs. "Well done, recruit," he says. "The catacombs in Hightown, eh? We should have thought of that—they're a damn good place to hide. They sprawl out all the way under Haven like a system of roots. Sometimes scavengers go in there and get lost, it's so big. Or that's what we thought." He shakes his head. "The Equalists have to be there." "How do we reach them?" you ask him. He smiles tightly, and you can see that a strange fire has been kindled in his eyes. "There's an entrance at the Church of the One-God. Let's start there." *goto equalistscompound *label search You rise. "Hal's in no condition to talk to anyone," you tell Trouble. The boy doesn't stir at the mention of his name. "We shouldn't try to push him—it won't come to anything, and it will only traumatize him further. We should canvass the area and see if we can pick up any clues there." Trouble heaves a sigh. "He was kidnapped sennights ago, so it's doubtful we'll find anything," he mutters. Then he scratches the back of his head. "…But it's worth a try." Arta looks up from preparing a bowl of porridge for Hal. "Be careful," she warns. "And keep a low profile. If there are any of those child-snatchers around, they'll take off at the sight of you." Trouble smiles briefly. "Keeping a low profile is not the easiest thing for me," he admits. Then he gives you a glance of relief. "But at least I have our recruit here to keep me on the right path." He tugs his sun medallion off his neck and slips it into his pocket; you do the same. "Let's go, ${firstname}." *page_break Back outside, the rain has increased to a ferocious downpour; you flip the hood of your cloak up to cover your head again, and mutter a simple cantrip to light the slick cobblestones under your feet. Trouble says that you should take the lead with your magelight, but privately you're not sure you'll spot anything in this dark and sodden mess. The two of you trace Hal's route back from the workshop to his home—the likeliest path he was on when he was captured. The streets are empty, most of the homes shut up and dark, and it's an hour of bending in the frigid rain and blinking water out of your eyes before you admit, "…Maybe there's not much to find around here, after all." Trouble wipes his face with the back of his wrist. "There has to be [i]something[/i]," he says. He glances around at the darkened windows all around you. "Someone around here must have seen something. Kids are disappearing left and right, not just Hal. Let's start knocking on some doors." You turn to survey the muddy avenue. To the right of you is an inn: though the door is shut, there is a light shining underneath it—and moving shadows beyond. To the left of you is a small house with a candle in the window, though all the other windows are shuttered. *choice #"I'll take the inn." *goto inn #"I'll take the house." *goto house *label inn Trouble nods. "I'll take the house, then." *label innn *if visithouse Trouble is nowhere to be seen when you approach the little inn: there is only the clatter and rush of the rain to accompany you. You suppress an uneasy twist in your stomach and approach the inn's door. He must have decided to investigate further up the street. The inn's door doesn't open on your first set of knocks, nor your second, nor your third. It's not until you take a step back to survey the front of the building—contemplating maybe punching through that well-lit windowpane—that your ears catch the sounds of voices, barely audible under the pattering of the rain. They're coming from around the corner, down the alleyway that winds behind the inn: curiosity piqued, you creep a little closer, dampening your magelight and muttering another spell to better your vision. A large, aproned man you presume is the inn's keeper is hanging out of the building's back door; he seems unhappy and tense, glancing around for witnesses as he talks to his visitor. The man addressing him from the alleyway's shadows is tall and sinewy, with a pointed beard and a wicked scar crisscrossing the bridge of his nose. Something about him seems rodent-like to you. Through the rain you hear him whine: "Blast the Autarch's son!" "'Ere now," the innkeeper says sharply. "Watch your mouth. We don't speak 'eresy in these parts." "It isn't heresy, it's truth," the scarred man retorts. "That damned Firstborn's gone and put a bloody curfew in place. I can't leave the city." "Ain't my problem." "Oh, but it is, Filas," the scarred man says, stepping closer. "If I can't leave the city, I can't pick up my shipment—which means my employers will be very, very unhappy. You wouldn't want them to be unhappy, would you?" You think you catch the glint of a knife at his belt. "It'd mean they'd send me back here to collect their… goods." Now the innkeeper looks a little uneasy, but he says, "Yer not taking any more kids from this neighborhood, rat. That poor family 'cross the way's been looking for their little girl for ages…" The "rat" waves a careless hand. "She's in a better place now," he says impatiently. "Better than this shithole, at least." "You thank your lucky stars you're my sister's man. Elsewise I'd kill you on the spot." "I'd like to see you try." Then he glances behind the innkeeper, into the cheery glow of the kitchen. "Where's that apprentice of yours, anyway? How much would you take for him?" The innkeeper gives him a hard shove back into the alleyway before slamming the door in his face. You feel a sudden warmth radiating near your right ear; you turn to find Trouble standing behind you, though where he came from, you don't know. Even through the rain he smells of charch and hot metal. "Very convenient," he mutters, levelly enough—though his gold-ringed eyes are hard and blazing. "The child-snatcher's fallen right into our lap. Blessings upon the Autarch's son." He stares at the man in the alleyway like a lion crouching in grass: the Rat is now angrily pounding on the inn's back door, oblivious to the two of you watching. "Let's get him." *label confrontation *choice #"Yes, let's." *set trouble +1 *set courage +1 A brief smile flickers over Trouble's face. "After you, recruit." #"Now hold on a moment..." *set trouble -1 *set cunning +1 "We don't know if this is what it looks like," you tell him. "We should wait and watch a little more." Trouble shakes his head. "No way," he growls. "He's looking for a kid to take [i]now[/i]. He can lead us right to the Equalists!" Before you can protest, he shoves past you into the alleyway. Rolling your eyes, you dart after him. When the man spots you coming down the alleyway, he turns to run. A quick barrier spell blocks off his escape; he whirls like a cornered animal as you descend on him, wild-eyed, and blurts, "I have money! Take it and leave me be!" *choice #Grab the man by the collar. "We don't want your money, rat." *set ratscondition -1 *set strength +3 *set compassionate -3 You haul the man up by his shirtfront and slam him up against the alley wall. You can feel his breath, hot and rank, against your face: it smells of spoiled meat. "We want information." Trouble whistles softly: a Shepherd signal meaning [i]watch out[/i]. You glance down to see the man's hand scrambling for the knife at his belt. *choice #Knock the knife away. *set ratscondition -1 *if (strength >= 20) You easily send the knife spinning off into the darkness. The man yelps and puts his hands up. "I'm sorry!" *else You reach for the knife, but you're not fast enough to get to it before the man does. Before he can draw it, however, Trouble's there, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it back so that the man yelps and whines. "I'm sorry!" he cries. *goto interrogate *if ((astral >= 20) or (specialization = "elementalist")) #Freeze the man in place with an ice spell. *set ratscondition -2 *set magic +1 *set astral +1 You mutter the spell-word, and instantly the man's body is welded to the wall by a formation of ice: his hand is frozen in place, hovering just inches over the knife. He cries out in shock and panic. "I'm sorry! Please!…" *goto interrogate *if ((psionic >= 20) or (specialization = "enchanter")) #Force the man's mind to become docile. *set psionic +1 *set magic +1 *set ratscondition -5 You make eye contact with the man and bend your will against his, envisioning casting a net over a frantic, flapping bat; when you tighten your mental hold, he falters, then drops his hand from the knife entirely. He goes limp against the wall, eyes suddenly blank, before murmuring, "…Sorry. I'm sorry." *goto interrogate #Let Trouble grab him by the collar as you hang back. *set cunning +3 Trouble seizes the man by the shirtfront and slams him up against the wall. When the man reaches for the knife at his belt, Trouble bats it away as easily as if he were kicking a ball of thistledown, then growls and hauls the man up even higher. The Rat squirms and thrashes before squeaking out: "Stop! Please! I'm sorry!" *label interrogate *label interrogation *choice *hide_reuse #"Who are you?" *if (ratscondition >= 7) *set rattry +1 The Rat whimpers, but says nothing. *goto intimidate *else Sweat trickles down the man's face, slipping along the puckered grooves of his scar. He doesn't look so tough now, you think. "M-my name is Y-Yonni," he snivels. "I'm but a p-poor merchant. New to these parts, from Heth Macoll." Trouble growls and crowds closer. "Merchant of children's lives," he snarls. "Peddler of flesh!" "Don't you have a family?" you ask the man. "Can't you understand how much pain you've caused?" The Rat lets loose a howl of fear as he senses your ire. "P-please…" *goto interrogation *hide_reuse #"How long have you been taking children?" *if (ratscondition >=6) *set rattry +1 "Wh-what children?" the Rat asks, feigning innocence. Trouble's fist hits the wall right next to his head, cracking the softened brick. "[i]Don't try to play dumb, you fucking zib[/i]," he says in a dangerous voice. "We caught you red-handed, talking about it! [i]Now answer the question[/i]!" "I don't know what you're talking about!" the Rat cries—and says nothing more. *goto intimidate *else The Rat twists against your hold. "You'll hurt me if I tell you…" he snivels. Trouble's fist hits the wall right next to his head, cracking the softened brick. "We'll hurt you if you don't," he says in a low, dangerous voice. This is enough to convince the Rat. "A month, nothing more," he breathes, turning his eyes heavenward as if to pray. "How many children have you taken?" you ask him. "How many have you stolen from their homes?" "And are you the only one?" Trouble demands. The Rat squeezes his eyes shut, then nods. "I-I'm usually the only one," he mumbles. "Sometimes they go out, when they're desperate… but it's m-mostly me." "How many children?" you repeat again, putting a little edge into it. A hot, wet breath puffs out against your face. "Sixteen," the Rat whispers—but instead of remorse, you read only fear for his own life. *choice #Good. He should be afraid. ([i]Hit him[/i]) *set compassionate -3 *set ratscondition -1 The feeling of your fist connecting with his bony face is so, so satisfying. The crunch of cartilage, the howl of pain—it gives you a grim, burning sense of justice. You'll make him pay for his crimes. *goto interrogation #Slam a kick against the wall close to his body, to scare him. *set strength +1 *set ratscondition -1 The Rat kicks and shrieks as your boot sends shards of soggy brick flying. You feel strong enough to destroy the entire building with your fists and feet, but withhold the burning energy in order to learn more. *goto interrogation #Nod and thank him for his honesty. *set compassionate +1 The Rat blinks, surprised. "You're… welcome?" *goto interrogation #Continue your interrogation. *goto interrogation *hide_reuse #"Who are you working for?" *if (ratscondition > 6) *set rattry +1 The Rat squirms, but presses his lips tightly together. *goto intimidate *else The Rat whimpers and says, "Please…" Trouble shakes him roughly. "Begging won't get you anywhere. Coward! Kisich! I bet those kids begged you, didn't they, and you didn't listen then!" The Rat squeaks and squirms again. "Who are you?" he chokes out. You step forward again, close enough that you can feel the sickly body heat radiating from him. "[i]Who are you working for?[/i]" He cries out and squeezes his eyes shut. "They call themselves the Equalists!" You and Trouble glance meaningfully at each other. *set equ true *goto interrogation *if equ *hide_reuse #"Why would you work for them?" *set rattry +1 The Rat snivels. "They pay good coin!" Trouble makes an incoherent noise. "That can't be it," he growls, pressing a little harder on the man's neck. "You'd really sell helpless kids to them just for coin?" *if (ratscondition <= 5) The man pauses at that, his eyes darting everywhere but the two of you, searching for some means of escape. Finally he closes his eyes and breathes, "They're working for… this man. This thing. They worship him." "Worship?" you repeat. He shudders, as if he didn't hear you. "He frightens me. When I'm not helping them, I have these… [i]visions[/i]. Darkness where there isn't darkness. Voices in the shadows. So I have to help them, so I don't… [i]see[/i] anymore." "What are you on about?" Trouble demands roughly. But the man refuses to say anything more about the subject, no matter what you do. *goto interrogation *else Perhaps wisely, the man doesn't answer that. *goto interrogation #"Where are the children?" *if (ratscondition <= 6) The man bites his lip, helpless tears welling in his eyes as he seems to struggle against himself and your iron will. Finally he snivels and says, "What will you do to me if I say?" *fake_choice #"We'll let you go." *set compassionate +1 Trouble makes a little noise of dissent, but otherwise stays quiet. #"We'll let you go." [i](Lie)[/i] *set cunning +1 Trouble glances sharply your way, but otherwise stays quiet. He seems to understand your ploy. #"We'll kill you if you don't say." *set compassionate -1 The Rat shudders, then goes limp in defeat. "In Hightown," he whimpers, clear snot running down his nose. "Their hideout is in Hightown, at the Church of the One-God. There's an entrance there that leads to the catacombs under the city." You and Trouble look at each other. "That makes sense," he mutters. "It'd be the perfect place to go undetected—the catacombs are huge." You turn back to the man, about to ask what the Equalists do to their victims down there—only to find out that he's finally passed out from fear. You let him drop to the ground in disgust. *goto finishim *else The man twists away from you, his eyes bulging. He looks half-mad, practically frothing in the dim light of the alleyway. "Won't say," he groans. "Can't say!" *goto interrogation *label intimidate *if (rattry = 1) *goto intimidate1 *if (rattry = 2) *goto intimidate2 *if (rattry = 3) *goto intimidate3 *label intimidate1 You and Trouble look at each other. How far are you willing to go to get answers from this man? *choice #Punch the man in the face. *set strength +1 *set ratscondition -1 Your fist connects with the side of the Rat's face, making a meaty thud through the rushing of the rain: you feel a slight sting as some of your knuckles connect with his teeth. Then you wind back and punch him again for good measure. He cries out, turning his head aside to spit blood—but you can't tell if he's scared enough to talk yet. *goto interrogation #Let Trouble punch the man in the face. *set loyal +1 *set ratscondition -1 Trouble winds his gloved fist back and delivers a harsh blow against the side of the Rat's face, connecting with his jaw and probably loosening a few teeth. The Rat cries out, turning his head aside to spit some blood from his split lip—but you can't tell if he's scared enough to talk yet. *goto interrogation #Pull out your weapon and give him a scare. *set ratscondition -5 *set compassionate -3 *if (mainweapon = "sword") *set sword +1 *if (mainweapon = "bow") *set bow +1 *set mainweapon "arrow" *if (mainweapon = "dagger") *set dagger +1 *if (mainweapon = "gun") *set gun +1 The man shrieks before you've even brought your ${mainweapon} level to his face, allowing it to trail delicately along his neckline. "P-please," he cries. He smells sour, like sweat and urine. "I'll talk!" *if (possess_bow) or (mainweapon = "arrow") *set mainweapon "bow" *goto interrogation *if (((compassionate <= 45) and (astral >= 20)) or ((specialization = "battle") or (specialization = "elementalist"))) #Conjure a flame and bring it close to his face--close enough to blind. *set compassionate -3 *set magic +1 *set ratscondition -5 *set astral +1 The man shrieks before you've even raised your glowing hand to eye-level, allowing him to feel the sizzling heat on his cheek. A few tiny blisters bubble on his face. "P-please," he cries. He smells sour, like sweat and urine. "I'll talk!" *goto interrogation *label intimidate2 *choice #Punch the man in the stomach. *set strength +1 *set ratscondition -1 You wind your fist back and punch the Rat hard enough that the wind is forcibly knocked out of him. He wheezes, trying to get enough air back to talk. "S-stop!…" *goto interrogation #Let Trouble punch the man in the stomach. *set loyal +1 *set ratscondition -1 Trouble slams his fist into the Rat's stomach, mercilessly but lightly enough that the man still has enough air to talk. Still, he doubles over before wheezing, "S-stop!…" *goto interrogation *if ((arcane >= 20) or (specialization = "shifter")) #Shift your features into a nightmareish tableau. *set magic +1 *set arcane +1 *set ratscondition -5 You pause, drawing up to the Rat so that he has no choice but to look into your eyes. You concentrate and will your features to shift and warp: your pupil dilates and becomes the oval of a goat's eye, while your shadowed face becomes the dripping maw of a long-snouted reptile… The Rat gasps and tries to twist away from you, eyes bulging like a terrified bullfrog's. Unbidden, he begins to scream, and your features snap back to normal as you lean in close. *goto interrogation *label intimidate3 *choice #Knee the man in the groin. *set compassionate -10 *set ratscondition -2 The pain almost makes the Rat pass out—you can see it in his eyes. He can't do much beyond curling into himself like an insect and moaning with feverish pain, but you are relentless. *goto interrogation #Let Trouble knee the man in the groin. *set loyal +1 *set ratscondition -2 The pain almost makes the Rat pass out—you can see it in the way he turns white and doubles up. He can't do much beyond curling himself like an insect, and Trouble takes a step back, almost as if he regrets the move. However, when he looks at you, his face is set with grim determination, and he nods. *goto interrogation *if (((compassionate <=45) and (psionic >= 20)) or (specialization = "enchanter")) #Subject his mind to a little psychic torture. *set psionic +1 *set magic +1 *set ratscondition -5 You envision the Rat's mind as a ball of putty: you seize hold of it with your magic and [i]stretch[/i]. You will never forget the terrible, broken sound the Rat makes as the sanity briefly slips out of him. *goto interrogation *label house *set visithouse true Trouble nods. "I'll take the inn, then." The steps up to the old, rickety house creak and sag beneath your weight: for a moment you worry that the soggy wood will give way beneath you. Before you even have the chance to knock, the door snaps open, and a thin woman with large bags under her eyes stands in the threshold, looking wildly past you. "Rika?!" she blurts. Then she sees that you're alone, and her face crumples. She seems to slump into herself. "Who're you?" she asks forlornly. "Have you seen my Rika?" *fake_choice #"Who is Rika?" #"Are you missing someone?" The woman presses her lips into a thin line. "My daughter," she says, with an air of having said it a dozen times before. "She's… we ain't heard from her. My man's been out looking for her since last two-moon." You draw your hood further over your face: the woman seems oblivious to the rain and doesn't offer for you to come inside. But it seems as though this is another Arta; her daughter Rika is another Hal. This could be your chance to find a lead on these child-snatchers—or the Equalists, if Trouble is right. *label rikasmom *choice *hide_reuse #"Was Rika the type to run off?" The woman's face contorts; suddenly she seems quite angry at you for showing up without her daughter. "No," she says sharply, her voice high and shrill. "She's headstrong, sure—but she has a good home here. Good food and a good bed! If she ran off, she'd have come back by now!" *goto rikasmom *hide_reuse #"Did she associate with anyone you didn't know?" Rika's mother's eyes bulge. "What you mean, [i]associate[/i]?" she demands. "She's a little girl! She ain't—[i]associating[/i] with no strangers! She knows better!" "I'm not trying to imply anything," you tell her. "I genuinely just want to know. It could give us a lead." The woman falls silent, but her eyes continue to glare snake-like at you. "She didn't associate with nobody," she says finally. *goto rikasmom *hide_reuse #"When was the last time you saw Rika?" The woman sighs, looking impatient. She stares past you into the rain. "Who are you, anyway?" she demands. "Vice Guard? I already told them over and over—" *choice #"I'm a Shepherd. We're different." *set reputation +1 *set charisma +1 The woman stops for a moment, apparently shocked into silence. Then she says softly: "Shepherds? What would you want with Rika?" She shakes her head and says, "Never mind. I'm sorry. I… Rika was playing with some other children. Triss and her little brother. They went missing, too." She points behind you, towards the inn. "Weren't far from here. They were behind there." Her face twists in sudden contempt. "Filas, the inn-keeper, says he never saw nothing. Vice Guard never questioned him. But Bart, his assistant—he looks scared as sin whenever we come around to ask questions. Must be for a reason." You make a mental note. "Bart and Filas. Thank you." Rika's mother folds her arms and stares off into the rain. "I hope she ain't anywhere wet." *goto rikasmom #"I'm someone who's trying to help you. You could stand to be a little nicer." *set compassionate -1 *set cunning +1 The woman's mouth snaps shut; for a moment she can't speak. Then she deflates and mutters, "I'm sorry. I… Rika was playing with some other children. Triss and her little brother. They went missing, too." She points behind you, towards the inn. "Weren't far. They were behind there." Her face twists in sudden contempt. "Filas, the inn-keeper, says he never saw nothing. Vice Guard never questioned him. But Bart, his assistant—he looks scared as sin whenever we come around. Must be for a reason." You make a mental note. "Bart and Filas. Thanks." Rika's mother folds her arms and stares off into the rain. "I hope she ain't anywhere wet." *goto rikasmom #"Just tell me." *set charisma -1 *set compassionate -3 The woman looks taken aback for a moment; she takes a step back, as if finally registering that you're a stranger who could hurt her if you cared to. Finally she says, biting her lip, "…Rika was playing with some other children. Tress and her little brother, Dalas. They went missing, too." She points behind you, towards the inn. "Weren't far. They were behind there." Her face twists in sudden contempt. "Filas, the inn-keeper, says he never saw nothing. Vice Guard never questioned him. But Bart, his assistant—he looks scared as sin whenever we come around. Must be for a reason." You make a mental note. "Bart and Filas. Thanks." Rika's mother folds her arms and stares off into the rain. "I hope she ain't anywhere wet." *goto rikasmom #"Have you ever heard of the Equalists?" Rika's mother frowns. "No. What's that?" *fake_choice #"Never mind." She scoffs a little and looks away. "Suit yourself, then," she says. She begins to turn from the door: it's clear she's tired of allowing herself to hope. She doesn't believe you'll find her daughter. "If that's all, then… goodbye. And if you do find Rika, then please bring her home." The door snaps shut in your face. #"They may have been the ones who took Rika." The woman's eyes suddenly blaze in her sallow face. "I don't need to hear any of your fool ideas," she snaps. "Not unless you've got any proof! I've heard enough of [i]theories[/i] from other folk—and they never help. What are you trying to say?" *if (intelligence <= 15) and (charisma <= 15) "There's a boy a few blocks away," you begin. But you can't help but falter under her thunderous gaze. "His name is Hal. His eyes… are like my companion's…" Rika's mother stares at you as if you've gone insane. "Don't bother me again," she says abruptly. She waves you off as if you were a drunk in the streets, begging for money. "And don't come back here unless you've seen Rika with your own two eyes." Then she slams the door in your face. *else *set rika1 true "It's a working theory," you tell her, forging on despite her skepticism. "They're a group of Mages who kidnap Norm children. My companion was once taken by them himself, when he was a child. They experimented on him, and the ordeal left some peculiar…marks on him." Rika's mother has gone pale now, but she continues to challenge you. "And? Why would you ever think they were around here?" "A boy a few blocks away just returned home after being missing for several sennights. He bears the same marks as my companion. So we think the Equalists may be taking children from all over the city." For a moment the woman doesn't say anything. Finally she says, a little subdued now: "You know where they are?" You shake your head. "Not yet. That's what we're trying to find out." She puts a shaky hand to her head. The idea that her daughter was taken to be a magical experiment obviously upsets her. After a moment she says softly, "We always thought Rika had… some strangeness to her. Maybe something in our blood, from years back. We don't know where her da's family comes from. But we never took her to get seen, else the Inquisitors'd come for her." "You're talking about magic?" Some Norms have Mage ancestry, you know—the very faint traces of magic in their blood can cause them to become Hedgewitches. People with no more magic than what could make a wart fall off… but still considered dangerous within the Autarchy. "Was Rika a Hedgewitch? Or a Mage?" The woman shudders and clutches her arms as if you told her a horror story. "One-God help us," she whispers to herself. Then she shakes her head at you. "You should go. I can't be seen talking to you about this." She hesitates just before shutting the door, and her eyes are as gray and sad as rainclouds. "I hope you're wrong," she says finally. "But if you do find these… Equalists… and they have my girl… please bring her home." Then she turns away and closes the door. Far beyond, you can hear the thin, reedy cry of a baby starting up. It seems Rika has a sibling. *page_break You turn back to the inn across the street, though Trouble is nowhere to be seen. For a moment you stand there on the rickety porch, evaluating your options. You can't just give up now. There has to be a lead here somewhere. *goto kitty [i]Well[/i], you think to yourself, [i]that could have gone better[/i]. *page_break More knocking fails to coax the woman outside again; the window with the candle in it suddenly darkens. With no other options, you turn back to the inn across the street. Trouble is nowhere in sight, and you stand there in the rain, somewhat at a loss. Where could he have gone? And what do you do next? *label kitty You're broken from your thoughts by the appearance of a cat from around the corner of the porch: from the way it languidly slinks against the house's siding, it obviously belongs to this family, though its lustrous gray fur and sharp green eyes bely a pure-bred female rather than an alley cat. Where exactly did she come from? The cat stares at you with a knowing look, her whiskers quivering with tiny beads of water from the rain. Then she gives an inquisitive chirp. "Mrrp?" *choice #Kneel down and pet the cat. *set compassionate +1 You kneel so that you're sitting on the balls of your feet and affectionately allow the cat to sniff your fingers. Then it—[i]she[/i], you correct yourself—butts her head against your palm and begins to purr wildly. You smile to yourself. It's a bright moment in a dark night. *page_break Eventually your legs get tired, and you rise stiffly to your feet. The cat nimbly jumps up onto the roof of the tiny house and disappears. Time to get a move on. *page_break *goto innn #Ignore the cat and walk towards the inn. *set compassionate -1 You don't have time to be playing with animals. You have a case to pursue and children to rescue. *page_break *goto innn #Talk to the cat. Maybe it has some information you can use. *if (specialization = "wild") *set magic +1 *goto cat *else "Hello," you begin, a tad awkwardly. The cat stares at you, then blinks very slowly. "Er… have you seen anything suspicious around here?" The cat continues to stare at you placidly. You clear your throat and try again. "Do you know where your owner—the little girl, Rika—went?" Behind you, the door snaps open again, and Rika's mother glares. "What are you on about?" she snaps. Then she takes in the sight of you crouching to address her cat. "Mismis! In!" The cat shoots you an apologetic look before slinking inside before the door slams shut once more. You swallow. Well, that was embarrassing. *page_break *goto innn *label cat You concentrate for a moment, focusing on opening up your mind and senses to the chatter of the world around you. Your mind flinches from the contact—like eyes long used to darkness watering at the sight of sudden sunlight—but eventually the chirruping and noise settle into something more comprehensible. You turn to the cat and reach out a tendril of your thoughts toward her. [i]What's your name, little one?[/i] The cat yawns and stretches luxuriously. [i]My humans call me Mismis,[/i] she answers, [i]but among my kind I am known as—[/i] She says something untranslatable to the Common tongue. [i]Well, I'll call you Mismis, if you don't mind.[/i] You gesture silently towards the house. [i]This is your home?[/i] Mismis licks a paw. [i]Perhaps. Why do you want to know?[/i] You study her. Cats can be as capricious as they are loyal. [i]I'm looking for the little girl who lives here[/i], you tell her. [i]Rika. She was most likely taken away by people—predators—and I want to save her.[/i] The cat continues to lick her paw, as if she has no interest in this, but you note that her right ear flicks back and forth, as if agitated. Finally she says, [i]Yes, I have seen the snakes.[/i] You guess "snakes" to mean those who eat others' young. [i]I was not there when they took Rika, or I would have scratched their eyes out. But I know where their den is. I cannot get in.[/i] Excitement surges up in you like a flame. [i]Where is their den?[/i] Mismis shows her teeth. [i]They live in holes in the ground, and smell of dead humans. There is a place with a big yellow thing that looks like a man but stays very still. The place has other big holes, and other dead humans. That is the entrance to where they live.[/i] She sniffs at you. [i]Follow your nose. The whole place smells of death.[/i] "${firstname}?" You abruptly break the connection between you and the cat to jerk your head up: Trouble is standing there on the porch steps, drenched and looking annoyed, staring at you silently staring at a cat. "…What are you doing?" *page_break You stand up and quickly explain what Mismis told you: Trouble doesn't bother to question how or why you were talking to a cat in the first place. He says immediately, "What do you think it means?" "Hael if I know." You turn back to question Mismis further, only to find that the cat has disappeared. "A place that smells of death, with a giant yellow man that stays very still?…" He snaps his fingers suddenly. "A statue of the One-God," he says. "Those are always gold." You feel another surge of excitement. "You think she could have been talking about a church?" "A [i]graveyard[/i]," Trouble says, his eyes glinting fiercely in the weak light of the porch. "Dead humans, holes in the ground—there can't be anywhere else but the catacombs under the city! They'd be the perfect hideout for those rats—" "And there's an entrance to them through the graveyard of the Church," you finish. Your heart is thrumming rapidly in your chest, despite yourself. "The one in Hightown. Should we start there?" Trouble nods. "No time to waste," he breathes. *goto equalistscompound *label halmemory *set rika true *set compassionate -10 *set magic +10 You tilt Hal's chin upwards so you can see his strange, changed eyes. He stares up at you, his expression first blank, but as you reach towards his mind with your magic—a scalding, scouring probe, rooting through his memories—he begins to react. His face contorts as he recognizes your mental touch, and he tears his face out of your hand suddenly, crying out. But you remind yourself that you must be pitiless, even as Trouble and Arta start and stare at you. Other lives are in danger, if Trouble is right about the Equalists. Sacrifices have to be made. And Hal will recover, you tell yourself. At least, he should. You continue to reach for the boy's thoughts as he begins to scream. *page_break When you open your eyes again, you know immediately that your body is no longer your own. It's lighter, smaller, springier-feeling—you're in Hal's body. You are Hal. [i]What're you doing?[/i] A small voice speaks to you from some distant corner of your—no, Hal's—mind. [i]Get out. You're not supposed to be here…[/i] [i]I just need to see something[/i], you tell him. [i]I'm not here to hurt you. I just have to know.[/i] [i]Know what?[/i] You direct him to what you want to see, firm and unrelenting. His fragile resistance gives way to you in an instant, crumbling like a wall of sand before the tide. In a moment you're looking out through his eyes, the vision already hazy with pain and time, but with enough detail that you're able to surmise what's going on. *page_break It's the evening of Hal's kidnapping. He—you—are walking down the street on the way home from work, the chatter of other boys from the workshop fading away behind you as they go their separate ways. As you pass an alleyway, someone speaks to you from the shadows within. You look, wary; there's an old beggar with an eyepatch, reaching out with a liver-spotted hand. He looks dirty and frail, and not very dangerous, so you stop. "Boy," he croaks. "Please, boy. Spare a coin? Or a bit of food?" You are filled with pity for the old man. He reminds you of your grandfather, who is also missing an eye, though he is warm and jovial and cared-for by you and your mother and your aunts and uncles. Is this where Pap would be, if he were left all alone? Hal's voice leaves your mouth, without any input from you: you are, of course, viewing a memory that has already happened. "What happened to you?" "I got sick, lad," the old man says, mournful. "No money to pay a Healer, or any of those fancy physicks from the West. I can only wait here to die. But I'm so hungry…" Automatically your hand moves to take a copper coin from your pouch, strung around your neck and well-hidden from cutpurses. You can hardly afford it—you were saving up the money for a cake for your mother's birthday—but you figure she'll be proud to hear that the money was spent with good intentions. You move closer to drop the coin into the beggar's outstretched palm, and that's when he grabs your arm. "Thank you, my lad," he says, grinning, and when you look into his face, you see that it's utterly transformed: instead of the visage of a weary old man, you're looking into the mad, glowing eye of a Mage with a short, pointed beard. That's all you see before he mutters something under his breath and sleep descends upon you like a storm cloud. *page_break The next memories are blurred by whatever sedative they gave Hal to keep him calm. When you next wake up, you find yourself in a small, dark, windowless room with a dozen other children, some your age, others much younger. All cowering. The room is fiercely cold: you sense that you must be underground. A girl, stocky, tousle-headed, and fierce-looking, is watching you stir from where you've been dumped on the floor. She hisses, "Oi! You got a family?" It takes you a long time to get your bearings. "Yeah, I've got one," you mutter finally. Your head throbs, and you feel as if your skull has been stuffed with cotton. "Why?" "That means they're getting desperate," the girl says triumphantly. She points to a few other children in the corner, these more silent and subdued than the rest. "Them, they've been here longer than the others. And they're orphans—got snatched up 'cause no one would go looking for them, see?" She indicates herself and you. "But us, we [i]got[/i] people looking. That means they don't care anymore. They're desperate. They're getting anybody they can take." "Who's [i]they[/i]?" You feel as if panic should be rising within you, but for some reason you feel an odd lack of emotion. Is it an aftereffect of the spell that was cast on you? A potion they fed you to dampen your thoughts? "Who's they? Them crazy Mages, of course!" the girl exclaims. "The Catchers! The ones who put us here!" "What do they want with us?" "They want to give us magic," another girl butts in sagely. Beside her, a little boy no older than six sobs into his hands. "I heard 'em talking. They do stuff to us—stuff that hurts, from the screams—and try to put the magic in us. I saw one kid come out of The Room with his hair sticking straight up like it was full of lightning! But he died right after. They all do. It makes the Catchers mad. That's why they're getting more and more kids—'cause the first ones died too fast." The little boy sobs harder, though the noise never rises above a dry, shuddering gasp. "Shush, Yonny," the older girl tells him. "What's The Room?" you ask her. Her face is grave and smudged with what looks like wet clay. "That's where they do their things to the kids," she whispers, clearly trying not to upset the young crying boy. "Their spells and whatnot." You still feel no fear. You just feel hollowed out and stuffed, like a doll. "But where is it? What's in it? What does it look like?" She shakes her head. "Dunno. I ain't ever seen it. Those kids in the corner have, but they don't talk. Whatever they do to you in there makes you not want to talk." "Well, that ain't going to happen to [i]me[/i]," the first girl butts in fiercely. "I won't let 'em. I'm going to escape." The second girl shakes her head. "You'll get yourself killed." "Better that than let them put their hands on me!" "Wait," you interrupt. "How are you going to escape?" She turns to you, a little wary, but it's clear that you can't do anything to her that's worse than what the "Catchers" will do. "They need us whole, see," she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Healthy, so they can do their 'speriments. So if we fight each other, pretend to argue—" "They'll have to separate us," you say, seeing her plan instantly. The girl nods. "And I memorized the layout of this place," she whispers. "I wasn't asleep the whole time they brought me here, like they thought. If they take you out of this room and you can make a break for it, you've got to go left around the corner, then left again, down a very long tunnel, then right to this little wooden door. It doesn't look like it goes anywhere, but it goes outside." You're impressed by her resourcefulness. "Left, left, right," you say aloud. The girl nods. "[i]L[/i]et's [i]l[/i]eave, [i]R[/i]ika," she says. "That's how I remember." "What's Rika?" "That's my name, stupid." You're about to tell her that a better acronym would be [i]let's leave right away[/i], but before you can, the only door to the room suddenly swings open, eliciting little cries and whimpers from the other children. Standing in the doorway is a man—the same man who masqueraded as a beggar and brought you here. He's still wearing an eyepatch, so you presume that he actually is missing an eye—but now, in his true form, he seems young and strong. His face is stony as he sweeps the room with a critical eye. Then his finger lifts and points in your direction like a terrible weathervane. "Rika." The stocky girl flinches. The man's finger crooks upward. "Come." After a moment of hesitation, she rises. You want to say something to her—try to stop the man from taking her, even—but you've found that you're frozen in place: not by fear, but by some other invisible force. The other children also stand stock-still. The man has cast a spell on you! Rika pauses at the threshold. "What're you gonna do to me?" she asks, raising her chin. "You gonna hurt me?" The man looks down at her with cold dispassion. "Hurt you," he echoes, and he sounds barely human. "No, child. I'm going to give you a great gift." The door swings shut behind them. You strain to listen, but you can't hear any sounds of Rika running away. Later, the other girl turns to you grimly in the dark. "You asked what The Room is like," she says. "I guess Rika's about to find out." *page_break But Rika never returns to the cell—whether because she was killed or because she has escaped, you don't know. What you do know is that the sennight that follows is filled with more pain and terror than you've ever experienced in your life. Hal's memories become fractured here—the boy's endeavors to block out what has happened to him—but you catch glimpses of strange instruments, Mages hovering over your paralyzed body with glowing hands and runes to be seared into your flesh, only to vanish hours later. No matter how much you cry and beg, your captors are merciless. Worse, they grow impatient with you: it seems whatever they're doing doesn't seem to be having its intended effect. With time, you feel yourself withdrawing more and more into the sanctity of your own mind. The spells that they use to keep you tame and quiet are slowly rendering you mute, disconnected from yourself. It's an effort just to open your eyes, knowing what the day has waiting for you. One night, lying on the cold stone floor as your feverish body tries to sweat out the foreign energies now inside you, the other girl—Yonny's cousin, Tress—says, "They're hurrying, with you. Usually they only take a kid to The Room once a day. With you they're doing it lots." "You think they're getting scared that help is coming for us?" you whisper, unable to summon the energy to hope. Tress shakes her head. "I heard some of them talking again. I think they're getting rushed by somebody—a boss, maybe. Someone named Blaphemel." "Blaphemel? What kind of name is that?" "Dunno. But they're real scared of him." And if monsters like these are scared of him, you think, what kind of monster is he? *page_break One day a reckless impulse rises up in you, despite their spells, despite their cold and surgical torture-rituals. [i]To Hael with this[/i], you think, with the very last vestige of your old vigor. If things are going to continue like this, you might as well die trying to escape than submit to their experiments any longer. So, one day, you run. One of the Mages takes you out of the cell, and you make a break for it, remembering Rika's mantra: left, left, right. Let's leave, Rika. Miraculously, the Mage doesn't follow you; she only watches, arms at her sides, as you dart around the corner towards freedom. You barely spare a glance at your surroundings: the walls are curved, and close, and made of damp stone. You pass by several recesses in the walls that look like stone bunks. You run for several minutes, but the tunnels remain utterly silent, and no alarm is raised. Soon enough, you find the wooden door that Rika had once spoken about: a little thing, more like a hatch in the wall than an actual door, but you know instinctively it leads to your freedom. You're just reaching your hand towards the rusty iron ring set into the door when someone's hand touches your shoulder. *page_break You whirl. Then bite back a shout of joy. Standing there isn't the terrifying one-eyed Mage, or any of the other Catchers. Instead, this figure is small and stocky, and smiling, as if pleased to see you. Her hair is combed back and slicked smartly against her head. Rika! "I thought you were dead!" you blurt. You snatch at her hand. "Come—we can get help—let's go—" Rika laughs, and the sound seems odd to you; it's dry and fricative, and somehow insect-like. "Oh, no," she says. Instead of her urban burr, her voice is now sophisticated, purring—too adult. It's not the one you remember. "I don't think we're going anywhere." And that's when you notice it. Rika's eyes are different—not ringed with gold, like some of the children in the cell, but pupil-less and beetle-black. And her hand is glowing red, sparking with furious energy… [i]She's become a Mage?[/i] That's all you can register before Rika draws her hand back and blasts you with a gout of flame. You feel your clothes and flesh catch fire and you try to scream, but the fire rushes down your throat and snuffs the sound in your chest. Darkness consumes you in an instant. Rika's laughter rains down on you like shards of falling glass as you go. *page_break The next thing you remember, you're outside: the Catchers have dumped you in a muddy hole in the ground, leaving you for dead. Your eyelids crackle when you open them; you can't smell anything, but when you open your mouth to rasp a breath, you taste the overpowering stench of smoke and burnt tissue. An unfamiliar dog is peering down at you, sniffing at your charred sleeve and barking; you can see the pink, singed flesh of your arm beneath its inquiring nose. Above you, a golden statue smiles down at you. Blurredly you notice well-dressed figures approaching from a distance, exclaiming in fear and amazement as you try to move. You try to call out to them, to ask for help… But then the pain roars up again, too intense to comprehend, and you pass out once more… *page_break The next thing you know, you're standing outside your home in Smoketown. You have no idea how you got there—you think you might have walked in a daze, though from where, you couldn't say—but more unbelievably, your body is as new and unmarked as the day you were kidnapped. No burn marks remain, and one of the people who found you was kind enough to lend you new clothes. He spoke with a foreign accent, you remember. He said that you healed right before his eyes, and that you were touched by the gaze of the One-God. But you know that's not how you came to be healed. Rika definitely tried to kill you—she burned you to a crisp, such that you should have never been able to open your eyes again—but it seems the Catchers' experiments have had an effect on you, as well. True to their promise, they've given you a gift—or a curse. And they don't seem to know it. Otherwise they never would have dumped you outside like trash. But you can't seem to take joy in your strange fortune. The trauma of the past sennights has taken its toll on you: that fire purged every bit of you, extinguishing you to only a wisp. The act of regenerating—of waking up from the dead—is too unnatural for you to process, to allow yourself to experience and [i]feel[/i]. You feel almost as if you've been reborn without your true soul: that part has been released to the heavens, and the thing you're controlling now is simply… an abomination. Something separate from your old self. Something unspeakable and new. And everywhere you turn, you can't see the faces of your mother, your friends, the strangely-uniformed people who come to see you and ask about where you've been. You can only see those eyes. Rika's eyes. Inhuman and full of laughter, and blacker than the pits of Hael… *page_break You surface from Hal's memories with a gasp, like someone breaking from a long time spent underwater. There's a steadying hand on your elbow—Trouble is talking to you, you think—and eventually you're able to stagger into a chair as Hal begins to softly, helplessly cry. "Well?" Trouble asks quietly. He looks unhappy as Arta rushes over to comfort her son, but all of his focus is on you. "What did you see?" You take a breath and shakily manage to recount what you—and Hal—relived. Trouble's expression turns more and more thunderous with each passing moment, and when you're done, he stands up and begins to pace. "Fuck," he says. You blow out a breath. "I know." "But where are they hiding?" He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. "We still don't know. And how did they get that girl Rika under their control? Does that mean she really is a Mage now? They've succeeded?" "That's not the worst part," you say. "Hal escaped a few days ago. If they've succeeded, that means all of those other children…" Trouble's face spasms. "[i]Shit[/i]." "I know." You run a hand over your face, almost expecting your own skin to be blackened and charred. It will be a long time before you can forget the horrors of what you just experienced. Do you regret forcing Hal to relive such trauma? *choice #No. It's the only way to save the other children, and with time, he'll recover. He'd thank me if he could. *set compassionate -1 #Yes. The boy has already been so much, and I forced him to go through it all over again. *set compassionate +1 You shake yourself free of your thoughts as Arta leads Hal away to bed. There's no use dwelling on it now: what's done is done. "Let's review what we know," you say. "They've been luring children by preying on their goodwill, masquerading as beggars and victims. They take the children to some kind of underground hideout. Tunnels somewhere below the city." "The sewers?" "No, we—I—would have smelled it. It wasn't wet enough." He furrows his brow. "Maybe we should start with where Hal ended up, and trace it backwards. What do you remember?" You think about it. "Well, they dumped Hal's body in an open hole in the ground. I can't imagine they'd think it wouldn't have attracted attention." "Unless it's a place where dead bodies aren't uncommon!" Trouble says suddenly, snapping his fingers. "You said you saw a golden statue standing over you. Could that have been the One-God?" You catch his thoughts. "A graveyard," you blurt. "Attached to one of the churches. They put his body in an open grave!" "And the people you saw approaching," Trouble says. "They were well-dressed? Foreign-sounding, like merchants from somewhere else?" "So the church in Whitestone?" He nods, and you can see that a strange fire has been kindled in his eyes. "There's an entrance to the city's catacombs at that one. It'd be the perfect place to hide: massive tunnels, no one to disturb you…" You meet his gaze. "Let's start there." *goto equalistscompound *label finishim *page_break "What do we do with him?" Trouble asks softly, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the man. "Can't stick around and wait for Vice Guard to pick him up. Those kids need help [i]now[/i]." *label FINISHIMM *choice *hide_reuse #"What do [i]you[/i] think we should do with him?" *set loyal +1 Trouble scratches the back of his head in a furious, agitated way. "Oh, Hael," he mutters. "I don't know. Shove him in a closet somewhere until we can come back and then offer him up to the parents of the kids he stole?" *choice #"Oh, that sounds good." *set order -3 "Street justice," you note, flexing your fists. "I like it." Trouble grins wolfishly. "I knew I liked you, recruit." *goto almosttt #"Hmm. I don't know about that..." Trouble frowns. "What do you suggest, then?" *goto FINISHIMM #"Tie him up and leave him with the innkeeper. Tell him to turn the Rat over to the Vice Guard." *set troubleharden +1 *set order +3 *set loyal +3 Trouble makes a face at that. "How do we know the innkeeper won't just turn him loose?" "Why would he?" "I dunno. The Rat offers him coin, or something." "We'll just have to take that chance. It's the only way we have of going through legal channels. This way, he's punished, and legitimately; and if he's not, that's not on us." Trouble frowns but doesn't argue with you. Eventually he nods, and the two of you get to work trussing up the Rat like a holiday bird. *goto almosttt #"Let him go. He's not the mastermind here, only the lackey." *set trouble -1 *set compassionate +3 Trouble scowls. "He'll only get taken up by some other shitheads and made to do worse someday," he grumbles. "You sure we want to just… let him go, no consequences?" You fold your arms. "We have bigger fish to fry." He growls, then stoops to rifle through the Rat's pockets. Upon finding the man's signaculum—the small disc indicating his name, status, and address—he stands up and pockets it. "If I catch wind of any other kids disappearing, I'm going straight to you," he says, addressing the man's unconscious body more than he is addressing you. "Yonni Matin. I'll remember you." Then he spits on the ground near the Rat's hand. "You'll get your punishment in the afterlife, dogshit." *goto almosttt #"Kill him. Child-snatchers deserve death." *set troubleharden -1 *set compassionate -10 *set trouble -1 *set loyal -3 Trouble's brows snap down. "You mean murder an unarmed, unconscious man in cold blood?" You stare right back. "He sent those children to their deaths in cold blood." For a moment he seems to wrestle with himself, clearly at odds with your logic and his own morality. Finally he grimaces and says, in a very low voice: "…I don't think I can." *choice #"Fine. I'll do it." *set cantbecommander +1 *set compassionate -10 *set courage +1 *set order -10 Trouble winces. "If you want to." He turns his back to you, a concession—one that is very difficult for him to make, considering the way his hands twitch and clench against his sides. He inhales deeply, once or twice, as if fighting off nausea. "Get it over with, then," he mutters. Then he looks up at the sky, despite the rain. You kneel swiftly, drawing your ${mainweapon} without a sound. The Rat's dead before he ever has a chance to wake up. *choice #Take his coin. *set gold +20 *set trouble -3 *set compassionate -10 *set cunning +10 Trouble's eyes flash when he sees you removing the dead man's coin pouch, and his lip curls. "What?" You shrug in response to his silent accusation. "It's not as if he'll need it." Then you get to work putting his body in the trash, where it belongs. *set troublestatus "He's not the biggest fan of your tactics." *goto almosttt #Leave it. Trouble's looking this way again. *goto almosttt #"You're going to have to do worse than this eventually, you know." *set trouble -3 *set troubleharden -1 *set compassionate -10 Trouble's eyes flare. "I know that." Then he turns his back to you: it's a concession, and one that it is very difficult for him to make, judging by the way his hands twitch and clench against his sides. "Get it over with, then," he mutters, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders against the cold. "And let's not speak of this ever again." You kneel swiftly, drawing your ${mainweapon} without a sound. The Rat's dead before he ever has a chance to wake up. *choice #Take his coin. *set gold +20 *set compassionate -3 *set cunning +3 *set trouble -10 Trouble's eyes flash when he sees you removing the dead man's coin pouch, and his lip curls. "What?" You shrug in response to his silent accusation. "It's not as if he'll need it." Then you get to work putting his body in the trash, where it belongs. *set troublestatus "He's not the biggest fan of your tactics." *goto almosttt #Leave it. Trouble's looking this way again. *goto almosttt *label almosttt *page_break ... Afterwards, Trouble turns to you and surveys you grimly through the rain. "Hightown, then," he says. "The Church of the One-God. That's the only place where we can get into the catacombs—and find the kids." "If they're alive," you can't help but point out. Trouble's gloved fist balls. "They are," he grinds out. "I can feel it. They have to be." [i]Those things don't mean the same[/i], you think, but you only silently nod and follow Trouble as he lopes through the rain towards Hightown. *label equalistscompound *page_break The journey up to Hightown is a sluggish nightmare: the rain has become a ferocious downpour, thunder rumbling like falling boulders and lightning cleaving the black sky above. Haven is built in tiers, on a slope, and although it has excellent drainage systems, you can't help but feel your journey uphill is rather like walking up a mudslide or avalanche. At times the miserable brown water rushes up to your knees, and Trouble has to reach out and grab your shoulder to steady you. Finally you reach the Church, with its great towering statue looming up through the dark, the palms of the One-God upturned as if to catch the lightning. You hurry to shield yourself along the darkened wall of the graveyard, surveying the mausoleum (the only free-standing building other than the Church) from a distance. Although you doubt anyone could spot you through the deluge of rain—and the lightless night—you're not about to take any chances. Trouble crouches on his haunches near you, watching the small gold-tipped roof with glittering eyes. "That place leads to the catacombs," he says, so quietly you almost don't hear. "That's where the Equalists must be." Then he's pulling the rifle off of his back, removing its waterproof cover and checking his ammunition. "You going to be all right, $!{firstname}? I know this is your first big mission, so if it's too much, you can go back." You eye the big gun and ask, "What's the plan?" Trouble lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug. "Kick the door down. Storm the place. Kill them all—take no prisoners. Free the kids and get out." *label uh *choice *hide_reuse #"...Are you sure you're thinking straight?" Trouble clearly has an extremely loaded and traumatic past regarding the Equalists: that, paired with his hot temper, could cloud his thinking and feed his need for revenge. You have to be sure he has his head on straight before he does this. *if (trouble >= 35) *set trouble +1 Trouble's eyes flare, and he holds himself still and taut for a moment before speaking. Finally the air rushes out of him and he says softly, "…Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for your concern, $!{firstname}." *goto uh *else Trouble's eyes flare, and he holds himself still and taut for a moment before speaking. Finally the air rushes out of him and he says tightly, "Don't you worry yourself, recruit. I'm fine. Now let's go." *goto uh #"All right. I'll follow your lead." He's the experienced one here, after all. *set loyal +3 *set courage +3 It makes sense, you think to yourself. Getting the drop on the Equalists first means they won't have time to surprise you or ambush you. Hopefully you can end this before they even know what's going on. Trouble cocks his rifle and straightens. "All right," he says softly. "Follow my lead." *goto attack #"We should take a stealthy approach instead. Sneak in, secure the children, find out what's going on, [i]then[/i] attack." *set cunning +3 *set intelligence +3 Trouble blinks. "Sneaking around opens up the possibility of getting jumped ourselves—if we don't get the drop on them first, things could go sideways." "If we burst in there, guns blazing, they could kill the children before we ever find them," you counter evenly. For a moment, he thinks over it, his mind working in such a furious way that you could swear you can hear the gears in his head clanking. Finally Trouble clicks his tongue softly and says, "Ay, you're right, recruit. As usual." He motions with his gun. "You lead, then. I'll cover your back." You nod and turn to make your way down into the tunnels, and into the darkness you know is waiting there for you. *goto stealth *label stealth *set encounteredblaphemel true *achieve restraint *page_break ... No sound or movement greets you as you slip through the small wooden hatch in the inner wall of the mausoleum, emerging from the other side into a darkened, musty tunnel. It seems just as deserted as one would expect—but you know that if the Equalists have managed to stay hidden for this long, it wouldn't be so easy to just stumble across them. You glance at Trouble, and he gives you a sharp nod. Onward. You shuffle forward and begin to descend down the throat of the tunnel into its gut. *page_break ... The tunnels under Haven, you know, were once used to transport Diminished slaves into the city after the Castigation. Some years after, a controversial bill passed in the Consortium outlawing slavery: as a result, the tunnels were largely abandoned, sealed up, and repurposed to become a vast underground network in which the nameless dead were kept. The catacombs. Creeping through the place, disguised with a minor cloaking spell that will fall away if anyone notices it enough to dispel it, you can still see evidence of the dark deeds these passageways once concealed: everywhere there are rusting chains, cages, and carts to transport unfortunate captives in the days after the war. Trouble, lacking the spell that enhances your vision, narrowly avoids bashing into these obstacles frequently; through the psychic link you've set up between the two of you, you can sense rather than hear the steady stream of curses going through his head. The air in the tunnels is stale and damp—though not as foul-smelling as you imagined, just dusty—and it's almost black as pitch. The sense of sliding down a gullet increases as your sense of balance skews, feeling as if you're continuing [i]down[/i] even though you can't [i]see[/i] it. You can't risk a light. With your heightened vision you note that an eerie red clay covers the walls; occasionally Trouble puts a gloved hand out for balance, only to pull away and find his palm covered in something like blood. He thinks at you, sourly: [i]This place must be what Hael looks like[/i]. *fake_choice #[i]No. Hael looks like this tunnel when it was still in use.[/i] You hear the sharp intake of Trouble's breath—breath sounds so loud in this dark, oppressive space—but he says or thinks nothing more. #Stay silent. You need to concentrate. Eventually, you sense the tunnel 'leveling out,' so that you're no longer shuffling downwards. There's a fork in the passageways in front of you. One path slides to the right, and one winds lazily to the left. Even when you strain your eyes and ears for some sign that either is occupied, you sense nothing: there's no light, sound, or disturbance of air to provide you a clue. With a prickling sense of worry, you hope you'll remember how to get out of this labyrinth when the time comes. Behind you, Trouble draws close, his presence a burning heat in the dark tunnel. *choice #Let's go right. *goto rightway1 #Let's go left. *goto divert *label divert After a few minutes, you begin to hear the sound of dripping water. You straighten your back and pick up your stride: it's the first sound you've heard in ages, and it seems promising. …However, it takes another several minutes for you to discover that you've hit a dead end. You have to waste more time backtracking. *choice #I'll go right now. *goto rightway1 #I'll go left now. *goto divert2 *label divert2 This… Haven't you come this way before? You hear the sound of dripping water again and silently groan. Another dead end… or the same one? Trouble shoots you an incredulous look. Time to backtrack again. Finally you decide to take a corridor you haven't taken before. *page_break *label rightway1 A few sweaty moments of creeping in the dark bring you to a small door tucked away on your right: groping, your hand comes to rest against the rotting wood, and you close your eyes and concentrate. You can't hear anything going on behind the door. Beside you, Trouble silently raises his gun and nods at you. You gently push open the door. There's another moment of waiting with your heart thundering in your throat, straining your ears and eyes for any movement within… then the two of you slip inside, shutting the door carefully behind you. You conjure a small blue witchlight and look around. This seems to be a barracks of some sort: there are two damp and mildewy cots here, a few unlit candles scattered over the floor, and two worktables littered with papers and books. Other than that, it's completely empty. *label barracks *choice *hide_reuse #Approach the desks. Moving silently, you approach the first desk to find it neatly organized, with a stack of research books and spell tomes in one corner and what looks to be a sheathe of letters or personal papers in the middle. Carefully picking up the letters, you begin to read… *goto letters *hide_reuse #Look at the cots. *goto cots #Leave the room. *goto rightway2 *label letters *page_break [i]6 Camoa[/i] *line_break [i]The experiments have begun for our first six subjects. Almost immediately, one expired. The rest are still alive, but our attempts to bind magical energy to them—in principle, the same practice that allows Binders to store magic in their weapons and enchanted objects—have failed.[/i] [i]Sennez is very, very displeased by our early failure, despite his encouraging speech not one sennight ago. He has instructed me to find a peddler of flesh to find more children for us. I will begin the search tomorrow.[/i] *page_break [i]8 Camoa[/i] *line_break [i]I have found a merchant who can bring us what we need. [/i] [i]Today, Yugao and I fought bitterly. He blames the fragility of the subjects on their youth—if we procured adults, he argues, they would be much hardier and more able to withstand the harsh energies we draw into their bodies.[/i] [i]He is a fool, of course. It must be children. Their malleability makes them the only suitable recipients for this power: in the same way that it is easier for the young to learn a new language than the old, their half-formed bodies and minds have not been solidified by adulthood and everyday life. If anyone can be elevated—if anyone can [i]learn[/i] the gift of magic, once it is given—it is them, and them alone.[/i] *page_break [i]15 Camoa[/i] *line_break [i]Our experiments continue to fail.[/i] [i]Before long, we will run into the same problem the first group ran into: so many children will go missing that we will be discovered. [/i] [i]I warned Sennez as much, and the next day he went out and returned with a mysterious object wrapped in his hands. I know not what it is—it seemed black and orb-like—but I sense a powerful miasma rising from it. He claims it will grant us the power we need to succeed.[/i] *page_break [i]20 Camoa[/i] *line_break [i]I am losing track of the days.[/i] [i]There is no light down here, and I have not seen the sun since I went out to procure our merchant. And I can barely sleep, for I feel a dark presence haunting my dreams. Lurking in the shadows in the corner of my eyes. [/i] [i]Is it guilt that haunts me? Doubt—the great enemy of progress, as Sennez says? [/i] [i]Or something else?[/i] *page_break [i]5 Kthili[/i] *line_break [i]Whatever object Sennez procured, it is working. [/i] [i]Our first success came today! A girl by the name of Rika woke up with the ability to conjure fire. She is about eleven years of age, stocky and short of build, and claimed previously to come from Norm parents. Perhaps it is her pure blood that makes her suitable to receive the gift?[/i] [i]Her sclera are black as pitch now, but this is hardly different from our previous subjects, who had gold pigmentation appear in their irises. [/i] [i]She killed Kit where he stood, but Sennez—with the help of that strange black orb—was able to get her under control. She is as docile as a cat now.[/i] [i]I do wonder what that thing is: the orb that Sennez claims grants him great power. When I am in the operating room alone with it—for he has placed it on a high table, as if to allow it to keep watch over our procedures—I sometimes think I can hear it whispering, and once I caught Yugao talking to it. He doesn't sleep anymore, Yugao, and only paces our room over and over, muttering things to himself. [/i] [i]Earlier tonight (or is it daytime? I'm never sure anymore), I awoke to find him sitting on my chest, eyes glittering like the red pupils of a rat's. He said nothing, and I pushed him off. [/i] [i]I should be happy about our success—tomorrow we will see what else Rika can do—but instead I feel only a sense of unease.[/i] *page_break The diary entries stop there. You move over to the other desk, which is considerably more haphazard and disorganized than the other one, scattered with papers and strange, violently-drawn sketches. You pick up one page to find the same thing drawn over and over, in lazy loops and harsh stark print: [i]Blaphemel Blaphemel Blaphemel Blaphemel[/i] Another one reads: [i]Master gives us power. When He is near I feel so strong, so safe. He gives us the power to make our dreams come true. He promises us everything.[/i] A third reads: [i]Sometimes he sings to us. I don't understand the words, but it's a song that I heard once in the womb, before I tore my way out to find it.[/i] The last one reads: [i]Trea doesn't understand. Xe doesn't see him. Our infernal prince, our lord and master. I'll make xer see.[/i] *goto barracks *label cots One cot is rumpled and messy, as if its owner tosses in their sleep and never makes their bed. The other one is immaculately-neat, the sheets drawn and tight, unmarred except for the giant bloodstain spread across the bed. Trouble leans close and touches the stain cautiously: it is old, and whoever bled there did so a while ago. Judging from the size, you guess they most likely died from the wound. *goto barracks *label rightway2 Slipping out of the room—and unable to communicate much about what you found there—you creep down the tunnel until you reach another fork in the passage. This time you… *choice #Take the right path. *goto rightway3 #Take the left path. *goto divert3 *label rightway3 Once again, you find a small door set into the wall, and again, you can't hear or sense anything behind it. Again Trouble raises his gun, and again you gently ease the door open, taking care not to let its hinges squeak. Slipping inside, your senses are immediately assaulted by something… noxious. It feels similar to breathing in toxic fumes, or entering a room that has contained a decomposing corpse for week: you find yourself breathing through your mouth, even though the sensation is less physical and more psychic. Even Trouble seems to feel something, edging uneasily backwards until his back hits the closed door. You fight the urge to retch. Terrible magic has been wrought here: evil magic, uncanny and unnatural magic—Endarkened magic, you think. In the old days people would call it the Rot: something so foul and unnatural that it corrupted things from the inside-out. Why are you feeling it so strongly [i]here[/i]? Your stinging eyes survey the room, taking in the dim shapes that lurk in the darkness. There's a sarcophagus here in the middle, a solid gray slab that seems to have been made into a morbid operating table. Here are worktables with vicious and gruesome medical tools; and in the corner, summoning circles that hurt your eyes when you look at them. To the far right, a tall, high table with a large black orb—held on a pedestal shaped like a claw—looms ominously. A poisonous miasma seems to leak from the orb. *label lab *choice *hide_reuse #Approach the worktables. You approach the worktables, swallowing your revulsion when you notice most of the tools lying on them haven't been cleaned of blood. Again you notice there are a few notes scattered across their surfaces: [i]So the orb is a connection to Blaphemel[/i], one notes. [i]Sennez has sold something—perhaps his soul—to the demon in order to augment his magical power. And in exchange, the demon helps us with our experiments… But for what purpose?[/i] *page_break [i]The fusion is seamless,[/i] another paper says, though this is in considerably shakier handwriting. [i]It is a thing of beauty, to see another soul inhabit a child's body, shunting the native spirit aside for control. And with the demon's help, what was once a helpless runt becomes a living god, a powerful magical being able to strike fear into the Autarchy…[/i] *page_break [i]We have only managed to convert one[/i], the last paper says. [i]Rika, her name is. The other children are too weak, and the possession does not seem to take. We will have to get rid of them soon and find others.[/i] *page_break *set rika2 true [i]The demon inside Rika is only a servant, a lesser limb of Blaphemel. It was being housed in the little girl's body as a sort of test, a way to see if it was safe for the demon to survive the transfer. But Rika is the only one out of all the children who worked. Sennez says we will give her Blaphemel to become his vessel tonight…[/i] *page_break On one worktable is a black tome covered in strange runes. The crawl up the nape of your neck tells you that it's wreathed in very dark magic, and it possibly contains blasphemous spells. Getting caught with such a thing could get you executed, Shepherd or no. *choice #Take it. *set courage +1 *set cunning +1 *set magic +1 When Trouble isn't looking, you swiftly wrap the tome in some rags and tuck it away, close to your chest. The volume seems to burn and pulse like the beat of a heart against your torso. *set darktome true *goto lab #Leave it be. *set intelligence +1 *set loyal +1 You turn away from the tome with a sense of relief. No need to sully your hands with such a cursed thing. *goto lab *hide_reuse #Approach the summoning circles. You step closer to the summoning circles, throwing an arm out to stop Trouble when he wanders too close. Although they're inactive—bloody runes scrawled into the floor when it should be lyme and chalk—you can still feel the malice thrumming from them like heat. Trouble wrinkles his nose at them. [i]What the hell are they for?[/i] *if (arcane >= 25) or (intelligence >= 30) You kneel to examine them, careful not to touch. After a moment of scanning the runes, you answer: [i]They're for summoning Endarkened. Low-level ones.[/i] Trouble's curse is unutterable, even in your own heads. [i]You don't mean…[/i] You nod once, sharply. [i]The Equalists failed to imbue the childen with magic on their own[/i], you tell him. [i]It seems they turned to demons to help them, probably going mad in the process: they were summoning Endarkened into the children and turning them into Thralls. It'd succeed in giving the victims 'magic,' but it sacrificed their free will to the demons in the process.[/i] Trouble has to turn away at that, and for a moment your thoughts are drowned out by the rush of horror, rage, and revulsion crowding in his head. As for yourself, you… *fake_choice #...feel immense pity and regret. Those poor children. *set compassionate +1 To your alarm you even feel a crowd of tears cluster in your throat. The children did nothing to deserve this. You have to find them. You have to save them… *goto lab #...feel a similar pain and rage. Those [i]kisichs[/i] will pay. *set compassionate -1 You clench your fists hard enough to feel your nails bite crescents into your palms. You swear then and there to make them pay in blood. *goto lab #...feel a burning curiosity. How did the process work? What implications does this have? *set intelligence +1 You have to squash the itch of your curiosity. There will be time later to pore over the Equalists' methods. *goto lab #...feel not much of anything. You've already seen so much in your life. You feel only a dull emptiness. This is the world you live in. *goto lab #...feel an intense need to comfort Trouble. *set trouble +1 You step forward and lay a hand on Trouble's quivering shoulders for a moment. After a beat of silence, he slowly relaxes, and he nods at you. He doesn't smile, but it's something. You step away again. *goto lab *else You stare at the circles for a long time, squinting hard. But the runes in the floor are incomprehensible—you can't discern any meaning in them. Eventually you shrug and decide to move on. *goto lab *hide_reuse #Approach the orb. Cautiously, you approach the table holding the black orb. You notice as you approach that there are dull red swirls inside it—as if it contains red-lit storm clouds within. It seems inactive at the moment, but you can't prevent the feeling of dread that steals over you as you stare at it… [i]That's some cursed shit right there[/i], Trouble thinks, staring alongside you. [i]Let's not kak with it.[/i] *choice #Turn away. You turn away. Trouble's right; nothing good can come of disturbing that thing. *goto lab #Touch it... *set intelligence -1 *set courage +3 *set health -10 As soon as your fingertips brush against the orb's black, glassy surface, the thing emits a dull red flash—as if flaring in anger—and you immediately feel a terrible searing sensation shooting up your hand. You snatch your hand back, biting viciously down on your tongue to keep from crying out. In the pitch of the room, you can see that your fingers have been strangely blackened—as if you'd plunged them into a fire. Trouble hisses through his teeth and grabs your hand to examine. You wait for anything more—cursed objects will often exact something terrible upon its victim, if that's what this orb is—but nothing else happens. However, your insides continue to squirm with discomfort and unease. Touching that orb was like touching so contrary to you—so opposite of your own soul—that, for a brief moment, you felt as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice, staring into an all-consuming abyss. Strange… *goto lab #Leave the room. *goto rightway4 *label divert3 It's not long before you blunder into a wide, round chamber lined with manacles and brackets set into the walls. For a moment you think this might be where they kept the children—but closer examination shows that this room hasn't been used in a long, long time. You don't want to think what it [i]was[/i] used for—you just sigh and turn back around to retrace your steps. *choice #Take the right path now. *goto rightway3 *label rightway4 You can feel Trouble growing restless as you exit the room and creep through the corridors once again. His shoulders twitch, and his hand flexes against his gun over and over. You can sense that his itch to kill some Equalists is stronger than ever. You reach another—and, you hope, the final—fork in the tunnels, with one path leading right and the other shooting left. Now, when you listen carefully, you can hear soft whimpers coming from the right corridor, and the deep rumble of adult voices coming from the left. Trouble jerks his head at you, motioning right. [i]I can hear the children over there.[/i] *page_break Prowling silently down the right tunnel, you quickly reach a strong iron door with a small slit at eye level. Peeking inside, you see the huddled figures of nine or ten children: some holding each other, some clasping their knees and crying softly. You nod at Trouble, who positions himself back down the hall in case an Equalist decides to check on their victims. There's a large, heavy padlock keeping the door shut, made of brittle iron that's been rusted in the cold and damp. *label lock *choice *if (magic >= 20) #Mutter a spell and cause the lock to fall away. *set magic +1 Laying your palm on the lock, you imagine it unclasping and coming loose in your hand—then you [i]push[/i] your magic and willpower at the image, willing it to come true. A warm buzz shoots through your palm—and then you're holding the lock as it comes free from the door. *goto escape *if (lockpick) #Use your lockpicking set on the lock. *set cunning +1 You always knew this thing would come in handy. After some fumbling—luckily, the lock is very basic—you hear a satisfying clicking sound and barely catch the heavy object before it falls away from the door. *goto escape *hide_reuse #Whisper to the children inside. "Hello?" you whisper, your voice already hoarse from disuse. "Are any of you injured?" None of the children stir, as if they hadn't heard you. You wonder if they're used to ignoring whatever temptations or delusions the Equalists must subject them to down here. *goto lock *hide_reuse #Try and kick the door down. *set strength +1 *set intelligence -1 A few hard kicks to the door fail to do anything but make a racket. Trouble seizes your ankle just as you reel back for another kick and hisses, "[i]Are you crazy?![/i] You're going to bring every cultist here down on our heads!" *goto lock #Find something to pry the padlock open. *set strength +1 Groping around in the dark yields a long, warped piece of metal, not dissimilar to a crowbar. You jam it between the lock's loop and the door and strain for a moment, feeling the lock yield under the pressure. It pops open and falls to the ground. *goto escape *page_break *label escape You ease the door open, taking care not to alert either the Equalists or startle the children within. A dozen eyes light up in the dark as they turn to you: they are children of all age and sizes, the oldest being around twelve. All are ragged-looking, but not as terrible as you might have expected: probably the Equalists wanted their test subjects in good condition. For a moment no one speaks, and it's as if the room is holding its breath. The very walls seem to tense like taut lungs. Trouble moves into the room from behind you, pulling the door closed until it's only open by a crack. "You kids all right?" he asks softly. Again, no one speaks. *choice #"Everyone, stay calm. We're here to rescue you." *set courage +1 #"Is anyone hurt? Can you stand?" *set compassionate +1 #"It's good that you're staying silent. Easier to escape." *set cunning +1 Trouble shoots you a glance, as if to say, [i]I don't think that's why they're silent[/i], but moves further into the room without comment. #Conjure a witchlight so you can get a look at their faces better. *set magic +1 As soon as you do this, most of the children cry out in almost hysterical terror, flinching back from you and fleeing to the corners of the room. One clutches his head as he screams, trembling, "[i]Put it out! Put it out![/i]" Trouble grabs your wrist, hard enough to make the light go out. "They're scared of magic," he hisses at you, though he doesn't seem angry. "Poor kids think you're one of [i]them[/i]." Ah: of course the children would have been conditioned to fear magic and Mages with all their hearts. Feeling terrible, you put your hands up in the air to show the children you mean no harm. None of them move from their positions in the corner. "I'm sorry," you tell them, in a voice you'd use to coax a wild animal. "I'm very sorry. I wasn't thinking." For a moment, the children only continue to watch you, their eyes glowing in the dark like they're a family of shivering raccoons. Noticing this, you feel your gorge rise: that can't be the [i]iladrin[/i] in their eyes, can it? Then a little boy whose hair sticks straight up says hoarsely: "Who're you?" "We're Shepherds," you tell him, keeping your voice quiet so they'll match your volume. "We've come to rescue you." The children begin to stir at this, though they still seem very timid. "Really?" a girl clutching a smaller boy to her side whispers. She seems skeptical, but there's that spark of hope. "How'd you know we were here?" "Do you know a boy named Hal?" At this, they all surge to their feet. Though none approach you directly, their interest suddenly converges on you, giving you the sense of being crowded. Whispers and murmurs of [i]"they know Hal!"[/i] fill the room. "But Hal's dead," the youngest child states flatly. He's a scrawny boy no older than seven. "He ain't," Trouble insists softly, lapsing into a rougher city accent as he talks to the children. "He escaped and made it back home. And from him we figured out where you all went. What they've been doing to you." At this, the children's wariness crumbles, and they all drift forward, their little hands reaching out to touch your cloaks as if to ensure you're real. You study them in the half-light: although they're pale from lack of sunlight and covered in soot and red dirt, they seem relatively well-fed and healthy. None are injured, and they stand with relative ease. Then you think back to what you saw in the other rooms, and your stomach sinks. On the surface, at least, none of them seem possessed. But Thralls never do. But there will be time for that fear later: for now the two of you busy yourselves with checking the children over for hidden injuries, murmuring to them soothingly and gently. Pretty rapidly they begin to trust you, and soon an air of excitement warms the freezing air in the chamber as the children realize they might be getting out. They tell you that they are the only children in the place, and—as far as they can tell—the Equalists number only a dozen, and all of them are present in the hideout tonight. It's a miracle you haven't run into them sooner. "Their big boss is here, too," the girl with her brother tells you. You glance at her. "Big boss?" "Blaphemel. He's scary. We ain't ever seen him, but you can feel when he's around. He makes the Catchers go crazy." [i]That[/i] doesn't sound ominous at all. *page_break Finally Trouble straightens, peeks his head out of the door to make sure the hallway is still clear, then turns back to you. "One of us is going to have to lead the kids out," he says matter-of-factly. "Can't risk them getting caught in a crossfire. But the other one's going to have to go kill the Equalists. We're not letting them get away again. They're never going to repeat this or hurt anyone else—not if we can help it." "Agreed," you whisper back. "But who does what?" The blond sniper makes a face. "What do you think? I'm never good at making these calls." Before you can answer, however, the little girl with her younger brother grabs Trouble's sleeve. "I want to go with you," she says adamantly. The other children chime in with a chorus of agreement: they seem to want to follow Trouble. He looks at you sheepishly. *choice #"Tough crowd..." *set charisma +1 "Sorry," Trouble whispers. "Kids, uh, like me, I guess. I don't feel good about leaving you to it, though." *choice #"I'll be fine." *set courage +1 *set trouble +1 #"You owe me." *set trouble -1 *set cunning +1 *set courage -1 #"I guess we have no choice. If we leave together, the Equalists might get away." *set intelligence +1 #"You take them to safety. I've got this." *set courage +1 *set trouble +1 #"No way. You deal with the Equalists, I'll take the kids out." *set courage -4 But one little boy fairly shouts, "No! We want to go with [i]him[/i]!" The other children try to hush him, and soon enough it turns into a scuffle. You manage to get them quiet before any Equalists hear you, but it's clear that the decision has been made for you. *fake_choice #"...Fuck." #You sigh. "I guess I'm doing this, then." #"Rotten kids..." *set confrontequalists true For a moment Trouble makes a face, clearly not liking this idea. He seems to struggle with himself for a few silent moments, before he finally says in a strained voice: "…You sure?" *fake_choice #Yes. You're going to kill these bastards yourself. *set compassionate -3 #Yes. Trouble has such an ugly history with them that it's better if you do it instead. *set compassionate +3 #Not really, but this is what you signed up for. Trouble tsks softly, but after another moment, he acquiesces. "All right, fine—maybe a Mage like you will stand a better chance against them anyway." But he's obviously unhappy with the idea. He reaches out to grip your shoulder with vice-like strength. "But you be careful, you hear me? If you get yourself hurt, I'll never forgive you. Or myself." *choice #"Don't worry, I'll be fine." *set courage +1 *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +1 He grimaces, but seems to reluctantly believe you. "All right, then. But if you ever breathe a word of this to Blade, he'll have my head." *if (attractedto != "women") #"Worried about me, are you?" ([i]Flirt[/i]) *set charisma +1 He snorts. "'Course I am. I'm sending a lone recruit into a literal den of lions. I must be mad." #"Oh, I'll be careful, all right. You can count on that." *set cunning +1 He nods. "Good." #"This will be a piece of cake." *set courage +1 He smiles briefly. "That's what I like to hear." #"If I get hurt, I'll make sure you never hear the end of it." *set trouble -1 Trouble doesn't smile. "Let's hope it never comes to that." He turns and withdraws a small package from the side of his belt: you take it for him without thinking and then pale when you realize what you're holding. Trouble has just handed you a whopping parcel of explosives. Has he been carrying these with him all night?! "I'll set these up on the way out," Trouble says nonchalantly, taking the package back. "When you get up to the surface, we'll blow the whole place to Hael. Can't afford to leave any traces. With how history's gone, someone else would just find this place again and start it all over if they got the chance." You nod, and watch as the children form a solemn chain of linked hands according to Trouble's stern instructions. They can't afford to lose one child on their way back up the tunnels. One of them tells you that the Equalists are most likely in their eating area down the hall to your right: the direction you heard the adult voices drifting from. Another says they likely won't realize the children are gone for hours, as they never check up on their victims until dawn. How the children have managed to keep track of the time down here, you don't know. You start getting your weapons ready, feeling strangely calm. When you signed up for the Shepherds, you were told that most of the people—things—you would kill were Endarkened, maybe Tainted creatures and a Thrall or two. But deciding to do this means slaughtering other Mages: your own kind. They've committed atrocities, of course, and there's no doubt in your mind that they can't stay alive. They'd either find a way to escape the Autarchy's imprisonment or pass on their secrets to other crazed followers with time. Trouble is right: the Equalists and their compound must be destroyed. Still… have you ever killed other people before? *choice #No... never. I've only killed Endarkened creatures. *set compassionate +3 #Yes, I have killed other people, but only ever in self-defense. *set compassionate -1 #Yes, I have killed other people when they deserved it, or to protect others--just like now. *set compassionate -3 #Yes, I have killed a lot of people. This is nothing new. *set compassionate -10 Suddenly Trouble turns to you and pulls you into a rough embrace. "I mean it, $!{firstname}—be careful," he growls in your ear. "Don't make me regret leaving you behind." You nod. Before the two of you can say anything else, he's turning and slipping out the door—leading the children away and back up into the dark. *goto timetokill *label attack *achieve troubledpast *set childrendead true You slip through a small wooden hatch in the inner wall of the mausoleum, emerging from the other side into a darkened, musty tunnel. It seems just as deserted as one would expect—but you know that if the Equalists have managed to stay hidden for this long, it wouldn't be so easy to just stumble across them. You glance at Trouble, and he gives you a sharp nod. Onward. You shuffle forward and begin to descend down the throat of the tunnel into its gut. *page_break ... The tunnels under Haven, you know, were once used to transport Diminished slaves into the city after the Castigation. Some years after, a controversial bill passed in the Consortium outlawing slavery: as a result, the tunnels were largely abandoned, sealed up, and repurposed to become a vast underground network in which the nameless dead were kept. The catacombs. But now the Equalists have repurposed this place, reverted it back into the hellish underground highway it used to be back in those dark days. You catch glimpses of torture chambers, chains and hooks dangling from ceilings and coated in rust-like blood; carts and cages for transporting bodies, both dead and alive. That's all you get a sense of before you barrel around one corner and come face-to-face with an Equalist. He's a slight man, tousle-haired, looking positively shocked to see you. Trouble opens fire. [i]Bang-bang-bang![/i] The sound of his rifle is enormous in the closed space of the tunnels, and as the Equalist is blown off his feet only to slump against the far wall, bloodied—four more appear at the end of the tunnel, drawn by the loud sound. One takes off running while the others begin to shout for backup. *temp fire "" *temp fire2 "" *temp fire3 "" *temp fire4 "" *choice *if (mainweapon = "sword") #Charge them, sword swinging. *set trouble -2 *set intelligence -1 *set health -3 *set sword +3 *set strength +3 Behind you, you hear Trouble curse; you've jumped straight into the fray with your close-range weapon, inadvertently getting in his way! You whirl, swinging your sword so swiftly that you knock an Equalist's head clean off his shoulders. His blood is hot and bright as it sprays across your shirtfront. As he slumps to the ground, you raise your sword and stab his comrade; behind you, Trouble is doing the same with his own knife, no longer able to use his gun. *if (mainweapon = "bow") #Fire at them with your bow. *set bow +3 *set strength +3 You add your arrows to the fray, piercing one Equalist cleanly through the throat and the other through the eye. You and Trouble take down the rest in a flurry of projectiles too quick and numerous to dodge. *if (mainweapon = "dagger") #Charge them, slashing with your knife. *set trouble -2 *set intelligence -1 *set health -3 *set dagger +3 *set strength +3 Behind you, you hear Trouble curse; you've jumped straight into the fray with your close-range weapon, inadvertently getting in his way! You stab one Equalist in the throat, his blood hot and bright as it gushes out over your wrist. As he slumps to the ground, you pull your dagger out and slash his comrade across the face; behind you, Trouble is doing the same with his own knife, no longer able to use his gun. *if (mainweapon = "gun") #Add your own bullets to the fray. *set strength +3 *set gun +3 You pull out your gun and shoot an Equalist right between the eyes. He goes down, his forehead smoking, his limbs jittering and twitching as if he's been electrocuted. You and Trouble take the rest down in a flurry of bullets too quick and numerous to dodge. *if (specialization = "battle") #Send a bolt of magical lightning crashing through them. *set magic +3 *set astral +3 You chain together a bolt of white lightning, something that looks like molten, liquified fire and light, and send it bursting down the corridor. The very air itself catches fire, bringing with it the smell of burnt ozone; the lightning passes through the line of Equalists and kills them instantly. *if ((specialization = "battle") or (specialization = "elementalist")) #Send a fireball blazing down the corridor. *set magic +3 *set astral +3 You send an enormous ball of fire and gas rocketing down the tunnel, incinerating every Equalist within its path. Not even their flesh is left behind: they turned to blackened skeletons within an instant. *if (specialization = "healer") #Hang back and heal Trouble when he needs it. *set magic +3 *set astral +3 *set trouble +1 Trouble nods at you in thanks, but otherwise doesn't seem to notice either you healing him or his minor injuries. He takes out any Equalist who comes close to you. *if (specialization = "enchanter") #Put them under a spell of paralysis. *set magic +3 *set psionic +3 You impose the force of your will on theirs, clamping down and immobilizing the Equalists in place. They freeze, going as still as statues as their minds struggle and wrestle with yours—and then Trouble mows them all down with a hailstorm of bullets. *if (specialization = "conjurer") #Magically pull their weapons towards you, yanking them out of their hands. *set magic +3 *set arcane +3 Exclamations of surprise and dismay accompany your motion as all of the Equalists' weapons go flying out of their hands, lodging in the far wall. Disarming them gives Trouble the opportunity to mow them down with another hailstorm of bullets. *if (specialization = "shifter") #Turn your skin to tough leather. *set magic +3 *set arcane +3 The move surprises the Equalists enough for Trouble to take them out with another flurry of bullets. You feel a projectile from their side graze you, but thanks to your tougher skin, you hardly feel it. *if (mainweapon = "bow") *set fire "fire" *set fire2 "shoot" *set fire3 "reload" *set fire4 "arrow" *if (mainweapon = "sword") *set fire "stab" *set fire2 "pierce" *set fire3 "hack" *set fire4 "sword" *if (mainweapon = "dagger") *set fire "stab" *set fire2 "pierce" *set fire3 "hack" *set fire4 "knife" *if (mainweapon = "gun") *set fire "fire" *set fire2 "shoot" *set fire3 "reload" *set fire4 "bullet" What ensues is a quick and bloody battle. You pursue the Equalists down the rabbit's warren of their hideout, burning, hacking, and slashing your way through their ranks. You think you kill ten, then fifteen, then twenty—and soon their numbers begin to thin. Some vanish behind confusing corners and bends in the tunnels, but most you're able to hunt down and slay. Trouble has a grim look of determination on his face, as if you've been tasked with eliminating vermin. In every breath, in every bullet he puts between an Equalist's eyes, you read his only thought: [i]Kill them all[/i]. And you think you do, when all is said and done. Within the hour you're covered in blood, and your ears are ringing and your eyes and nose are stinging with the scents of gunpowder and cordite—but the tunnels, at last, lie still and empty. Behind you is a trail lined with the corpses of the dead and the blood and twitching flesh of the dying. You took no mercy and left no survivors. Panting, Trouble draws the back of his gloved hand across his brow. "Think we got 'em all?" he croaks. His voice is harsh and hoarse, but you don't think he's said a word the entire time you've been down here. You can't read the look in his eyes. Is he relieved to have gotten the chance to destroy his once-tormentors? Or is he just angry and looking for more? Hot emotion seems to thrum from him in waves. You take a moment to listen: there's no sound coming from anywhere in the hideout except for the groaning and whimpering of those behind you. "I think we're clear," you tell him. *if (courage >= 25) You flex your hands, though they're not shaking. *else You flex your hands; despite yourself, they seem to be shaking badly. Trouble cocks a look at you. "You all right?"he asks then. A strange look crosses his face. "You… this isn't your first time, you know…?" *choice #"I've never killed anyone before. Except Endarkened." *set compassionate +3 He lays a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice heavy. "I'm sorry I put you in this position, then. But… at least we're protecting others by doing this." #"I've only ever killed people in self-defense before." *set compassionate -1 He lays a hand on your shoulder. "Hey," he says, his voice soft. "I know this was… gruesome. But we are defending people, and ourselves. By making sure they're dead, we're keeping the city safe." #"Yes, I'm fine. I've killed people to protect the innocent before." *set compassionate -3 Trouble nods. "That's… good, I guess, if good is the word for it. But if anything's bothering you, you tell me, all right?" #"I'm fine. I've killed lots of people before." *set compassionate -10 Trouble nods slowly. "Got it." #"Don't act like you care if I'm fine." *set compassionate -10 *set trouble -13 Trouble's eyes widen at your harsh tone, and he frowns. But he doesn't say anything. Then he looks away. "Let's see to the children." *page_break ... But no matter how hard you look, you can't find the kidnapped children anywhere. You look in every inch of the hideout: every nook and cranny, every unfamiliar turn. You split up and methodically search foot-by-foot, stepping over the lumpen shapes of the dead. All of the chambers are empty, or full of dead, adult Equalists. Each tunnel eventually leads back to the hatch that you came from, and no one got past you—certainly not someone towing a bunch of children. Right…? Trouble punches a wall hard enough to split his knuckles. "SHIT!" *choice #"Calm down. We need to think." *set trouble -1 *set intelligence +1 *set troubleharden +1 He glares at you. "Think about what?" "There must be something we're missing," you say. "A hidden chamber, a secret door, a lever you pull to open a trap door. Something. They didn't just vanish into thin air." #"We must have missed something." *set intelligence +1 Trouble runs an agitated hand through his hair. "But what? We've searched every inch of this place!" "There must be something we're missing," you say. "A hidden chamber, a secret door, a lever you pull to open a trap door. Something. They didn't just vanish into thin air." #"Maybe they were never here?" *set trouble +3 "Maybe they're being held somewhere else," you offer. "Maybe there's another base." Trouble stares at you, though you see the hope growing in his eyes. "You think so? But… the trail lead here…" *if (rika) He chews his lip. "And you saw this place in Hal's memories." *elseif (ratvisit) He chews his lip. "And the Rat said this was where they were." "Maybe they moved them before we got here," you suggested. "Could have been a few hours before we arrived, or maybe even days. In any case, they're not [i]here[/i]. We need to go back and investigate more leads." #"You don't think... someone escaped with the children, do you?..." *set trouble -10 He stares at you, aghast. "Can't be," he begins, speaking as if through numb lips. "We had the entrance to our backs—they would have had to get past us to escape—" "They're Mages," you point out. "Mages who don't have scruples about using their magic illegally. They could have transported the children away. Teleported them, turned them invisible." There's a long, horrible moment as you both consider that. Trouble begins to say, "No. I don't believe it. They [i]must[/i] be here, or else they were never here to begin with—" #"Well, this was a waste of time." *set trouble -10 Trouble glares at you. But before he can formulate a proper response, you hear voices near the entrance of the tunnel. *page_break "Inquisitors! Throw down your weapons now!" Trouble looks at you with a scowl. "Shit." *page_break ... *set equalistscompoundintact true After a lengthy period of time explaining yourselves to the Inquisitors—who likely would have arrested you just for all the blood covering your clothes, if not for your Shepherd badges—a team of dozens takes over searching the Equalists' compound, as well as looking for the missing children. "They're [i]Norm[/i] children, by the way," Trouble says as he uses a towel to mop blood from his blond hair. "In case that lights a fire under your arses. Norm children kidnapped by insane Mages. It'll look good for you bastards if you find them, so hop to it." He frowns, half to himself. "They've got to be somewhere. Whether it's here in the city or out—" The Inquisitor looks politely-bored. "Your diligence is noted, Vice-Commander." Trouble scowls. The two of you watch for a moment as Inquisitor agents vanish into the mausoleum, then reemerge carrying strange artifacts and pieces of equipment, like a line of ants entering and exiting their busy hive. "You think they'll find them?" Trouble asks you, looking tired and miserable as the rain pelts his face. *choice #"If we couldn't find them, they won't." *set trouble -3 *set compassionate -3 Trouble closes his eyes, as if you'd struck him. "Let's go home," he says, his voice very low and weary. "We've done enough for tonight." *goto endchapter #"Maybe. Probably. They have more resources than we do." Trouble nods, looking as if he wants very much to believe you. "Let's go home, $!{firstname}," he says, his voice very subdued. "We've done enough for tonight." *goto endchapter #"I don't know." He nods, looking more defeated than you've ever seen him. "Let's go home, $!{firstname}," he says, his voice very subdued. "We've done enough for tonight." *goto endchapter #"They'll definitely find them." *set trouble +1 *set compassionate +1 Trouble nods, looking as if he wants very much to believe you. "Let's go home, $!{firstname}," he says, his voice very subdued and eary. "We've done enough for tonight." *goto endchapter #"We'll keep looking, ourselves. We won't stop until we find them." *set compassionate +1 *set trouble +1 Trouble's smile flickers as briefly as a candleflame. "Yeah," he says softly. "For now, let's go home, $!{firstname}. We've done enough for tonight." *goto endchapter *goto endchapter *label timetokill *page_break *set childrensafe true When you're sure Trouble and the children are far enough away to be safe from the crossfire, you slip out of the room and down the corridor as silent as a shadow. The blood is thrumming hot and bright in your body, but strangely, your head feels clear and calm. For whatever morbid reason, this feels right. This feels like something you're supposed to do. Then the world shifts on its axis. A burst of pain streaks through you like a hot yellow comet. You stumble, clutching your head, the locus of the agony, before a strange, timbrous voice rattles through you like dry leaves blown by an autumn wind. [b][i]Careful.[/i][/b] *choice #[i]Who are you? Who's there?[/i] #Ignore the voice and keep moving. You don't make it two steps before the voice interrupts again. Horribly, you notice that the speaker sounds like a chorus of voices—not just one person—sounding everywhere, all at once. One of the voices even sounds like your own. [b][i]Danger…[/i][/b] You shake your head vigorously like you're clearing your ears of water. What danger? What's going on? [b][i]Blaphemel[/i][/b], the voice says. [i][b]A Faceless Lord, an Infernal Prince, a Defiler and Seducer of Man.[/b][/i] *choice #[i]Blaphemel is the name of the Equalists' sponsor...[/i] [b][i]Yes[/i][/b], the voice tells you. [i][b]It is an primeval, ancient, wretched demon, a piece of Tapyt's very essence. The befoulers that dwell here turned to it in desperation, seeking the power to achieve their goals…[/b][/i] [i][b]But instead it has glut on their ambition and pride, whispering poison into their ears until it drove them mad.[/b][/i] #[i]Okay, seriously, why the Hael are you in my head?[/i] The voice ignores you and continues on as if you hadn't spoken. [i][b]You must be wary. Blaphemel is an primal, ancient, wretched demon, a piece of Tapyt's very essence. The befoulers that dwell here have turned to it in desperation, seeking the power to achieve their goals…[/b][/i] [i][b]But instead it has glut on their ambition and pride, whispering poison into their ears until it drove them mad.[/b][/i] You shudder, feeling bile rise into your throat at the thought. A facet of Tapyt himself? It seems impossible… [b][i]It is possible[/i][/b], the voice insists. [b][i]This is no mere Imp. This is a face of the Nightwalker himself, come to wreak havoc on the mortal realm and draw power back to its beating heart in Hael…[/i][/b] You want to close your eyes, but the voice rings just as clearly even when you do. How are you supposed to defeat such a thing by yourself? [i][b]Use the words,[/b][/i] the voice whispers to you, fading already to a wisp. [i][b]Mortal weapons cannot kill it.[/b][/i] *choice #[i]No. I'll never use the words again! Not after what happened![/i] The voice is a mere whisper now, but still you can feel the reverberation of disapproval ringing down your spine. [i][b]Then pray your magic is powerful enough to defeat the Defiler,[/b][/i] it says. [i][b]Otherwise it will consume your soul and drag you with it back to Hael.[/b][/i] #[i]All right. Thank you...[/i] The voice pauses now, as if in thought; in the background the great clamor of voices rises in a wordless roar. Finally it says: [b][i]If you are strong enough, you may not need the words. If your magic is powerful, you may rend the Defiler to its pieces, scattering its essence to the winds and destroying it utterly.[/i][/b] [i][b]But it will be very, very difficult. If you are not powerful enough… it will close its jaws around your soul and drag you with it back to Hael.[/b][/i] With that, the voice vanishes, the ocean-roar of its presence easing until it's just you, standing and blinking dumbly in the dark. It seems you've been carrying another passenger around in your head all these years… *choice #Yes, that seems about right. It really fits the cadence of my strange life so far. It's almost funny, how numb you've gotten to the truly bizarre things that tend to happen to you. This isn't really all that out of place, if you think about it. But if you've had something else in your head all the time—why did it only reveal itself to you now?… #Oh, ${god}, am I going crazy? I'd better not tell anybody about this... It's almost too much for a person to take. The words, your hometown, and now you're hearing someone [i]talk[/i] to you? You'd better keep a lid on all of this, or the Shepherds are going to put you away in an asylum… #I just imagined it. It wasn't a real voice. Just my subconsciousness... Yes, that's it. You don't have a voice in your head. It was just your danger instincts kicking in to warn you. Yeah. That's right… #[i]I need to get this thing out of my brain [b]now[/b].[/i] But what is it? And why did it only come out and reveal itself to you [i]now[/i]?… *page_break ... Eventually you have to get moving again. You can hear the muttering conversation of voices—human ones, now, adult and largely male—somewhere down the hallway. Your head still aches fiercely from the interruption you've just suffered, and when you come to a halt outside yet another rotting door, you pause for a moment and realize you haven't exactly formulated a plan. What will you do? *if (mainweapon = "bow") *set mainweapon "arrows" *temp fire "" *temp fire2 "" *temp fire3 "" *temp fire4 "" *label confrontchoice *fake_choice #Bust the door down with my ${mainweapon} blazing. *goto weaponblazing #Bust the door down while I fire my strongest spells. *goto spellsblazing *hide_reuse #Try to listen in on the conversation before I do anything. *goto sneakattack *label spellsblazing *set magic +1 You burst through the door with your spells already blasting. The Equalist closest to the door is dead before he can even scream; the others, sitting together at a low table, scramble to their feet with a series of shouts. *if ((magic >= 25) or (astral >= 15)) Black fire blazes from the corner, and you throw up a translucent shield to block you from its impact. It dissipates harmlessly against your ward, and you surge to your feet and fight on. *else You see the blaze of black fire from the corner too late to dodge it, and it feels as if hot acid has been splashed up your arm. You grit your teeth against the pain and fight on. *set health -10 Another dead, then another. You cast and slam your magic around, *if ((astral > psionic) and (astral > arcane)) cracking necks from across the room, setting things aflame, *elseif ((psionic > astral) and (psionic > arcane)) paralyzing cultists from across the room, turning them against each other, *elseif ((arcane > astral) and (arcane > psionic)) summoning weapons from the ether, shifting your skin to become steel-hard, and the Equalists, taken by surprise and used to fighting against children, crumple before you like leaves before a whirlwind. You raise your hand and a dirty-haired Mage falls with a fount of blood gushing from his eyes and mouth. You strike again and again, and two others sag to the floor. Heat fills you. Somehow, this feels easy. Somehow, this feels right. There were twelve Equalists in the room when you first burst in: exactly the number that the children told you. There's only one left when you suddenly feel something: the sudden sensation of oil filling your mouth, the odor of something rotten invading your senses. You pause and look up. *goto rikablaphemel *label sneakattack *if (cunning >= 20) You press your ear to the door, but it's so thick that you can only make out a few muffled words: there are several adult voices murmuring, at least over ten, and they all seem to be deferring to somebody: you hear snatches of "[i]Yes, my lord,[/i]" and "[i]Anything, my lord[/i]…" But the voice you hear replying is high and female-sounding. Strange. *goto confrontchoice *else You press your ear to the door, but the wood is so thick that you can't make out anything. *goto confrontchoice *label weaponblazing *set strength +1 *if (mainweapon = "arrows") *set mainweapon "bow" *set bow +1 *set fire "fire" *set fire2 "shoot" *set fire3 "reload" *set fire4 "arrow" *if (mainweapon = "sword") *set sword +1 *set fire "stab" *set fire2 "pierce" *set fire3 "hack" *set fire4 "sword" *if (mainweapon = "dagger") *set dagger +1 *set fire "stab" *set fire2 "pierce" *set fire3 "hack" *set fire4 "knife" *if (mainweapon = "gun") *set gun +1 *set fire "fire" *set fire2 "shoot" *set fire3 "reload" *set fire4 "bullet" You slam open the door with your ${mainweapon} at the ready. The Equalist closest to the door is dead before he can even scream; the others, sitting together at a low table, scramble to their feet with a series of shouts. *if (strength >= 23) Black fire blazes from the corner, and you duck and roll just in time to dodge it. You surge to your feet and fight on. *else You see the blaze of black fire from the corner too late to dodge it, and it feels as if hot acid has been splashed up your arm. You grit your teeth against the pain and fight on. *set health -10 Another dead, then another. You ${fire2} and ${fire} and ${fire3}, and the Equalists, taken by surprise and used to fighting against children, crumple before you like leaves before a whirlwind. You raise your ${mainweapon} and a dirty-haired Mage falls with a fount of blood gushing from his eye. You strike again and again, and two others sag to the floor. Heat fills you. Somehow, this feels easy. Somehow, this feels right. There were twelve Equalists in the room when you first burst in: exactly the number that the children told you. There's only one left when you suddenly feel something: the sudden sensation of oil filling your mouth, the odor of something rotten invading your senses. You pause and look up. *label rikablaphemel *page_break A little girl is watching you from the corner, but somehow, she looks [i]wrong[/i]. A pert little smile is on her face, even as she takes in the massacre… and her eyes are beetle-black. Somehow she gives you the same eerie sensation that the black orb in the other room did… *if (rika) [i]…Rika?[/i] *goto rikanoo *else *goto rikanoo *label rikanoo You don't have any time to react before she raises a hand and begins to burn you. *set health -50 *page_break The pain is incredible—like nothing you've ever felt before. It feels as if your very soul is being set on fire. The girl laughs, and her voice is the sound of a demon's. "Brightburner," she crackles. Her skin is peeling from her face like cracks in a porcelain mask. "However did you end up here?" You fall to your knees, hard enough to make your bones rattle. A black hole is being eaten through your heart. Your vision goes dark and spotted around the edges. You hear a shrieking cackle: not from the little girl, but from the one surviving Equalist. "Blaphemel!" he screams. "Blaphemel is our savior! Praise our merciful lord Blaphemel!" His worship seems to make the demon stronger, for the cold acid pain radiating up through your bones grows more potent, sending violet-white blooms of nausea through your body. You cry out. The little girl—no, Blaphemel—smiles. "The Nightwalker will be very pleased to see you dead." *temp equalistsurvivor false *choice #Fight back with magic. *if (magic >= 30) *set magic +1 You blast forth every iota of magic in your system, wringing every last drop from your blood as you slam your will up against the demon's, bearing your teeth in a primal scream. You hear a mirroring scream of fury as you feel the Faceless Lord's hold beginning to dissolve, even slightly—and when you look up, you see cold anger in its gaze. The little girl reaches up and snaps the neck of her gibbering worshiper, drawing energy from his violent death. *goto blaphemel *else *set equalistsurvivor true You blast forth every iota of magic in your system, wringing every last drop from your blood as you slam your will up against the demon's. But you feel the futility in the gesture: Blaphemel only laughs and increases its hold on you, leaving you wracked on the floor with pain. The worshiper's gibbering rises to an unearthly shriek. *goto blaphemel #Kill the worshipful Equalist. *if (mainweapon = "bow") *set bow +1 *set fire "fire" *set fire2 "shoot" *set fire3 "reload" *set fire4 "arrow" *if (mainweapon = "sword") *set sword +1 *set fire "stab" *set fire2 "pierce" *set fire3 "hack" *set fire4 "sword" *if (mainweapon = "dagger") *set dagger +1 *set fire "stab" *set fire2 "pierce" *set fire3 "hack" *set fire4 "knife" *if (mainweapon = "gun") *set gun +1 *set fire "fire" *set fire2 "shoot" *set fire3 "reload" *set fire4 "bullet" *set strength +1 *set cunning +1 *set compassionate -3 The man's shrieking grows louder and louder as the din in your head strengthens: you nearly think it's the sound of you passing out. But somehow—somehow you fumble for your ${mainweapon} from the floor with slippery fingers, staggering to your feet and aiming; and in a moment, you've silenced the man's shrieks, your ${fire4} piercing cleanly through his brain. In another moment, the Faceless Lord's hold on you has lessened, at least enough for you to think clearly. You meet its eyes and see the cold fury in its gaze as its follower falls to the ground. *goto blaphemel *label blaphemel "You're too late," the Faceless Lord says, contemptuous. "I'm too powerful, even for the likes of you. These [i]fools[/i]"—it does not even look at the fallen Equalists around it—"summoned me moons ago, gave me their ambition and all the torture and pain I could want. I seeded madness in their minds and made them give me more. Through all that I've grown strong. Too strong for you, Brightburner." *choice #"Why... why are you calling me that?" Blaphemel laughs, and the sound is like metal nails scraping against glass. "You don't know? Oh, how precious. It's a pity you won't live long enough to find out." #"Go back to Hael, demon!" Blaphemel laughs, and the sound is like metal nails scraping against glass. "Oh, I will someday," it coos, drawing closer. "Once I've done my work here and desire time with my newest plaything." It leans close, and its fetid breath is as sweet as rotting flowers. "In the meantime, you can wait for your new master… along with all the souls you Shepherds failed to save." It raises a hand for the killing blow: you know that with a finality that rings in your very soul. If you are to act, you must act now. *choice #Speak a Word of Power. *set godspeaker -1 You speak the Word into the sudden hush of the world. You don't know what it means, or even the shape of it on your tongue; it's as if you spoke the very air or light itself into existence. It has no weight or substance. And yet it strikes the anvil of the world with the force of a great hammer blow; a great reverberation rings in your ears, loud enough to split your soul open, and the air wavers and trembles until you're not sure if it's simply the rattling of your skull that makes your vision shake. The demon's face contorts terribly, and it lets loose a shriek—this time not of anger, but of helpless, panicked fear. That's all it has time to do before there's a rushing sound, like the universe vacuuming up its essence—and then a click, like a key turning into an invisible lock. *if (((rika) or ((rika1) and (rika2)))) Before it goes, you feel your own soul reach out and snag hold of something frail and fluttering, something separate from the demon… [i]Rika[/i], you think, crading the little spirit close. She was still in the vessel of her body, after all. You shunt her back into her inert frame as the Faceless Lord dissipates with one last shriek. *if (equalistsurvivor = false) And just like that, Blaphemel is gone. *page_break *else And just like that, Blaphemel and its worshiper are… gone. *page_break You sink to your knees with relief, gasping for breath in the sudden bubble of new air that seems to have formed around you. Somehow, with dreadful certainty, you know that this time, you have not sent the Faceless Lord somewhere else. You have eradicated it, scrubbed its essence so utterly from the fabric of the universe that it's almost as if the thing had never existed at all. You've killed the Faceless Lord with the unspeakable power that hides inside you. *if (((rika1) and (rika2)) or (rika)) *set rikaalive true *achieve savior And saved the innocent soul of its host, Rika: in the last, fading light of the Word of Power as it leaks out into the world, you can see her life force thrumming in her body, the golden energy that seems to beat inside her. Although she's unconscious, you can see no speck of Endarkened taint or Rot remaining within her soul. She's clean of Blaphemel's influence… as is the rest of the world, now. Is this what you were given the words for? *achieve blaphemel *set blaphemeldead true *set facelesslordsdead +1 *goto troubleaftermathconfront *selectable_if (magic >= 30) #Destroy it with your magic. Your magic erupts from you, through you, in a flash like a burst from the sun. You feel heat and power and blood flowing through you; your vision goes black and then white; and without even realizing it, you find that you're screaming in a tongue that you've never heard and don't recognize. Blaphemel is screaming, too: almost a sound of surprise, then fear. You watch as its flesh blackens and curls back from you, the energy blasting from your body shredding its essence to nothing. The Faceless Lord did not expect this display from you, this intense and consuming power. There's a roar of sound and entropy as Blaphemel warps and twists and then dwindles down, down… down into nothing. And then it dies. *achieve blaphemel *set blaphemeldead true *set facelesslordsdead +1 *page_break You collapse to the ground, gasping and choking for breath as all the energy in your body leaves you, all at once. The heat dissipates, leaving you feeling cold and empty… but through that emptiness you can feel Blaphemel's absence. You've destroyed it, eradicated it utterly from this universe. The voice in your head told you it wasn't possible without the Words, but you did it. Is that why the Faceless Lord called you Brightburner? *goto troubleaftermathconfront *label troubleaftermathconfront *page_break ... *if (rikaalive) Sometime later, you finally emerge from the hideout of the Equalists with Rika's slumbering body in your arms. You find Trouble and the children standing in the muddy cemetery, the children all crowded behind him as Trouble argues with two men in uniform. His eyes light up when he sees you stumbling out, and he rushes at you. You have to put Rika's body down among her friends before he bowls you both over. *else Sometime later, you finally emerge from the hideout of the Equalists to find Trouble and the children standing in the muddy cemetery, the children all crowded behind him as Trouble argues with two men in uniform. His eyes light up when he sees you stumbling out, and he rushes at you. "${firstname}!" he exclaims. "Thank God you're okay—holy [i]shit[/i], I was so worried!" *choice #Embrace him. *set trouble +3 *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +1 #Push him off. *set trouble -3 He frowns and looks into your face. "Are you all right? What happened in there?" Before you can reply, the two men clear their throats. Trouble's eyes instantly darken. "Can you corroborate his story, Diminished?" one man, a dark-haired and thin-nosed sort, asks. You glance at his medallion: Inquisitors. "Is it true that this place was the breeding ground for a group of Mages who were torturing Norm children?" Trouble looks at you expectantly. *choice #"Yes, it's all true. They were called the Equalists." *set order -3 The Inquisitors raise their eyebrows and look at each other. The other one says, this one pale-haired and stocky: "We'll have to go inside and see the evidence for ourselves." #"...We don't have all the details yet." *set trouble -3 *set order +3 Trouble gapes at you. "What—what are you talking about?" he asks in a furious whisper. You make a motion to be quiet. It won't look good for the Diminished if these Inquisitors get this kind of narrative… You watch as they raise their eyebrows and look at each other. "We'll have to go inside and see the evidence for ourselves," the other one, a pale-haired and stocky man, says. #"Do you really think we would make something like this up?" Their withering silence is enough answer for you. The Inquisitors look at each other; the other one, a pale-haired and stocky man, says: "We'll have to go inside and see the evidence for ourselves." Trouble abruptly raises something: it looks like a detonator. "Not so fast," he growls. "I don't think I'm going to be letting you lot muck around in there. Who knows where all of that magic kak winds up—or who it's going to be used on next?" *choice #Support him. Whatever's down there can't fall into anyone else's hands, let alone the Autarchy's. *set compassionate +1 *set loyal +1 *set trouble +1 *set order +3 "Do it," you tell him, and Trouble grimly nods. "If you step a foot down there, you'll be incinerated with the rest of it," he tells the Inquisitors—and they back down. #Stop him. There is a goldmine of valuable things to examine down there. *set loyal -1 *set intelligence +1 *set cunning +1 *set trouble -3 *set equalistscompoundintact true *set reputation -5 *set order -3 Trouble's jaw drops. "You can't be serious, $!{firstname}!" You shake your head. "I've had enough of my people's artifacts being destroyed by the Autarchy. You don't know, Trouble: it all depends on the person who wields them. The things down there could be put to good use in the right hands." He indicates the Inquisitors, who have the sense to look offended. "You think [i]these[/i] are the right hands?!" You stare at him, hard. "It's not your call. They're not your things, not your heritage. Not your jurisdiction. You're not going to cause an underground explosion in the middle of the city." After a long, tense moment, Trouble's breath hisses out from between his teeth… but he lowers the detonator, and the Inquisitors let loose their own breaths. "But if what you say is true," one of the them says slowly, "these children were meant to be vessels of Endarkened? The Mages captured them for that purpose?" His eyes suddenly bulge. "That means they could all be infected with the Rot!" At this, his partner draws his weapon—a long, thin rapier—and all of the children cower back behind you in fear. Trouble jumps in the way without hesitation. "Try it," he snarls at the Inquisitors, hand on his gun, "and I'll blow a hole through your head the size of the goddamn moon." *choice #Impose yourself in the way as well. *set trouble +3 *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +1 *set courage +3 *set compassionate +3 #Stand aside and watch. *set courage -3 *set compassionate -3 *set trouble -1 #"Wait, Trouble. How do we know they [i]aren't[/i] possessed?" *set trouble -3 *set intelligence +1 *set cunning +3 He gawks at you. "What do you mean? They're perfectly normal!" "You fool," the dark-haired Inquisitor spits. "Not even the children themselves would know they were possessed. That's the entire point! They could all be Thralls waiting to infect the entire city!" You hesitate, and even Trouble flinches. As terrible as the thought is, it's true: you have no real way of sensing if the children are Enthralled, not really. You have no Hunters in the Order, at least not yet, and even the best Mages can miss very slippery demons. It has happened often enough. You look at the children, at their frightened eyes and trembling lips. None of them have said a word, but that could just be their exhaustion, their resignation to having their fates tossed back and forth among their captors. It's usually easy to tell a possessed victim as a Thrall if the victim is unwilling to accept its demonic parasite; the struggle between two minds is evident, and the victim acts unlike themselves. But there are always some who welcome the demon, and the power it brings—and besides that, some Endarkened are simply very clever. Clever enough to trick a mortal child, in any case. And a demon holding that kind of power can work dark magic from within its victim's pilfered soul—just as you saw with Rika—and, even more urgently, it can sense when it has been detected. The Endarkened looks out through stolen eyes, reads the faces of those around it, and knows who has guessed the truth. Such persons are doomed; the demon will not stop until it has killed them. To release a horde of potential Thralls onto the unwitting streets of Haven would be a disaster. "What should we do, $!{firstname}?" Trouble asks you in an undertone. *label childrenchoice *choice #"We'll take the children back with us, to the Order. Keep them away from the public until we can find a way to clear them." *set childrenquarantined true *set trouble +3 *set reputation +5 *set army +5 *set order +3 Trouble nods, clearly approving of this plan. "Smart," he says, flexing his gloved hands. "We can wait until we find some Hunters to join, or a spellbook with an answer, or—or something." He glances at the kids. "And their families can come visit them under supervision." The Inquisitors look unhappy about this, but they don't fight back on your decision. "I hope not to see the Shepherds' compound in flames for this, Diminished," one of them says, looking very much like he does hope for this to happen. "If things go awry, it'll be on your head." You ignore him and turn back to the children, who smile tentatively at you. "Let's go home," you tell them as Trouble punches your shoulder approvingly. "All of us, now." You're greeted by some of the brightest smiles you've seen in a long, long time. *goto endchapter #"Let them go home. They've been away from their families long enough, and we can keep close tabs on them." *set trouble +3 *set reputation +10 *set childrenhome true *set order -3 The children stir and gasp with hope: all of a sudden, their eyes light up with joy. The Inquisitors survey you with suspicion. "Mark me, Diminished," one of them warns. "Should this go awry, it will be on your head. And we will come to claim it." You ignore him and turn to the children as Trouble punches your shoulder approvingly. "Let's take you home," you tell them—and you're greeted with the brightest, biggest smiles you've seen in a long, long time. *goto endchapter *hide_reuse #Turn to the Inquisitors. "...What do you propose we do?" *set order +3 Trouble flushes with anger as you address the Inquisitors. "$!{firstname}," he says through grit teeth. "[i]My[/i] group was given over to the Inquisitors after we got away from the Equalists. And they didn't do jack shit!" "Rest assured," the pale-haired man drawls sarcastically, "we will conduct rigorous testing, using the best of the Autarch's resources. If the children are pure of demonic Rot, they will be released home." You arch a brow. "And if they aren't?" The Inquisitor spreads his hands. "They will be exterminated." Trouble gasps, even though the children remain silent and white-faced. "No," Trouble says. "[i]Fuck[/i] no. You know their tests are shit, $!{firstname}—they'll chuck these kids into some stupid device and condemn them to death, anyway!" "They didn't do that to you," you point out. He flushes even further. "[i]I[/i] wasn't suspected of being a Thrall!" You turn to the Inquisitors. *choice #"Take them." *set troublehate true *set childreninquisitors true *set trouble 0 *set numberofhated +1 *achieve exterminator *set order +15 You don't have time to react before Trouble's fist swings and clocks one of the Inquisitors in the face. "[i]Run[/i]!" he yells to the children—but they're all so stunned that they don't seem to know he's talking to them. You stand and watch as the two Inquisitors wrestle him to the ground, pinning his arms behind his back and shoving his face into the dirt. One of the children begins to cry. Trouble puts up a good fight, but eventually more Inquisitors come, and they round the children up and begin to cart them away. You tell yourself you're doing the right thing, that the children will be treated well and that the Autarch has tools that the Shepherds lack—that you're doing what's best for the city. But it is very hard to believe that when the children stare at you like ghosts, ferried away to some unknown fate. And when Trouble finally stands up from the mud, released by six heavy Inquisitors, the look he gives you is so full of betrayal and hatred, it feels like he scalded you with acid. "Fuck you, $!{firstname}," the gunslinger says. He spits at your feet and storms away. You shut your eyes. You know you did the right thing… but you also know that Trouble Alder will never forgive you. *goto endchapter #"On second thought..." *goto childrenchoice *label followtallys You follow close on Tallys' heels as the Elf silently exits the Shepherds' compound and makes her way into the streets of Ashtown. By now, evening has fallen; lamplighters move down the street, laboriously lighting Ashtown's few streetlights with wicks on long poles. The noise of the day's crowds has receded. Now most of Witchtown's Diminished are inside, enjoying dinners with their families or commiserating over drinks with their fellow workers. Tallys strides down the avenue, oblivious to it all. *choice #"Tallys, wait." She glances back and notices you following for the first time, pursing her lips. "I need to get out of the city," she explains tersely. "I need—to clear my head. It's too loud here. I need to think." "Think about what?" you ask her. Tallys gestures vaguely behind her. "About what just happened. How he called me… callous." "Do you think you're callous?" Tallys stares at you. "I think I'm practical," she says. "You have to be, in this world. Don't you?" *choice #"Yes, I think so." *set tallys +3 *set compassionate -3 "It's the only way to survive," you say. "You can't afford [i]not[/i] to be practical." Tallys looks away. "I thought so, too," is all she says. *goto tallysfollowfind #"No, not necessarily." *set tallys +1 *set compassionate +3 "You never [i]have[/i] to be anything," you say. "You still have the choice to have a heart, no matter what." Tallys looks away, but says nothing. *goto tallysfollowfind #"I don't know." Tallys goes quiet. "Neither do I." *goto tallysfollowfind #"Where are you going?" "Out," Tallys answers tersely. "Out where?" "Out of the city." She purses her lips. "I need—to clear my head. It's too loud here. I need to think." "Think about what?" you ask her. Tallys gestures vaguely behind her. "About what just happened. How he called me… callous." "Do you think you're callous?" Tallys stares at you. "I think I'm practical," she says. "You have to be, in this world. I'm just looking out for the Shepherds—putting our interests first. Doesn't someone have to?" *choice #"Don't you think that's Blade's job?" *set tallys -3 *set blade +1 Tallys stares at you. "But he isn't here," she says. "And he appointed Trouble leader in his place," you answer pointedly. Tallys looks away. "And maybe that was a mistake." *goto tallysfollowfind #"Don't you think the Shepherds should put the interests of civilians first?" *set compassionate +3 Tallys stares at you. "Not if it leads to our very destructon," she answers. You stare right back. "Then what did the Autarchy give us power for?" She looks away. "Perhaps to destroy ourselves," she says. *goto tallysfollowfind #"I understand. You're doing the tough part." *set tallys +3 Tallys smiles briefly. "I'm thankful someone understands," she says. "I only wish Trouble did, as well." *goto tallysfollowfind #"Slow down. I'm on your side." Tallys glances back at you. "Can't," she says simply. "I need to get out of the city, clear my head—I can't think." Then she seems to realize what you just said. "Wait, did you just say you're on my side?" You nod. "Of course. You were just being practical, logical. We can't afford to operate solely on emotion and gut instinct." "But maybe he's right," the Elf murmurs, shaking her head. "Maybe I have become—callous. Those Norm children do need help. But for some reason, whenever I hear about something like that, I just think, 'Diminished children need more help. I need to focus on that.'" *choice #"I understand." Tallys looks surprised. "You do?" You nod. "Of course. We all have our priorities. And being Diminished yourself, you're more sympathetic to the plight of the Diminished." Tallys shakes her head. "But maybe that means I'm not fit to be in command." *choice #"Maybe you're right." *set tallys -3 "Maybe the job requires more objectivity," you say. Tallys just looks away. "Maybe." *goto tallysfollowfind #"You're just looking out for the underdog." *set tallys +3 Tallys' look brightens a little. "Yes," she says. "Someone has to." *goto tallysfollowfind #"Maybe [i]I[/i] should be third-in-command." *set cunning +3 *set compassionate -3 *set tallys -10 Tallys' head swivels around so she can give you a stony stare. "I did not realize you harbored such ambitions." You shrug. "It's just a suggestion. I could relieve you of duty if you find it too burdensome." Tallys' features turn cold. "I thank you for your selflessness," she says, her voice chilly with sarcasm. *goto tallysfollowfind #"The Shepherds aren't supposed to be prejudiced." "We're supposed to protect all people," you remind her. "It's why Trouble and Shery are a part of the Order, too. We're all here to protect the innocent. It's just a matter if the crime falls under our jurisdiction or not." She glances at you. "And you're not so sure it is?" You shrug. "I can't [i]know[/i] for sure. I just agree that it warrants more investigating before we jump to any conclusions." *goto tallysfollowfind #"You were wrong back there, to dismiss him that way." *set tallys -10 Tallys glances back at you, her mouth tight. "You followed me out here just to tell me that?" Her eyes harden. "I'm going out of the city, you know. To clear my head. Are you going to tail me there too?" You stand your ground. "You shouldn't have spoken to Trouble like that." Tallys scowls: a rare expression for her normally-serene face. "…You really think so?" You nod. "It's clearly a deeply personal issue for him." "But that's exactly [i]why[/i] I dismissed him," the Elf answers, exasperated. "It's [i]too[/i] personal. He's allowing his hatred to cloud his view." *choice #"Are you sure you're not allowing hatred to cloud [i]yours[/i]?" *set tallys -10 Tallys' head swivels around to give you a sharp stare. "What do you mean by that?" You don't back down from her look. "You know exactly what I mean." Tallys sucks in a breath and looks away; you notice that her face has gone quite pale. *goto tallysfollowfind #"I agree that we need to be objective, but you could have softened your approach." *set charisma +3 *set intelligence +1 "You were never going to persuade him by telling him he was wrong so blatantly," you tell her reasonably. "Even if you're right—though we have no evidence either way—you went about it the wrong way in telling him." Tallys frowns and looks away. "Perhaps you're right." *goto tallysfollowfind *label tallysfollowfind The two of you walk on in silence for a while. Tallys is deep in thought, and you're wondering what you're going to do next. Is it always like this whenever Blade leaves the Order? Are the Shepherds actually just as fractured as the rest of the city? And how do they deal with conflict within their own ranks? Around you, Ashtown ebbs and flows in a backdrop of faint chatter, soft lights, vague shapes and evening shadows moving around you. It begins to drizzle lightly, a cool mist descending from nowhere; you hunch your shoulders against the sudden cold, but Tallys fails to notice. Soon enough you and Tallys reach one of Haven's side gates, set into the crumbling white wall that demarcates the bottom tier of the city. There's a Vice Guard standing there, keeping watch as ever, but as you approach you see that she already seems preoccupied with someone else. "I don't understand," a man is saying. He's dressed in merchant's clothes, and his build and beard tell you that he's a Norm. His features are rat-like, and a jagged scar crisscrosses the bridge of his nose. "I have…business to conduct at the edge of the valley. You're telling me I can't leave?" "Orders of the Sun Court," the Vice Guard tells him, eyes forward. "A new curfew is in effect. No one goes in or out of the city after sundown." "But that's ridiculous!" the man sputters. The Vice Guard looks him in the eye, and now her own gaze is hard and steely. "This curfew comes from a Son of Heaven himself," she tells him. "Dare you question the word of the Autarch's son?" The merchant draws back in dismay. "No," he says faintly, barely audible over the patter of rain. "No, I would never—I would never dream of that." Head bowed, he beats a hasty retreat back up the road, cursing to himself under his breath. You and Tallys now approach, drawing out your sun medallions to show the guard at the gate. She barely looks at either of you. "New curfew," she says, looking off into the rain. "On account of all these kids going missing. No one is to go in or out of the city after sundown." Tallys' mouth twists. *choice #"But we have Shepherd business outside the walls!" *set loyal -3 "It will have to wait," the Vice Guard says, completely unfazed. You have a feeling she's used to being battered by protests and complaints all day. You can't believe this; what if you had an actual urgent reason to leave the city—a demonic infestation or a message that needed to be delivered? "But—" Tallys jerks her head at you. "Let's go, $!{firstname}," she says quietly. "It isn't worth the effort." You stare at her, but it's clear that she has no interest in clashing with the Vice Guard. So you just nod, and the two of you turn and walk back down the street, leaving Haven's wall to grin at you like a row of uneven teeth in the rain. #"Understood. Thanks for telling us." *set loyal +3 Tallys opens her mouth for a moment, as if to protest, but when both you and the Vice Guard look at her, she closes her mouth again and merely shakes her head. The two of you turn and walk back down the street, leaving Haven's wall to grin at you like a row of uneven teeth in the rain. #"Kids going missing?" *set intelligence +1 "That's what I said," the Guard says curtly. She eyes you with a gimlet eye. "Why, you know something about it?" You catch Tallys' eye, and she gives an imperceptible head shake. It never looks good when a Diminished person claims to know about any kind of trouble—especially not to the bigoted Vice Guard. So you just shake your head, and the two of you turn and walk back down the street, leaving Haven's wall to grin at you like a row of uneven teeth in the rain. *page_break Later, you and Tallys decide to take shelter from the bad weather by stamping into a local tavern called the [i]The Thirteenth Hour[/i]. Tallys says it's a good meeting place for Diminished—a place where the Shepherds are actually welcome. The two of you settle down at a corner table by the crackling hearth, draping your steaming cloaks over your chairs to dry in the warmth of the room. The tavern is full tonight, crammed with chattering Diminished who shared your idea of getting out of the steady downpour. You turn to Tallys as a hassled-looking barmaid sets down two warm mugs of honey vytas and a dish of peya: a traditional Elven nut-stuffed bread wrapped in a fragrant steamed leaf. As the scents of the food and the noise of the crowd wash over you, you turn to Tallys and comment wryly: "This is rather the opposite of getting out of the city to clear your thoughts." "Yes, but I have no choice," Tallys answers, resigned. She takes a sip of her vytas and adds, "Sometimes being with other people can help, too." You don't miss that she shoots you a grateful glance from under her lashes. "Who is this Son of Heaven, anyway?" you ask her. "The one who instituted this curfew? I didn't know that the Autarch had any children." "Few do, outside of Haven," Tallys comments. "All of the attention is given to Her Radiance; the topic of the sons doesn't usually come up, because it makes everyone think about the future, and what will happen when the current Autarch… meets her demise. And to speak of that is blasphemous… so people don't. But the sons have their hand in ruling the Autarchy, all the same." She glances around surreptitiously and lowers her voice, though the chances of your conversation being overheard in this cacophony seem impossible. "Enik Goldenson is the firstborn, and takes very much after his mother. By all accounts he takes his role as a Son of Heaven very seriously: he's a religious fanatic, obsessed with serving the One-God, and quite literal about interpreting Xer word and teachings. He punishes non-believers and Diminished with extreme prejudice." She sits back. "He is also power-hungry, cunning, and eager to consolidate his authority in the Autarchy early. I'm willing to bet it was his curfew that stopped us just now; it's his hand in the execution of every rebel, every worshiper of the Old Faith. Under his direction, the Inquisitors have thrived, rooting out perceived crimes all over the Continent. Martial law sounds right up his alley." You whistle softly. "Sounds like a bad egg." Tallys snorts. "Wait until you hear about his brother." *page_break "Ornos Silverson is the second-born, and an animal. Whereas Enik is zealous and devout, following the doctrines of the One-God, Ornos obeys nothing but his own cravings, his own desires. He's openly flouted the edicts of the Church and the order of the Autarchy. Nothing governs him—or tampers his depravities." She glances around again and lowers her voice even further. "No one knows who Ornos' father is," she says very softly, so that you have to crane forward to hear her. "Braver souls call him Ornos the Bastard. Enik, the brother, was born from the Autarch's consort, Prince Kinpol, who was killed by assassins some time ago. But Ornos was born much later, when the Autarch should have been barren. She claims that he is a gift from the One-God, born from a miraculous union between her and Xer light." "Do you believe that?" you ask her, though you already know the answer. Tallys shakes her head in disgust. "That man did not come from God," she practically spits. "I say he must have been whelped by a she-wolf, or some other, more craven beast. He takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants—be it person or object. I heard he cut a tailor's throat ear-to-ear for missing a frayed cuff-link on his shirt, and laughed when the widow found the body." "And the Autarch lets him run amok like that?" you ask, appalled. "She adores him," Tallys answers, her mouth twisting. "He can do no wrong in her eyes. And, as her health declines… her power to stop him dwindles, too." "Enik will take the throne, surely? When the Autarch… passes?" Tallys shudders. "It's not so clear. He is firstborn, and the legitimate heir, but Ornos is the Autarch's 'miracle.' We do not know yet who will ascend. We will likely never know until the Autarch… [i]moves on[/i]." *choice #"I hope Enik becomes Autarch." "He, at least, represents some kind of order," you comment. "He can be predicted and outmaneuvered. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about." #"I hope Ornos becomes Autarch." "Maybe he'll be too busy pursuing his own pleasures to care about ruling the Continent," you say. "Things might become more lax, with him in charge." #"I hope the Autarch chooses someone else to be her successor." Tallys' eyesbrows raise. "That has never happened," she says bluntly. "Their bloodline is 'holy.' No one else can be the Autarch but a Golden One." "They made themselves out to be holy," you point out. "Anyone else can do the same." #"I hope the entire family dies." *set compassionate -1 Tallys' eyes widen at your bold—no, suicidal—words. But you're confident that no one can hear you: someone on the other side of the bar shouts to buy everyone a round, and a cheer goes up in the shocked silence lying between you. Before Tallys can answer, someone tries to edge past your table and bumps into it with their hip, causing your glasses to wobble. As you steady the whole thing, you happen to glance up—and meet a pair of familiar ocher eyes as you do. Your blood thumps hard in your throat; you know those eyes. You've seen them somewhere before. The man staring down at you has short, blood-red hair under a wide-brimmed black hat, which he hasn't removed—despite the fact that it's dripping with rainwater. When he catches your glance and sees the recognition in your eyes, his own quirk with hidden amusement. He smirks, and that's when you remember who he is. Croelle: the man who first told you about the Shepherds, so long ago, and who accosted you to have a conversation about free will. The man who said he was being employed to watch the Shepherds. [i]You![/i] you want to blurt. But he's moved past your table and vanished into the crowd before you can say anything. Tallys, noticing your sudden surprise, raises her eyebrows. "Do you know him?" "Yes," you say, trying to see where Croelle went. Then you correct yourself. "Well, no, not really. We met once. Before I joined the Shepherds, when I first came to Haven. In another tavern." "He must haunt a lot of them, then," Tallys notes, pouring herself another drink—one with alcohol this time. She doesn't seem very concerned; the vytas has relaxed her slightly, made her forget about the earlier argument with Trouble. "What a coincidence to see him here, of all places." But is it a coincidence? You're not sure… *choice #Get up and go talk to Croelle. *set croelle +10 *set tallys -1 You stand up. "I'm just going to go… catch up with him." Tallys turns back to her drink, though she looks a little disappointed. "By all means," she says, her eyes carefully downcast. *goto croelle #Stay and keep Tallys company. *set tallys +3 You remain at the table and wrap your hand around your steaming mug to warm it. Tallys arches a brow. "His showing up here obviously perturbed you," she comments. *choice #"He told me he was being paid to watch the Shepherds." Tallys shrugs. "Count him as one of many, then. The entire city is watching us, and our political enemies have spies everywhere. But we aren't doing anything wrong, so they can watch all they want." You nod and take another sip of your vytas. The idea of being [i]watched[/i] makes you uneasy, but Tallys seems used to it. Maybe it's just what comes with being a Shepherd. *goto cointest #Say nothing. Now isn't the time to upset Tallys further. You raise your mug and clink it against Tallys'. "It's nothing. Never mind." And you think to yourself that you're probably right. Croelle being here probably means nothing; it's not something worth bringing up now, anyway. *goto cointest *label croelle You scoot back from the table and edge your way through the crowded and humid room to find Croelle. You find him waiting at the bar for a drink, lean as a rake in his black outfit, so tall that he stands nearly a head above everyone else in the room. A thin, vicious sword hangs at his side, and his skin is so death-pale that his eyes seem to burn in his face. The watcher turns to you but doesn't greet you: he seems unsurprised by the fact that you followed him. His eyes fall to your sun medallion, and he says lightly: "A Shepherd now." *choice #"Surprised?" Croelle smiles slightly, though the look is cruel and doesn't reach his eyes. "Not exactly," he answers. "I figured it would happen. You seem the type to ignore even the most well-intentioned warning." #"I seem to recall you said you're watching us?" Croelle smirks slightly, though the look is cruel and doesn't reach his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself," he answers. "It's my time off at the moment. I'm not a voyeur. I'm not watching you for pleasure. I only do it as business, and right now, I'm not working." *line_break You stiffen at the insult, but before you can answer, he turns back to receive his drink from one of the servers. Croelle lifts his pewter mug to you in a lazy, almost mocking toast and says, "Still believe in free will?" Your mouth twists at the familiar topic. Why is this man obsessed with talking philosophy with you? "What do you mean?" Croelle indicates your sun medallion. "I mean, did you join the Shepherds of your own free will?" *choice #"No. I was forced into it. To survive." *set loyal -3 *set croelle +5 Croelle nods sagely, with something like a bitter smile. "That's life." #"Yes. I joined them willingly. And I'm glad I did." *set loyal +3 *set croelle +5 Croelle gazes at you, his burning eyes somewhat curious. "You and I are different creatures, I suppose." #"Don't you get tired of interrogating me about this?" *set croelle -5 Croelle lets loose a low laugh. "Clearly [i]you[/i] don't get tired of it," he retorts. "Since you followed me here." #Stay silent. *set croelle -5 Croelle smirks to himself, as if he expected your reticence. Then he cocks his head at you, interested. "And… are you happy now? With the Shepherds?" *choice #"Why do you care about my happiness? We're strangers!" ([i]Angry[/i]) *set croellestatus "You're starting to wish you could wring his neck." "I don't even know you," you tell him, more than a little frustrated by his blase attitude. "Why do you ask about me, my life and wellbeing—when I don't even know who you are?" Croelle shrugs, though his smile is tight now. "We all have choices to make," he says, still cryptic. "I like my choices to be well-informed." #"Why do you care about my happiness? We're strangers." ([i]Curious[/i]) "I'm a stranger to you," you tell him, without rancor. "Why is my happiness even a question for you?" Croelle's smile is bitter and hard. "We all have choices to make, Shepherd," he answers, still cryptic. "I like my choices to be well-informed." #"Yes. I am very happy. More than I expected." *set croelle +5 You can't help but smile to yourself. Joining the Shepherds might be the best thing you ever did. You look up to find Croelle watching you. He seems sad, resigned—as if your answer was not what he was hoping for. "Good for you," is all he says, though he clearly isn't happy for you. #"No. But I'm getting by." *set croelle +3 Croelle turns his eyes forward to stare at the wall. "A kindred spirit," is all he says, sipping his drink. He looks pensive. Then his eyes flick away, to something across the room, and you sense that you only have time for one more question before he walks away. *choice #"Seriously, who are you?" Crolle stares at you: his gaze is scalding like a hot white searchlight. "I already told you," he tells you. Though he seems calm, his voice has taken on a clipped, dangerous quality. "My name is Croelle." "That's it?" you demand. "No last name, no other title?" He shakes his head. "That's all I've ever been known as." "By whom?" His grin turns fierce and animalistic. "By anyone foolish enough to ask," he answers. #"Do you mean us any ill will?" Croelle stares at you, and a brittle, knowing smile spreads across his lips. You notice that his canine teeth are slightly sharper than normal, as if filed to slight points. "That remains to be seen," he says slowly. "I have no personal stake in harming you. But things don't often go the way we'd like, do they? You of all people should know that." #"Why don't you join our table?" *set croelle +5 Croelle stares at you, as if taken aback. It seems this was the last question he expected you to ask. "No," he says, a bit rudely. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he offers no other explanation other than his refusal. *if (intelligence >= 20) #"Are you another Mage, too?" The way his ocher eyes burn certainly seems to be the [i]iladrin[/i]. But Croelle only sneers at you and turns away. "Close enough," is all he says. #"Why do you always wear that hat?" *set croelle +2 Croelle looks slightly surprised, as if this was the last question he expected you to ask. He glances up at it before answering, "I like it," with a shrug. Then he lifts his tankard towards you in another salute and begins to shove himself off of the counter, to walk away. As he does it you see something shiny slip out of his dark coat: a necklace of some kind, not so different from your sun medallion. With it comes the headachy wash of magic, and something else, something [i]wrong[/i]—like the smell of rotting carrion. Despite yourself, you flinch. Croelle notices the movement before casually slipping the necklace back under his clothes. "See you soon, $!{firstname}," he says, a little ominously—then vanishes back into the crowd. You stand there for a moment, trying to remember if you ever even told him your name. Then you go back to Tallys… though you can't quash the strong feeling of being watched. *set croellestatus "His modus operandi seems to be rudeness, strangeness, and speaking in cryptic riddles." *page_break A little later in the night, you see a pair of men come into the bar. *goto inquisitors *label cointest *page_break A little later in the night, when you and Tallys have gotten truly comfortable again, she says, seemingly out of nowhere: "Do you ever wonder if people like us can be happy?" *fake_choice #"People like us?" Tallys nods gravely: her green eyes shimmer with a heavy kind of sadness. "Diminished, of course," she clarifies. "Do you think we can be truly happy in this world? Free of pain and fear—or is such an existence impossible, as long as the Autarchy exists?" "This is because of what happened with Trouble?" Tallys looks away, then slowly nods. "If we lived in a world without the Autarchy," she begins again, "maybe we could have gone to investigate the case ourselves. Maybe I wouldn't have been afraid that the Inquisitors would show up in the middle of it and blame us for what was happening to their Norm children. Maybe I wouldn't shy away from such things, terrified we'll be used as scapegoats for anything that isn't clearly the work of demons." She looks away. "Maybe there wouldn't be a curfew preventing us from leaving the city. Maybe a concept like the Equalists wouldn't even exist." #"Aren't you happy now?" Tallys' mouth twists. "How can I be?" she asks. "How can I live in this world without always looking over my shoulder? Live free of pain and fear? Isn't such a thing impossible, as long as the Autarchy exists?" "This is because of what happened with Trouble?" Tallys looks away, then slowly nods. "If we lived in a world without the Autarchy," she begins again, "maybe we could have gone to investigate the case ourselves. Maybe I wouldn't have been afraid that the Inquisitors would show up in the middle of it and blame us for what was happening to their Norm children. Maybe I wouldn't shy away from such things, terrified we'll be used as scapegoats for anything that isn't clearly the work of demons." She looks away. "Maybe there wouldn't be a curfew preventing us from leaving the city. Maybe a concept like the Equalists wouldn't even exist." #"Yes, I do wonder." Tallys nods. "How could you not?" she asks. "How can we live truly happy in this world? How can we exist without pain and fear? Isn't such a thing impossible, as long as the Autarchy exists?" "This is because of what happened with Trouble?" Tallys nods. "If we lived in a world without the Autarchy," she begins, "maybe we could have gone to investigate the case ourselves. Maybe I wouldn't have been afraid that the Inquisitors would show up in the middle of it and blame us for what was happening to their Norm children. Maybe I wouldn't shy away from such things, terrified we'll be used as scapegoats for anything that isn't clearly the work of demons." She looks away. "Maybe there wouldn't be a curfew preventing us from leaving the city. Maybe a concept like the Equalists wouldn't even exist." #"I am happy." Tallys looks at you, startled. "How could you be?" she asks. "How can you be truly happy in this world—how can you live without pain and fear hanging over you like a guillotine? Isn't such a thing impossible, as long as the Autarchy exists?" "This is because of what happened with Trouble?" Tallys nods. "If we lived in a world without the Autarchy," she begins, "maybe we could have gone to investigate the case ourselves. Maybe I wouldn't have been afraid that the Inquisitors would show up in the middle of it and blame us for what was happening to their Norm children. Maybe I wouldn't shy away from such things, terrified we'll be used as scapegoats for anything that isn't clearly the work of demons." She looks away. "Maybe there wouldn't be a curfew preventing us from leaving the city. Maybe a concept like the Equalists wouldn't even exist." *fake_choice #"That's a lot of maybes. Solid facts are what make people happy." Tallys arches a brow. "And what 'solid facts' am I missing?" "Well, you have food and shelter, for one," you comment slowly. "Which is more than I had for a long time. And friends. Blade, Shery… even Trouble, once this argument's blown over. People who support you. Care about you." Tallys is looking at you. "Can all of that stand against the tide of the Autarch's power?" she asks. *fake_choice #"And you have me." *set tallysromanceflag +1 *set tallys +1 #"Yes. It's the only thing that can, actually." #"You're right. The Autarchy and the Diminished can't truly coexist." *set loyal -1 Tallys' eyes widen at your rebellious words. "What are you saying?" "I'm only agreeing with you," you tell her, leaning forward. "For the Diminished to be happy, the Autarchy can't exist." *selectable_if (heritage = "Elf") #"Remember what the Elves say. 'The way is closed, and man's greatest folly is to guess at what lies beyond.' *set tallys +3 You quote the words to her in Elvish. "Only unhappiness will come to she who treads the faded paths instead of the one marked clearly before her." A smile flickers across Tallys' lips, and her eyes shine at the words spoken in her native tongue. "You dare to school me in the old sayings?" she asks, almost playfully. "[i]Me[/i], Keeper of the Elvish histories!" But she seems delighted to hear you reference an old adage of her—no, your—people. You smile back at her. "We'll never know if we would have been happier without the Autarchy around. Maybe something worse would be in its place: maybe the wars would have destroyed us all, and we would have never been born. I don't claim to know. All I know is that the wisdoms of the past tell us to make do with what we have in the present." "You are quite wise for one so young," Tallys comments, sounding chagrined. You snort. "I've had enough experience to fill up a dozen lifetimes." Tallys smiles at that, a little sadly. Then she seems to shake herself out of her moroseness and shakes her head, discreetly dabbing at the corner of one eye. When she looks up at you, her face shines with a new expression: one of determination, as if she's told herself to stop wallowing in self-pity. "Would you like to play a game?" she asks suddenly. Without waiting for an answer, she draws a little cloth pouch from the inside of her cloak: it's full of tiny ivory tiles that clatter inside. "How about Elements?" *label game *temp turn 0 *temp play 0 *temp bet false *temp hairdisplay "" You smile. "You just carry that around with you?" She shrugs. "You never know when you might need to distract yourself with a bit of fun." You lean forward and allow her to pour the tiles onto the table between you. There are nearly a hundred, and each is the size of your thumbnail, bearing the small painted symbol of a tree, raindrop, or flame. "My own special set," Tallys murmurs, hands moving deftly to flip each tile so that it's face-down. "Painted by an Elven artisan who's made them for centuries. Do you remember how to play?" You nod. "We each flip one tile at the same time," you say, "and see whose tile beats the other. Water douses fire, fire destroys wood, and wood grows from water. Pretty straightforward." Her eyes glint, a little mischievously. "Let's make it a little more interesting, then…" Her smile suddenly turns sly and foxlike. "Winner gets to ask the loser a question—any question—and the loser… has to answer." *fake_choice #"That sounds fun. I'm in." *set tallys +1 Tallys smiles wider. "Excellent. And I hope you won't take offense if I ask a question you might not want to answer." You spread your hands. "How could I be? That's the whole point of the game." #"Are you serious? Isn't that a little... childish?" *set tallys -1 Tallys's expression doesn't change much, but you can sense her urge to roll her eyes. "Most games are, $!{firstname}. Are you going to try it or not?" You relent with a sigh. "Fine, fine. Let's try it." #"Care to wager coin on it?" *set bet true Tallys lifts her eyebrows. "We're betting information," she says delicately. "Knowledge. That's far more valuable than money." But when you continue to stare at her, she sighs. "Fine," she acquiesces. "Five lyss for every win. Sound good?" You nod. "Sounds good." She gestures with her hands. "Let's begin, then. One… two…" *label flip *if (turn >= 5) *goto endgame *page_break Flip a tile! *set turn +1 *rand play 1 4 *if (play = 1) *if (bet) *set gold +1 You flip water, and Tallys flips fire. You win! *goto asktallys *if (play = 2) *if (bet) *set gold -1 You flip wood, and Tallys flips fire. She wins! *goto tallysasksyou *if (play = 3) *if (bet) *set gold +1 You flip fire, and Tallys flips wood. You win! *goto asktallys *if (play = 4) *if (bet) *set gold -1 You flip water, and Tallys flips wood. She wins! *goto tallysasksyou *label asktallys *if (turn = 1) Tallys smiles ruefully. "Congratulations for winning on the very first try. What do you want to ask me?" *if (turn = 2) Tallys sighs through her nose. "You win. What's your question?" *if (turn = 3) Tallys purses her lips in displeasure. "What do you want to know?" *if (turn = 4) Tallys drops her head down to the table: it seems the drink is starting to have a little effect on her, because she slurs a bit when she says: "What's the question?" *if (turn = 5) Tallys groans; her position on the seat of her chair seems a little wobbly, and her head bobs and weaves in the air as if struggling to stay aloft. "Ask your question." *choice *if (compassionate < 50) *hide_reuse #"So... Fuck, marry, or kill... Trouble, Blade, and Shery?" Tallys snorts. "Really?" "You're the one who started this!" She rolls her eyes. "Very well, then. I would marry Shery, sleep with Blade, and…" She pauses for a moment, then looks down at her cup and swirls the drink around in it. "…kill Trouble." *choice #"And what if I were in the mix?" *set tallysromanceflag +1 Tallys winks at you. "Now, now, $!{firstname}. You only get to ask one question, not two." She tosses back the rest of her drink and signals a barmaid for more. "Let's flip again." *goto flip #"Are you just saying that because you're mad at him right now?" Tallys purses her lips, but says nothing as she takes a deep draught of her drink. "…Let's keep playing, shall we?" The two of you ready yourselves to flip another tile. "One… two…" *goto flip #Keep playing the game. The two of you ready yourselves to flip another tile. "One… two…" *goto flip *else *hide_reuse #"So... Trouble, Blade, and Shery. Which one would you marry, which one would you kill, and which one would you make love to?" Tallys smiles slightly and leans back in her chair, folding her hands on her stomach as if she's in very deep thought. Finally she says decisively: "I'd marry Shery, make love to the Commander, and kill Trouble." *choice #"Marry Shery? Why?" "She'd make a very lovely wife," Tallys answers calmly, shrugging. She states it without real interest—more like it's just a fact. "She's sweet, loving, and loyal: who wouldn't want to marry her?" Then she glances back at the tiles. "Shall we keep playing?" "Sure." You lean forward. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Make love to Blade? Why?" Tallys raises her eyebrows. "He's an attractive man by any standard," she says blandly, as if she were discussing the weather. "And I can't imagine that he'd be a selfish lover." She shrugs and looks at the tiles. "Shall we keep playing?" You lean forward. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Kill Trouble? Why?" Tallys spears you with an unimpressed look. "Did you hear what he was saying to me, not one hour ago?" "Yes, but…" She raises her hand. "I wouldn't, of course, actually kill Trouble. We're friends. But he can be an idiot at times. He's like an annoying brother. I certainly wouldn't marry or—well." She shrugs and looks at the tiles. "Shall we keep playing?" You lean forward. "One… two…" *goto flip #"And what if I were in the mix?" *set tallysromanceflag +1 A mischievous smile steals across Tallys' lips. "You only get one question," she says, but her voice is just a shade lower than usual. "Not two. But maybe you can ask me that some other time." She shrugs and looks at the tiles. "Shall we keep playing?" You lean forward. "One… two…" *goto flip *hide_reuse #"Who was the first person you ever killed?" Tallys' expression doesn't change, but you think that she looks just a bit paler than usual. "You would ask that kind of question during a game?" *choice #"You're right. Let me ask something else." *set charisma +3 *set tallys +1 "What's your favorite animal?" you ask. Tallys looks thoughtful. "I appreciate all animals," she says after a moment. "More than people, sometimes. Their lives are so… pure, so uncomplicated. They lack delusions about… well, really anything." She mulls it over for a moment. "I suppose, if I had to choose… I've always admired swans." For some reason, you wouldn't have guessed that: you would have expected her to pick something like a deer or an ahfuri. "Swans?" Tallys nods decisively. "They are the picture of nature's grace and beauty," she says. "And I have always loved watching birds in flight. They're so free. And…" She trails off for a moment, then smiles a little and shrugs indulgently. "And they only mate once. For life. They die loving the same partner, until the end of their days. There's something very beautiful in that." She catches your look and blinks. "Let's roll again." *goto flip #"You said I could ask any question." *set courage +3 *set charisma -3 Tallys snorts, but she looks less amused and more baffled. Then she shrugs and says: "…It was a man from another tribe. An Elf. I'd coupled with someone I'd assumed to be unattached… but she turned out to be his wife." *if (heritage = "Elf") You raise your eyebrows. "And you killed him? In self-defense?" Among the Elves, you know, it's almost sacrilegious to kill one of your own: extinguishing a life that might have lived for hundreds or even thousands of years is taken much more seriously than in other cultures. Tallys frowns. "I didn't mean to. He confronted me on a cliff edge—wrestled with me and tried to push me over. He fell… on accident." She looks away. "It almost sparked a war between our two clans. Even up until ours was destroyed, relations between us were… frosty." *else "So you challenged him to a duel?" you ask, raising your eyebrows. Tallys shakes her head vigorously. "Elves don't duel each other," she says. "Killing our kin is taken much more seriously in our culture than it is in others. Your opponent could have lived hundreds or even thousands of years. Extinguishing a life like that—with all of its memories, experiences, history—is considered… sacrilegious." "But you killed him," you prompt. Tallys grimaces. "It was an accident," she states. "He confronted me on a cliff edge—wrestled with me and tried to push me over. He fell instead… on accident." She looks away. "It almost sparked a war between our two clans. Even up until ours was destroyed, relations between us were… frosty." She presses her lips shut and doesn't seem to want to speak about it any further. You clear your throat. "All right, then. Let's roll again." *goto flip *hide_reuse #"Who was the first person you ever kissed?" Tallys smiles. "Avelin," she murmurs with a faraway look in her eyes. "Xe was a xixian Mage, of all people. Xe lived in a hut in a forest we would travel through every summer to reach our ancestral home. We snuck away and—I felt like xe wanted me to kiss xer. And so I did." "How old were you?" you ask. Tallys smiles in a brittle way. "It would be twelve in non-Elvish years." Then she nods her head at the tiles. "Shall we go again?" You nod. "One, two…" *goto flip *hide_reuse #"On a scale of one to ten, how attractive do you think I am?" *if ((tallysromanceflag >= 2) and (heritage != "Elf")) Tallys actually throws her head back and laughs out loud. "Ten," she says, without embarrassment and with a merry glint in her eye. "Whether or not that changes remains to be seen." *choice #Blush and look away. *set courage -1 Tallys snorts at your embarrassment. "Let's flip again," she says, sitting languidly forward. "One, two…" *goto flip #Meet her gaze head-on. "Nice to know." *set tallys +1 *set courage +1 *set tallysromanceflag +1 Tallys smiles slightly. "I'm glad," she says—then sits forward languidly. "Shall we flip again? One, two…" *goto flip #"Ewww..." *set tallys -1 Tallys rolls her eyes and snorts. "Let's flip again," she says, sitting forward eagerly. "One, two…" *goto flip *if ((tallysromanceflag >= 2) and (heritage = "Elf")) Tallys actually throws her head back and laughs out loud. "Ask me in Elvish, and then I'll answer," she says with a merry glint in her eyes. You comply, and the glint grows into a spark of something more. "Eleven," Tallys says, her voice a bit husky—then she clears her throat and leans forward again. "…Shall we play again?" You nod, trying not to smile at the idea that Tallys finds you exceedingly attractive. "Sure. One… two…" *goto flip *else Tallys smiles, tilting her head coyly. "A seven," she answers simply, unembarrassed, "but whether that number raises or lowers remains to be seen." Then she leans forward again and looks at the tiles. "Let's flip again. One… two…" *goto flip *hide_reuse #"What's your favorite thing to do on your day off?" Tallys snorts, opens her mouth to answer, then seems to think better of it. "Garden," she says carefully. "And take long walks in the valley." You cock an eyebrow at her. "What were you actually going to say?" Tallys shakes her head. "That's my answer. Let's flip again. One… two…" *goto flip *hide_reuse #"What's your greatest fear?" Tallys rubs her arms suddenly and shudders. "Being trapped underground," she breathes. "For an Elf, being cut off from sunlight, from the free air… it's horrifying. I'm badly claustrophobic." *choice #"Shouldn't have revealed your weaknesses to me so easily. I'm going to commit great evil with this knowledge." ([i]Joke[/i]) Tallys rolls her eyes. "I trust you," she answers simply. "I wouldn't play this game with you if I didn't." Then she cocks her head. "Time to flip again?" *goto flip #"Hey, that's my greatest fear too!" Tallys smiles slightly. "We're quite alike, you and I," she acknowledges, inclining her head. "Let's pray we never get sent on a mission to a cave together…" You laugh. "We'll just refuse to go. Send someone else!" Tallys laughs too. "Send the Commander," she comments. "His eyes can actually see in the dark." Then she cocks her head. "Time to flip again?" *goto flip #"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe." Tallys rolls her eyes, but her lips are smiling. "You'll protect me from being trapped underground?" she asks sardonically. "That's so kind of you. No, I'll protect myself by never venturing into a dark and airless tunnel, thank you." Then she cocks her head. "Time to flip again?" *goto flip #"Hm, interesting." Time to flip again. *goto flip *label tallysasksyou *if (turn = 1) *goto q1 *if (turn = 2) *goto q2 *if (turn = 3) *goto q3 *if (turn = 4) *goto q4 *if (turn = 5) *goto q5 *label q1 "Ha!" Tallys exclaims, sitting back triumphantly in her chair. You throw your hands in the air. "All right," you concede. "You win the first round." Tallys smirks. "That I did, $!{firstname}," she says, eyes sparkling. She's definitely seemed to have forgotten the argument with Trouble—at least for the moment. She puts her fingers on her chin. "Now to ask you a question…" She looks at you slyly. "What… is your favorite color?" You snort. "Really? You could ask me anything, and you ask that?" Tallys shrugs. "I'm starting slow. Since I'll be winning every round after this one, anyway." Well, then. This is a simple enough question. You tell her your favorite color is… *fake_choice #"Red." *set color "red" Tallys looks thoughtful. "A passionate color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Orange." *set color "orange" Tallys looks thoughtful. "A bold color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Yellow." *set color "yellow" Tallys looks thoughtful. "A striking color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Green." *set color "green" *set tallys +1 Tallys perks up. "That's my favorite color, as well," she tells you. "I'll have to file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Blue." *set color "blue" Tallys looks thoughtful. "A soothing color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Purple." *set color "purple" Tallys looks thoughtful. "A proud color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Pink." Tallys looks thoughtful. "A sweet color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"White." Tallys looks thoughtful. "A pure color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Gray." Tallys looks thoughtful. "A nuanced color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Brown." Tallys looks thoughtful. "A simple but strong color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #"Black." Tallys looks thoughtful. "A dark color," is all she says. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #Something more specific. [i]Ex: I love the color ____; look at those ____ flowers![/i] *input_text color Tallys looks thoughtful. "$!{color}?" she echoes. "I'll file that away for later." Then she cocks her head. "Shall we roll again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip #This is such a weird question. You don't have a favorite color... Tallys rolls her eyes. "I suppose that's an answer," she allows reluctantly. "Shall we flip again?" You nod. "One… two…" *goto flip *label q2 "I won!" Tallys exclaims. She takes a victorious sip of her drink. "All right, then… what's the most embarrassing way you've ever been injured?" *choice #"This happened just last week, actually. I was chasing after an imp and I slipped on some old fruit peels..." Tallys bursts out laughing. "Did anybody see?" Your face burns. "Only the fruit merchant… and his huge line of customers…" It takes a long time for Tallys to stop laughing. *goto flip #"I once sneezed so hard I threw out my neck for a week." Tallys bursts out laughing. "I've always heard Mage's sneezes are dangerous." Your face burns. "That's only when you're a kid. This happened when I was an adult…" It takes a long time for Tallys to stop laughing. *goto flip #"While training, I dropped a weapon on my foot and crushed my toes." Tallys bursts out laughing. "What weapon was it?" Your face burns. *if (mainweapon = "sword") "…My sword," you answer reluctantly. Tallys' jaw drops open. "Hilt or point?" "Hilt, thankfully." It takes a long time for her to stop laughing. *goto flip *if (mainweapon = "gun") "…My gun," you answer reluctantly. Tallys' jaw drops open. "Did it go off?" "No, thankfully." It takes a long time for her to stop laughing. *goto flip *if (mainweapon = "bow") "…One of my arrows," you answer reluctantly. Tallys' jaw drops open. "Fletching or point?" "Fletching, thankfully." It takes a long time for her to stop laughing. *goto flip *if (mainweapon = "dagger") "…My dagger," you answer reluctantly. Tallys' jaw drops open. "Hilt or point?" "Hilt, thankfully." It takes a long time for her to stop laughing. *goto flip #"When I was little, our village put on a talent show, of sorts. During my performance I slipped across the stage, fell on my back, slid, barreled into the band, broke the lead's instrument, and brought the entire show to a grinding halt." Tallys bursts out laughing. "That can't be a real story." "It is," you say with great dignity. "The stage was very slippery, and I was wearing socks." It takes a long time for her to stop laughing. *goto flip #"Nothing comes to mind, honestly." *set tallys -1 *set strength +1 Tallys makes a face. "Really? Nothing at all?" You shrug. "I don't do many embarrassing things. Or injure myself." She rolls her eyes. "Fine, then. Let's flip again. One, two…" *goto flip #"I'd rather not answer that." *set tallys -1 Tallys rolls her eyes. "You're defeating the purpose of the game, $!{firstname}," she says—but she leans forward as if to flip again. "One, two…" *goto flip *label q3 Tallys regards you slyly. "You may not like this question, $!{firstname}." *fake_choice #"Give me your best shot." *goto asd #"Oh, boy. I don't like that tone..." *goto asd #([i]Groan[/i]) *goto asd *label asd Tallys smirks. "With a choice of Commander Blade, Trouble, and Shery: who would you sleep with, who would you marry, and who would you kill?" *fake_choice #"And I [i]have[/i] to answer?" Tallys smirks. "Yes." "Fine, then," you mutter. "I'd marry…" #"Why aren't you in the mix, Tallys?" *set tallysromanceflag +1 She smiles at you from beneath her lashes. "I can always ask you that question more directly," is all she says. "For now, you may answer it the way I posed it." "Fine, then," you say. "I'd marry…" #"You're right, I [i]don't[/i] like this question." She lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. "You agreed to play the game. This is the game." "Fine, then," you mutter. "I'd marry…" #"That's a stupid question. I'm not going to answer it." Tallys frowns at you, but chooses not to comment. "Let's just roll again, then," she says, looking at the tiles. She seems unsurprised, though disappointed. "One… two…" *goto flip #"That's actually a good question." "I'd marry…" *label fmk *temp marry "" *temp fuck "" *temp kill "" *choice #"Shery." *set marry "shery" *if (gender = "female") *set sheryromanceflag +1 Tallys laughs. "A sweet and gentle wife for the Mage, I see," she comments. *fake_choice #"I like Shery, what can I say?" *if (gender = "female") *set sheryromanceflag +1 Tallys' eyes sparkle with interest as she leans closer. "Is that so?" *fake_choice *if (attractedto != "men") #Well, yeah, you think you are starting to like Shery. *if (gender = "female") *set sheryromanceflag +2 Tallys tilts her eyes heavenward, as if thanking the gods for this wonderful gift. "A crush on our Chief of Staff," she notes. "That [i]is[/i] scandalous." She shakes her head with a secret smile and politely moves on, sensing your growing embarrassment. "Now: who would you sleep with?" #You're just kidding around: this is all in good fun. "Ah," Tallys says, looking just a trace disappointed. "If you say so. Now: who would you sleep with?" #"She can make me nice cups of tea at the end of long days." Tallys actually chortles, a delighted sound. "Truly a marriageable quality," she teases. "Though you know she can do that now, without needing to be wed?" "It's not the same without a marriage certificate hanging on the wall." "…Why would it be hanging on the wall?" "I don't know. Isn't that what you do with marriage certificates?" The two of you stare at each other before breaking out in a fit of laughter. You laugh for a long time before she reaches for a napkin, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. You think to yourself that she's very different now from the normally-reserved and cool-eyed face she presents to most others, even the other Shepherds. "Now then," Tallys chuckles, "who would you sleep with?" #"It's just for the game--she just seemed like the best choice!" Tallys smiles at you teasingly. "Mm-hm. And who would you sleep with?" #"Blade." *set marry "blade" Tallys laughs. "A strong and silent husband for the Mage, I see," she comments. *fake_choice #"I like Blade, what can I say?" *if (gender = "female") *set bladeromanceflag +1 Tallys' eyes sparkle with interest as she leans closer. "Is that so?" *fake_choice *if (attractedto != "women") #Well, yeah, you think you are starting to like Blade. *if (gender = "female") *set bladeromanceflag +2 Tallys tilts her eyes heavenward, as if thanking the gods for this wonderful gift. "A crush on our Commander," she notes. "That [i]is[/i] scandalous." She shakes her head with a secret smile and politely moves on, sensing your growing embarrassment. "Now: who would you sleep with?" #You're just kidding around: this is all in good fun. "Ah," Tallys says, looking just a bit disappointed. "If you say so. Now: who would you sleep with?" #"He won't be silent [i]in bed[/i], haha. Get it?" Tallys rolls her eyes, but she's clearly trying to keep her lips from twisting up into a laugh. "Very mature, $!{firstname}," she says. "As if this game is the picture of maturity!" She laughs her assent and moves on. "I suppose that's true. Now, who would you sleep with?" #"It's just for the game--he just seemed like the best choice!" Tallys smiles at you teasingly. "Mm-hm. And who would you sleep with?" #"Trouble." *set marry "trouble" *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +1 Tallys laughs. "A brave and loving husband for the Mage, I see," she comments. *fake_choice #"I like Trouble, what can I say?" *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +1 Tallys' eyes sparkle with interest as she leans closer. "Is that so?" *fake_choice *if (attractedto != "women") #Well, yeah, you think you are starting to like Trouble. *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +2 Tallys tilts her eyes heavenward, as if thanking the gods for this wonderful gift. "A crush on Trouble Alder, of all people," she whispers. "Wonders will never cease." She shakes her head with a secret smile and politely moves on, sensing your growing embarrassment. "Now: who would you sleep with?" #You're just kidding around: this is all in good fun. "Ah," Tallys says, looking just a bit disappointed. "If you say so. Now: who would you sleep with?" #"Yeah, I can help him... polish his gun." Tallys turns red, though not from embarrassment, as you initially think—but from suppressed laughter. Tears well up in her eyes in her effort not to die laughing. "Ah… but he has… such large guns," she finally manages to choke out. "I can handle them," you answer confidently, and you stare at each other for a moment before collapsing in a fit of hysteria. Tallys gropes for a napkin just to wipe her eyes, and you think to yourself that she's so different from the normally-reserved and cool-eyed face she presents to most people, even other Shepherds. It's a rarity to see her like this, though the drinks must certainly help. After a moment she sputters: "Ah, then… who would you sleep with as a one-night affair?" #"It's just for the game--he just seemed like the best choice!" Tallys smiles at you teasingly. "Mm-hm. And who would you sleep with?" *if (tallysromanceflag >= 1) #"You, Tallys." *set marry "tallys" *set tallysromanceflag +1 She rolls her eyes, though you think she might be pleased by this answer. "I'm not in the game, $!{firstname}," she reminds you. "Now, who would you sleep with?" #"No one. Marriage isn't for me." Tallys crosses her arms. "That's not an uncommon sentiment," she says, though you can tell she's a bit disappointed you're not quite playing the game. "Now, who would you sleep with?" *if ((aro = true) or (aroace = true)) #"No one. I'm not interested in romance, let alone marriage." "Ah," Tallys says, blinking. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that. All right, then: who would you sleep with?" *choice *if (marry != "shery") #"Shery." *if (gender = "female") *set sheryromanceflag +1 *set fuck "shery" Tallys smiles. "So you like the pure and virginal type," she teases. *if (gender != "female") "Though she doesn't exactly—her stars don't exactly align in your constellation, if you take my meaning." "Shery's attracted to women?" you intuit. Tallys nods. "She likely won't tell you outright, so I just thought I'd say." Then she smiles and puts her chin in her hand. "And finally… who would you kill?" *if (marry != "trouble") #"Trouble." *if (gender != "xixian") *set troubleromanceflag +1 *set fuck "trouble" "[i]Really[/i]?" Tallys makes a face, squirming in her seat as if uncomfortable. "There's someone out there for everyone…" She looks suddenly transformed into a little girl feeling queasy about someone being attracted to her brother. "Eugh. And who would you kill?" *if (marry != "blade") #"Blade. *if (gender = "female") *set bladeromanceflag +1 *set fuck "blade" Tallys smiles. "So you like the dark and brooding type," she teases. *if (gender != "female") "Though I should say—his stars don't exactly align in your constellation, if you take my meaning." "Blade's attracted to women?" you intuit. Tallys nods. "He likely will never think to bring it up, being closed off as he is, so I thought I should say so." Then she smiles and puts her chin in her hand. "And finally, who would you kill?" *if ((marry != "tallys") and (tallysromanceflag >= 2)) #"You, Tallys." *set tallysromanceflag +1 *set fuck "tallys" As unfazed as ever, Tallys meets your eye without a blush. "I'm flattered, $!{firstname}," she says with a slight smile. "Even if you are breaking the rules. Now, who would you kill?" #"No one. These are average choices." Tallys sighs. "I thought we agreed to play the game on these terms?" You shrug. "I'm only speaking the truth." She rolls her eyes. "Fine, then. Who would you kill?" *if ((ace = true) or (aroace = true)) #"No one. I'm not interested in sex." Tallys nods. "I see. Never mind, then. Who would you kill?" *choice *if ((marry != "shery") and (fuck != "shery")) #"Shery..." Tallys snorts. "Well, I'll be sure to never inform her—knowing you'd choose to kill her would be quite devastating to the poor girl." She gestures at the tiles. "Well, I'm all out of questions: shall we flip?" *goto flip *if ((marry != "trouble") and (fuck != "trouble")) #"Trouble..." Tallys snorts. "After the job of the Vice-Commander, I see," she comments. "I'll be sure to let him know." Then she gestures at the tiles. "Well, I'm all out of questions: shall we flip?" *goto flip *if ((marry != "blade") and (fuck != "blade")) #"Blade..." Tallys snorts. "After the job of the Commander, I see," she comments. "I'll be sure to let him know." Then she gestures at the tiles. "Well, I'm all out of questions: shall we flip?" *goto flip #"No one. I'm a pacificist..." Tallys snorts. "This might be wrong the Order to join, then," she remarks, but she moves on. "Well, I'm all out of questions. Shall we flip again?" *goto flip *label q4 Tallys traces a finger along her lip in thought. "Hmm," she hums. Then she looks at you. "What physical feature are you most self-conscious about?" You think on this. *choice #"...My eyes." Tallys cocks her head. "Really? I think they're quite beautiful." You smile crookedly as you stare down at the wet ring on the table, left behind by one of the glasses. "They make me stand out," you comment. "Or the [i]iladrin[/i] does, anyway. I always feel people staring, so… sometimes I get self-conscious." Tallys raises her chin. "Well, you shouldn't," she says. "I think you should be proud of your heritage." You look at her. "You, of all people, know that it isn't always something wise to advertise." "Well," Tallys declares, "if anyone gives you any problems about it, I will be there to tell them a thing or two." She smiles at you. "Do you want to keep going?" *goto flip #"...The color of my hair." *if (haircolor = "rose-gold") *set hairdisplay "pink" *if (haircolor = "raven") *set hairdisplay "black" *if (haircolor = "autumn-colored") *set hairdisplay "red" *if ((haircolor = "chestnut-colored") or (haircolor = "copper-colored")) *set hairdisplay "brown" *if ((haircolor = "platinum") or (haircolor = "honey-blond")) *set hairdisplay "yellow" *if (haircolor = "ivory-colored") *set hairdisplay "pale" *else *set haircolor hairdisplay Tallys smiles slightly. "Really? I like your ${hairdisplay} hair. And besides, you can always dye it." You hold back an incredulous laugh. Hair dyes have only just made it out from the West, and they're so expensive that only the richest nobles are able to afford them. "Maybe someday," you say. "Flip?" Tallys nods. *goto flip *if (heritage = "Hunter") #"...The white streak in my hair." "Why?" Tallys asks, surprised. "I think it's quite striking." You raise a hand to touch your hair self-consciously. "It always made me stand out, especially in my village," you murmur. "And it looks strange to outsiders. If I could get rid of it, I would." Tallys raises her chin. "Well, you shouldn't," she says. "I think you should be proud of your heritage." You smile crookedly. "You, of all people, know that it isn't always something wise to advertise." "Well," she declares, "if anyone gives you any problems about it, I will be there to tell them a thing or two." She smiles at you. "Do you want to keep going?" *goto flip *if (heritage = "Ket") #"...The tattoo on my wrist." Tallys cocks her head, looking down at the small, neat script inked on the inside of your wrist. "Really?" she asks. "I quite like it. It's very dashing." You withdraw the hand in question, tucking it protectively against your chest. "You don't know the story behind it," you tell her. "To the Ket, it marks me out as an outsider. It tells them that I'm not one of them." "But you wouldn't have received it if you weren't one of them," Tallys remarks, tilting her head further. Watching you, she adds, "I think you should be proud of your heritage." The laugh that escapes your mouth is bitter. "You, of all people, know that it isn't always something wise to advertise." "Well," she declares, "if anyone gives you any problems about it, I will be there to tell them a thing or two." She smiles at you. "Do you want to keep going?" *goto flip *if (heritage = "Norm") #"…My skin." Tallys cocks her head and stares at you. "…What about it?" You frown, thinking back to the days you were teased by the other children for not being "sun-touched" like all full-blooded Norms. "It doesn't… you know." Tallys rolls her eyes. "Shine like you've been dipped in gold?" she quips. "An impractical feature, anyway. I haven't seen it in a natural setting in many years. You're not missing a thing." Then she looks at you. "Shall we keep playing?" *goto flip *if (heritage = "Elf") #"…My ears." Tallys looks delighted. "But I love your ears!" "They're silly," you complain. "Neither fully-pointed like an Elf's nor rounded like… well, anyone else's. They look ridiculous." Tallys reaches out to brush your left ear affectionately. "I think they're sweet. Very unique." *choice #Pull away. *set tallysromanceflag -1 Tallys' hand falls away, and for a moment she is silent. The pause in the air rings with tension and something that feels like hurt. But when she speaks again, her tone is casual. "Shall we play again?" *goto flip *if (attractedto != "men") #Lean into her touch. *set tallysromanceflag +1 *set tallys +1 Tallys smiles slightly, a small dark blush dusting her tan and freckled cheeks. Then her hand falls away, and she turns back to the tiles. "…Shall we go again?" *goto flip #"Honestly, I'm not that self-conscious about anything." *set courage +1 "Well, that's good," Tallys says magnanimously. "It means you're confident and comfortable in your body. Most would envy that." She turns back to the tiles. "Shall we go again?" *goto flip *label q5 "Aha!" Tallys says triumphantly. "This shall be the last question. If you could have any wish in the world, what would you ask for?" *choice #"I'd wish for world peace." *set compassionate +1 Tallys nods sagely. "No Autarchy, no Diminished, and no Endarkened," she says. "Just peace and unity. Something for us all to strive for." #"I'd wish for true love." *set charisma +1 Tallys smiles, a little bitterly. "A romantic wish," she says lightly. "I wouldn't have expected it." She raises her glass to you in a toast. "I hope that you find it someday." #"I'd wish for wealth and power." *set cunning +1 Tallys raises her eyebrows. "And what would you do with it?" she wonders aloud. "Good or ill? They say wealth and power corrupts even the purest of hearts." #"I'd wish for fame and glory." *set intelligence +1 Tallys looks thoughtful. "Interesting," she says. "But what would you be famous—or infamous—for? That would be the question." #"I'd wish for my family back." *set tallys +1 Tallys' face sobers instantly; her whole body goes tense. Almost without thinking about it, she lays her hand on top of yours. "Me, too, $!{firstname}," she says very, very softly. Her eyes are huge and limpid as they stare into yours: her gaze is green as grass and as bottomless as a still lake. "More than anything in the world…. that's what I wish for, too." #"I'd wish to just... be normal." Tallys' face sobers instantly. Almost without thinking about it, she lays her hand on top of yours. "That's what [i]they [/i]want you to feel," the Elf says very, very softly. "Don't let the Autarchy win. You are normal. We predate the Norms by at least a thousand years: we came to this Continent first. It is they who are the monsters. Not you." Then she drains her glass before gathering up the Elements tiles again. "Apologies. I think I'm done playing for the night." *label endgame But before you can do anything, a commotion makes the two of you look up. Tallys quickly clears the tiles back into her little pouch. A pair of men have come into the bar. *page_break *label inquisitors You notice them immediately, though they're dressed in the same nondescript clothing as everyone else. It's more their attitude that attracts your attention: they move too authoritatively and look around too searchingly to be normal Diminished. In another moment, you understand who they are. Inquisitors. You're not the only one who takes notice of your new visitors. The people immediately around the tavern's entrance hush, and slowly the silence unfurls like a ripple spreading out from an impact point. It's clear that these Inquisitors aren't part of the tavern's usual clientele. After an awkward moment, one of the barmaids shuffles forward. "C-can I help you, sirs?" The two Inquisitors ignore her at first, looking around and studying the faces of the bar patrons, as if committing each of them to memory. Finally one of the Inquisitors, a tall blond man with an arrogant countenance, turns to her imperiously and says, "Fetch the owner. We would speak to him." The barmaid scurries off, and shortly enough returns with an anxious, mustachioed Norm man in tow. "Samphire Lindell," the blond Inquisitor says. His voice carries clearly all the way to the back of the room. No one else speaks. "You are harboring many Diminished here." The owner bobs his head in nervous deference. "Begging your pardon, sirs," he says. "I'm not harboring anybody. This is a place of business… these are paying customers…" "But why not serve others of your own kind?" This comes from the other Inquisitor, a slender man with dark coloring. His voice is as light and sibilant as a snake's. "Why turn your establishment into a potential breeding ground for dissent?" "Sirs?" Samphire Lindell clearly doesn't know what to say. "All are welcome here. Norms, too. Everyone." This answer doesn't seem to satisfy the Inquisitors. The blond one holds out his clenched hand, gloved palm turned downward, and commands, "Hold out your hand." "Sirs?" "[i]Hold out your hand.[/i]" *page_break When the man continues to cower, visibly shaking now, the Inquisitor turns to the silent, horrified crowd and addresses it in a clear voice. "Bear witness. What you see here is a test of the Heir's devising: a way to clearly discern if there is holy love in a Diminished's heart. Or a Norm's." He holds up a thin, silver disc between his gloved fingers: it's stamped with the Autarch's emblem, an all-seeing eye radiating rays like the sun. "This coin is a new talisman and weapon of the Autarchy. It will burn the flesh of the blasphemous; it will do nothing to those who love the Golden One. If this man cries out and drops the coin, we will take him to the Chrysalis beneath the Sun Court. We will keep him there until he has sufficiently metamorphosed with love for the Autarchy." He pauses, lips twitching. "If he does not drop the talisman, we will not take him to the Chrysalis and will instead take our leave." You and Tallys exchange frantic and expressive looks. What kind of sick test is this? A new trial of the "Heir's" devising? This must be Enik's doing—but what is the Chrysalis? Some kind of evil instrument or conversion chamber deep in the Sun Court's bowels? You shudder as you imagine what kind of depraved punishments have been concocted there. "Is it possible?" Tallys asks under her breath. "A coin that can tell if you love the Autarch or not?" "I don't know," you murmur back. "It's unlike any magic I've ever heard of—if it is magic. It might even just burn people indiscriminately. Maybe that's the point." She chances a glance at the front of the room. "Poor man. He has six daughters. They're watching now." She means the barmaids, of course—two of them are comforting a third one, who's sobbing quietly into her apron. The entire room feels muggy, stifled by a feeling of dread and preliminary mourning. What will you do? *choice #I sit quietly and leave the man to his fate. I can't afford to draw the attention of the Inquisitors to myself. *set courage -10 *set cunning +10 *set intelligence +3 *set loyal -3 *set tallys +1 *set order +15 You and Tallys both look away as the man reluctantly holds out his hand. You hear the Inquisitor drop the coin in it… and then the man begins to scream. Tallys flinches at the blood-curdling noise—Samphire Lindell's voice cracks as he begs the Inquisitors to make the pain stop—and her shoulders tremble. But otherwise, she doesn't move. Samphire's daughters stifle their cries and hide their faces. Your fingers dig red crescents into your palms as you wait for the torture to stop. [i]That could be you[/i], you tell yourself. [i]Nothing protects you from the Inquisitors—nothing. Not even working for the same person.[/i] After a few moments, Samphire's screaming subsides. The little coin drops to the floor with an innocent tinkling clatter. After picking it up with gloved hands, the Inquisitors wordlessly whisk the man out of the bar—and the room looses a collective breath of relief. The very walls seem to sag, as if they'd tensed along with everyone else. When you look, you can see the expressions of guilt on people's faces: guilt not just for standing by and watching, and also for feeling relieved that Samphire had been targeted instead of them. Tallys looks at you as a crush of people hurries to evacuate the pub, lest the Inquisitors come back. One of Samphire's daughters sinks to her knees. "I'm glad you didn't do it," Tallys says faintly: her eyes are dim and sad. "I saw it in your eyes—that you were thinking about it." You stare at her. "Thinking about what?" Tallys averts her gaze. "Running headlong into that," she says in an undertone. "But you knew our place, the purview of our work. You didn't draw the Inquisitors' attention to us. …To me." She shudders, then dashes a hand across her eyes. "I don't know what I would have done if they'd threatened to take you. It would have spelled the end for us." "What do you think the Chrysalis is?" you ask her. Tallys shudders again. "I don't know," she says. "I hope we never find out." Then she lifts her gaze to yours. She draws a shaky breath. "Thank you, $!{firstname}." You don't feel very good, being thanked right now. "For what?" Tallys doesn't look away. What she says next seems like a joke, but the Elf doesn't smile. "Thank you for not being Trouble." *goto endchapter #I stand and intercede. I can't just sit by and let this man be taken away. *set compassionate +10 *set courage +10 *set croelle +20 *set reputation +2 *set tallys +3 *set order -3 *set inquisitors true *achieve nobystander Before you know it, you're rising to your feet, though Tallys snatches at your arm in vain and hisses, "No!" You ignore her and say in your own clear—thankfully steady—voice: "Stop!" The Inquisitors' eyes immediately snap to you. Everyone except Samphire Lindell turns; he stays where he is, head bowed, too afraid to turn and redirect attention to himself with his movement. "Who are you to tell us to stop, Diminished?" the blond Inquisitor asks, his lip curling. "A Shepherd," you say, feeling a little silly without your cloak, which is still drying on the back of your chair. Nonetheless, you reach up and tug your sun medallion out so that it hangs freely on your chest. "And another agent of the Autarchy. And I say that you have no cause to 'test' this man. He's done nothing wrong. He's just running a business." "A business that lubricates the wheels of rebellion," the other Inquisitor answers coldly. "And conspiracy." "Do you have proof of such a rebellion? Any conspiracies?" Silence from the Inquisitors—but a few murmurs of agreement and assent from the other watching Diminished. You can't help but feel a little emboldened: if it came down to it, you outnumber these Inquisitors by two score to one. "I think you should just leave," you tell them. "Go and find real criminals, real threats to the Autarchy. I don't think the Autarch would be very pleased to hear that you were going around terrorizing citizens—particularly law-abiding Norms like Mr. Lindell here." "Do not dare to presume you know what the Autarch desires," the blond Inquisitor snaps. Then he regards you, eyes glittering with a special malice. "Unless… [i]you[/i] would like to prove your worthiness to wield the Autarch's power?" Your spine turns to ice. Tallys puts her face in her hands, then looks up at you and mouths: [i]We could kill them[/i]. Imperceptibly, you shake your head. Killing Inquisitors is a crime beyond safe harbor, even if the whole room were willing to stay silent about it. Which they wouldn't. But you see Tallys' hand drift slowly down to the knife at her waist. *page_break The Inquisitor pads forward to face you, apparently forgetting all about the trembling owner of the bar. The crowd parts before him like a school of fish avoiding a shark. When he stops in front of you, you can feel his breath on your face: it's so cold you almost wonder if the man is dead. "Go on," he says, his eyes like chips of ice. "If you have the audacity to command us, let us see the worth of your command. We will listen if you prove that you, too, love the Autarch whose authority you flaunt." He holds out the silver coin. The eye on it flashes in the firelight. *choice #Take it. *set coinscar true *set health -5 *set order -3 Reluctantly, you hold out your palm, and the Inquisitor drops it into your hand. For a moment, nothing happens: the disc sits in your palm, only slightly warm from the Inquisitor's grip. You curl your fingers around it and feel the imprint of the eye press into your flesh. For a moment you think you've passed the test. Then you begin to feel it. A burning feeling, not like that of hot metal, but a caustic sensation like acid, at first only fizzing and frothing uncomfortably against your hand. You have to grit your teeth against the suddenness of it. Can it sense your hatred and anger, after all? Is it only reflecting the venom of your feeling towards the Autarchy onto your flesh and body? Or would this have happened to anybody, down to the most devout follower, and that is the whole point of the exercise—to make every last person feel inadequate in the face of the Autarchy's demands? The burning sensation increases. Now it's really singeing you; your palm sends hot feverish waves of pain up your arm and into your shoulder and chest. *choice #Keep holding the coin and stay silent. *if (strength >= 20) *set inquisitorswin true *set reputation +5 *set health -10 Sweat breaks out on your forehead, but years of hardship and training keep you silent. The coin singes you, so that you imagine your flesh blackening and blistering within your closed fist. It feels like squeezing a serpent's fang, venom weeping into your palm, flowing into your blood. But you make eye contact with the Inquisitor and keep your face calm. His eyes blaze with fury—and a little bit of fear. It's clear he was not expecting your stoicism. After a few moments of silence, Tallys speaks up, her voice only a little shaky: "So. It's clear Officer $!{surname}… loves the Autarch. I believe there is nothing more to prove." The Inquisitor's lips tighten… but he holds out his gloved hand for the coin. You raise your hand and plunk the coin onto his palm as casually as possible: you will [i]not[/i] show that you're in any pain whatsoever. Still without breaking eye contact, you say… *fake_choice #"So. I believe I told you to get the fuck out of here?" *set compassionate -3 *set order -1 *set reputation +5 #"Now why don't you prove your loyalty to the Autarch, like I did?" *set order -3 *set cunning +3 #"I believe our business here is concluded." *set charisma +3 The Inquisitor's face goes white, but before he can respond, someone in the crowd says, "Yes, you promised!" "Yes, you said you'd obey if ${she} proved ${her} worth!" It seems your actions have galvanized the crowd: they're more inspired now, more unified, and pretty soon the atmosphere is going to turn mob-like if the Inquisitors don't keep their word. The Inquisitors glance at each other, fury radiating off of them in waves, and for a moment you think they really won't comply. You flex your uninjured fist, readying yourself for a fight. Then, wordlessly, the Inquisitors sweep around and exit the bar—but not without casting one last wrathful glance your way. The door swings shut with a bang, and you blow out a breath. You know you haven't seen the last of them. *page_break *achieve chrysalis A cheer goes up from the crowd as soon as the Inquisitors are well out of sight. Samphire Lindell tearfully shakes your hand—his daughters promise you free drinks for the rest of your life—and a few tentative onlookers step forward and thank you. "Godsent," one bystander says, pumping your arm up and down furiously. "Truly, you Shepherds are protectors of the people!" It's not until you collapse back into your chair across from Tallys that you open your hand and survey the damage. Your palm has a reddish-black mark on it, the wound already cracking and oozing clear liquid: the imprint of the eye on the coin has left a gruesome sigil on your palm. When Tallys catches sight of it, she hisses through her teeth. "Gods above." *choice *if (specialization = "healer") or (astral >= 30) #"It's fine. I can just heal it." *set coinscar false *set health 100 *set magic +1 *set astral +1 You feel the warm fizz of your magic beginning to close the wound. In moments, the injury has been covered with tender new, pink skin. In an hour or so it will be as if it had never happened. Tallys looks around and remarks nervously, "That's not strictly Shepherd work, you know. They could arrest you for that." But she also looks relieved. You flex your hand. "I'd like to see them try. *goto tallysreaction #Let her take your hand and look closer. Tallys makes a sympathetic noise as she examines your wound. "I'll give you a salve back at the compound," she says. "It will heal this quickly, but you'll always have a bit of a scar." You stare at the eye staring back at you from your own palm. "A nice little reminder." "A reminder of your heroism," Tallys says, releasing you. She blows out a breath. "I don't know what possessed you to do that… But you saved a man's life today." You can't tell if she looks awed or worried. *goto tallysreaction #Tuck your hand against your chest. You'll deal with this on your own. *set loyal -3 *set courage +1 You clench your hand. "It'll be fine." Tallys stares. "You need medical attention. You'll have a scar." You shake your head. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about me." The wound in your palm seems to blaze in protest, but you ignore it. *goto tallysreaction *if (healthpotion) #Use the medicinal salve you bought from Chandry on the wound. *set health 100 *set coinscar false *set healthpotionnumber -1 *if (healthpotionnumber = 0) *set healthpotion false Tallys helps you apply the pale green, astringent-smelling salve to your palm. You feel a soothing coolness begin to spread outwards from the wound, and you feel a certainty that it will heal without a scar. *goto tallysreaction *else *set croellesave true *set croellestatus "He saved you from the Inquisitors, but you don't know how or why." You shut your eyes and grit your teeth, telling yourself to ignore the furious burning in your hand. But after just another moment of searing pain, of feeling like you're holding onto a smoldering coal, your body's instincts take over… and you drop the coin to the ground with a barely-audible hiss of pain. The Inquisitor's eyes blaze with triumph. "[i]Blasphemer[/i]," the other one says. Tallys' hand tightens on her knife. Before the Inquisitor can speak, however, another, gruffer voice chimes in: "It's a bad look, agents of the Autarchy squabbling amongst each other." Both you and the Inquisitor turn to look at the speaker. The crowd parts to reveal Croelle watching the scene, seated languidly at a table across the room with his boots hiked up. When you catch his eyes, he smirks at you—then turns his attention to the two Inquisitors. They both stiffen under his harsh yellow gaze: it's almost raptor-like. Someone standing next to him gasps. "You must have better things to do," Croelle drawls. For a moment you think you're about to witness this red-haired man's murder. At the very least he's going to get dragged off to the "Chrysalis": your mind whirs as you weigh whether to prevent this—or allow it to happen in exchange for your own life. But to your deep surprise, the Inquisitors don't say anything. Instead, they back off. The dark-skinned man glances at the other, then jerks his head, as if to leave. The blond Inquisitor looks sullen, like a child being scolded by an older sibling—or cowed, as if he's afraid of Croelle. They both nod jerkily at him, avoiding eye contact… and then leave without another word. Tallys and you exchange glances. Who [i]is[/i] this "watcher?" Why does he seem to wield such power—and why is this the second time you've run into him? It definitely can't be a coincidence. Croelle rises from his table, as if to follow the two Inquisitors. He moves at a leisurely pace, taking his time: he flips a coin into his empty cup to pay for his drinks, ignoring Samphire Lindell and his daughters staring at him in awe and gratitude. When he draws up to you, he stops. Then meets your eye and smiles. Somehow the look makes his pale face seem taut and strained. "You are full of surprises," he says, glancing down at your sun medallion. You raise your chin. "So are you." His grin turns wolfish: his canines are ever slightly pointed. "You're not going to thank me?" *choice #"Thank you, Croelle." *set croelle +5 He stares at you for a moment. "Goodbye, $!{surname}." #"Why do the Inquisitors listen to you?" *set intelligence +1 He stares at you for a moment. "You'll find out someday." #"Why did you do it?" *set intelligence +1 He stares at you for a moment. "You'll find out someday." *line_break Then he gives you a lazy salute and exits the bar. The door closes behind him with a bang and an icy gust of wind. With a collective breath of relief, the crowd disperses, hasty to leave the site of the Inquisitors' interest. Samphire Lindell shakily collapses into a chair and begins to cry. *page_break *achieve watcher It's not until you collapse back into your chair across from Tallys that you open your hand and survey the damage. Your palm has a reddish-black mark on it, the wound already cracking and oozing clear liquid: the imprint of the eye on the coin has left a gruesome sigil on your palm. When Tallys catches sight of it, she hisses through her teeth. "Gods above." *choice *if ((specialization = "healer") or (astral >= 30)) #"It's fine. I can just heal it." *set health 100 *set magic +1 *set astral +1 *set coinscar false You feel the warm fizz of your magic beginning to close the wound. In moments, the injury has been covered with tender new, pink skin, and in an hour or so it will be as if it had never happened. Tallys looks around remarks nervously, "It's not strictly Shepherd work, you know. They could arrest you for that." But she also looks relieved. You flex your hand. "I'd like to see them try." *goto tallysreaction #Let her take your hand and look closer. Tallys makes a sympathetic noise as she examines your wound. "I'll give you a salve back at the compound," she says. "It will heal this quickly, but you'll always have a bit of a scar." You stare at the eye staring back at you from your own palm. "A nice little reminder." "A reminder of your heroism," Tallys says, releasing you. She blows out a breath. "I don't know what possessed you to do that. But you saved a man's life today." You can't tell if she looks awed or worried. *goto tallysreaction #Tuck your hand against your chest. You'll deal with this on your own. *set loyal -3 *set courage +1 You clench your hand. "It'll be fine." Tallys stares. "You need medical attention. You'll have a scar." You shake your head. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about me." The wound in your palm seems to blaze in protest, but you ignore it. *goto tallysreaction *if (healthpotion) #Use the medicinal salve you bought from Chandry on the wound. *set health 100 *set coinscar false *set healthpotionnumber -1 *if (healthpotionnumber = 0) *set healthpotion false Tallys helps you apply the pale green, astringent-smelling salve to your palm. You feel a soothing coolness begin to spread outwards from the wound, and you feel a certainty that it will heal without a scar. *goto tallysreaction #Drop the coin and admit defeat. *set courage -3 *set cunning +3 *set order -3 *set croellesave true *set croellestatus "He saved you from the Inquisitors, but you don't know how or why." You shut your eyes and grit your teeth, telling yourself you can't maim yourself for this. You drop the coin to the ground with a barely-audible hiss of pain, and a collective groan rises up from the watching crowd. The Inquisitor's eyes blaze with triumph. "[i]Blasphemer[/i]," the other one says. Tallys' hand tightens on her knife. Before the Inquisitor can speak, however, another, gruffer voice chimes in: "It's a bad look, agents of the Autarchy squabbling amongst each other." Both you and the Inquisitor turn to look at the speaker. The crowd parts to reveal Croelle watching the scene, seated languidly at a table across the room with his boots hiked up. When you catch his eyes, he smirks at you—then turns his attention to the two Inquisitors. They both stiffen under his harsh yellow gaze: it's almost raptor-like. Someone standing next to him gasps. "You must have better things to do," Croelle drawls. For a moment you think you're about to witness this red-haired man's murder. At the very least he's going to get dragged off to the "Chrysalis": your mind whirs as you weigh whether to prevent this—or allow it to happen in exchange for your own life. But to your deep surprise, the Inquisitors don't say anything. Instead, they back off. The dark-skinned man glances at the other, then jerks his head, as if to leave. The blond Inquisitor looks sullen, like a child being scolded by an older sibling—or cowed, as if he's afraid of Croelle. They both nod jerkily at him, avoiding eye contact… and then leave without another word. Tallys and you exchange glances. Who [i]is[/i] this "watcher?" Why does he seem to wield such power—and why is this the second time you've run into him? It definitely can't be a coincidence. Croelle rises from his table, as if to follow the two Inquisitors. He moves at a leisurely pace, taking his time: he flips a coin into his empty cup to pay for his drinks, ignoring Samphire Lindell and his daughters staring at him in awe and gratitude. When he draws up to you, he stops. Then meets your eye and smiles. Somehow the look makes his pale face seem taut and strained. "You are full of surprises," he says, glancing down at your sun medallion. You raise your chin. "So are you." His grin turns wolfish: his canines are ever slightly pointed. "You're not going to thank me?" *choice #"Thank you, Croelle." *set croelle +5 He stares at you for a moment. "Goodbye, $!{surname}." #"Why do the Inquisitors listen to you?" *set intelligence +1 He stares at you for a moment. "You'll find out someday." #"Why did you do it?" *set cunning +1 He stares at you for a moment. "You'll find out someday." *line_break Then he gives you a lazy salute and exits the bar. The door closes behind him with a bang and an icy gust of wind. With a collective breath of relief, the crowd disperses, hasty to leave the site of the Inquisitors' interest. Samphire Lindell shakily collapses into a chair and begins to cry. *page_break *achieve watcher It's not until you collapse back into your chair across from Tallys that you open your hand and survey the damage. Your palm has a reddish-black mark on it, the wound already cracking and oozing clear liquid: the imprint of the eye on the coin has left a gruesome sigil on your palm. When Tallys catches sight of it, she hisses through her teeth. "Gods above." *choice *if ((specialization = "healer") or (astral >= 30)) #"It's fine. I can just heal it." *set health 100 *set magic +1 *set astral +1 *set coinscar false You feel the warm fizz of your magic beginning to close the wound. In moments, the injury has been covered with tender new, pink skin, and in an hour or so it will be as if it had never happened. Tallys looks around remarks nervously, "It's not strictly Shepherd work, you know. They could arrest you for that." But she also looks relieved. You flex your hand. "I'd like to see them try." *goto tallysreaction #Let her take your hand and look closer. Tallys makes a sympathetic noise as she examines your wound. "I'll give you a salve back at the compound," she says. "It will heal this quickly, but you'll always have a bit of a scar." You stare at the eye staring back at you from your own palm. "A nice little reminder." "A reminder of your heroism," Tallys says, releasing you. She blows out a breath. "I don't know what possessed you to do that. But you saved a man's life today." You can't tell if she looks awed or worried. *goto tallysreaction #Tuck your hand against your chest. You'll deal with this on your own. *set loyal -3 *set courage +1 You clench your hand. "It'll be fine." Tallys stares. "You need medical attention. You'll have a scar." You shake your head. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about me." The wound in your palm seems to blaze in protest, but you ignore it. *goto tallysreaction *if (healthpotion) #Use the medicinal salve you bought from Chandry on the wound. *set health 100 *set coinscar false *set healthpotionnumber -1 *if (healthpotionnumber = 0) *set healthpotion false Tallys helps you apply the pale green, astringent-smelling salve to your palm. You feel a soothing coolness begin to spread outwards from the wound, and you feel a certainty that it will heal without a scar. *goto tallysreaction #Tell the Inquisitor you won't do it. *set croellesave true *set croellestatus "He saved you from the Inquisitors, but you don't know how or why." The Inquisitor's face contorts, and you don't know if it's into an expression of rage or triumph. Tallys' hand tightens on her knife. Before the Inquisitor can speak, however, another, gruffer voice chimes in: "It's a bad look, agents of the Autarchy squabbling amongst each other." Both you and the Inquisitor turn to look at the speaker. The crowd parts to reveal Croelle watching the scene, seated languidly at a table across the room with his boots hiked up. When you catch his eyes, he smirks at you—then turns his attention to the two Inquisitors. They both stiffen under his harsh yellow gaze: it's almost raptor-like. Someone standing next to him gasps. "You must have better things to do," Croelle drawls. For a moment you think you're about to witness this red-haired man's murder. At the very least he's going to get dragged off to the "Chrysalis": your mind whirs as you weigh whether to prevent this—or allow it to happen in exchange for the barkeeper's life. But to your deep surprise, the Inquisitors don't say anything. Instead, they back off. The dark-skinned man glances at the other, then jerks his head, as if to leave. The blond Inquisitor looks sullen, like a child being scolded by an older sibling—or cowed, as if he's afraid of Croelle. They both nod jerkily at him, avoiding eye contact… and then leave without another word. Tallys and you exchange glances. Who [i]is[/i] this "watcher?" Why does he seem to wield such power—and why is this the second time you've run into him? It definitely can't be a coincidence. Croelle rises from his table, as if to follow the two Inquisitors. He moves at a leisurely pace, taking his time: he flips a coin into his empty cup to pay for his drinks, ignoring Samphire Lindell and his daughters staring at him in awe and gratitude. When he draws up to you, he stops. Then meets your eye and smiles. Somehow the look makes his pale face seem taut and strained. "You are full of surprises," he says, glancing down at your sun medallion. You raise your chin. "So are you." His grin turns wolfish: his canines are ever slightly pointed. "You're not going to thank me?" *choice #"Thank you, Croelle." *set croelle +5 He stares at you for a moment. "Goodbye, $!{surname}." #"Why do the Inquisitors listen to you?" *set intelligence +1 He stares at you for a moment. "You'll find out someday." #"Why did you do it?" *set cunning +1 He stares at you for a moment. "You'll find out someday." *line_break Then he gives you a lazy salute and exits the bar. The door closes behind him with a bang and an icy gust of wind. With a collective breath of relief, the crowd disperses, hasty to leave the site of the Inquisitors' interest. Samphire Lindell shakily collapses into a chair and begins to cry. *page_break *achieve watcher Afterwards, Tallys also sags into her chair. She loosens her hold on her knife to dash away something from her eye; her hands are trembling. "Thank the gods that man stepped in," she murmurs. "I don't know if you're brave or stupid." *choice #"Why not both?" She smiles briefly. "It's a good thing you joined this Order, $!{firstname}," she notes. You can't tell if she sounds sarcastic or proud. "You really are… a Shepherd 'til the end." *goto endchapter #"Why didn't you do anything?" *if (tallystime = 1) Her shoulders tighten. "I already told you," Tallys says stiffly. "The Inquisitors killed my family. My friends. Everyone I ever knew and loved. I can't… confront them so easily. Not like you." She looks away again and shakily reaches for her drink. "Well," she says after taking a sip. She raises a hand to her throat, as if it's sore. "At least you saved one person. I suppose it's something to celebrate. I only pray this doesn't have consequences down the road." *goto endchapter *else Her shoulders tighten, and Tallys looks away. "I need to… avoid Inquisitors, as much as I can," she says stiffly. "I can't draw their attention to myself. I just…can't. I'm not like you." She looks away again and shakily reaches for her drink. "Well," she says after taking a sip. "At least you saved one person. I suppose that's saving something to celebrate." She raises a hand to her throat, as if it's sore. "…I only pray this doesn't have consequences down the road." *goto endchapter #"Someone had to stop them." *set tallys +1 Tallys' lips twitch into a slight smile. "An everyday hero," she says lightly. "Just like Trouble." She looks thoughtful. "But also not. Otherwise you wouldn't have come here with me." "A mix of both you and Trouble," you joke. Tallys doesn't laugh: instead she seems pensive. "Maybe you're just what the Order needs." Then she looks up at you, her expression grave. "You know this will catch the ire of the Inquisitors." You shrug. "And the Autarch. But since when have I not had their dislike? Why worry about people who hate me anyway?" Tallys shakes her head. "This is going to be worse. They're threatened enough by you as it is. This will cause waves." She sighs and sits back, a little resigned. "You saved one person today, $!{firstname}," she says, raising a hand to her throat, as if it's sore. "I suppose it's something to celebrate. But I only pray this doesn't have consequences down the road." *goto endchapter *label tallysreaction *choice #"So did I look awe-inspiring, or what?" *set tallys +1 Tallys stares at you in stunned silence for several seconds. Then her lips twist up into a rueful smile, and she says shakily, "Yes, you truly looked… like the stuff of legends. A champion of the downtrodden." Then her smile falls from her lips, and she frowns and says, "It's something to celebrate: you saved the life of one person today, undoubtedly." She looks away. "…I only pray it doesn't have further consequences down the road." *goto endchapter #"Why didn't you do anything?" *set tallys -3 Tallys sucks in her cheeks sharply. "I…" she begins. Then she swallows, hard enough that it looks like it hurts. "I… I'm sorry. I froze up. I've spent so long evading their attention, avoiding them at all costs… I didn't have it in me to make myself known to them." She ducks her head, her shoulders curling inward: she looks incredibly shamed. "…Forgive me. You're a much braver soul than I." Neither of you say much for the rest of the night. *goto endchapter #"Were you really going to knife them, if things got bad?" Tallys sucks in her cheeks. "I… don't know," she says slowly. "I was ready to defend you, I know that much. But… I've been evading the Inquisitors for years, terrified they were going to single me out, take [i]me[/i] to the Chrysalis. I don't know if… if I could have really done it." "Well, it's the thought that counts," you say, trying to keep things light. Tallys smiles, ever so faintly. "And no one around here is going to forget that your thought was very noble and brave." Then she bites her lip. "I know it's something to celebrate: you undoubtedly saved Samphire Lindell's life tonight." She looks away. "…I only pray this doesn't have consequences further down the road." *goto endchapter #"What do you think the Chrysalis is?" *set intelligence +1 Tallys looks ashen. "I've heard… whispers of it," she murmurs faintly. "A place of Enik Goldenson's devising, a place where they… break you, extract all of the goodness and life from you like marrow from a bone." She looks away. "It's our own version of Hael on earth." "Then it's a good thing none of us went there tonight," you say, trying to keep things light. Tallys doesn't smile. "It's something to celebrate: I have no doubt that you saved Samphire Lindell's life tonight." She looks away. "…I just pray this incident doesn't have consequences further down the road, for your sake, $!{firstname}. Please be careful—and keep an eye out. The Inquisitors will have a target on your back for this." *goto endchapter *label endchapter *if (tallysequalist) *goto tallysend *elseif (troubleequalist) *if (childrendead = false) *set resources +1 *set shepherdgold +1000 *goto troubleend *label troubleend *page_break ... *if (troublehate = false) *goto troublelikeend *elseif (troublehate = true) *goto troublehateend *label troublelikeend *set troublestatus "He's grateful to you and feels like you're good friends." *set tallysstatus "She feels a bit awkward around you and Trouble, but that will subside." *if (childrendead) The two of you return to the compound just as dawn begins to break, bedraggled and weary. Grey light touches the horizon as you slowly mount the steps of the Shepherds' compound. Shery and Tallys come rushing out to greet you, and briefly you explain the situation: you were right about the Equalists, but weren't able to recover the children. Yet. "We have to get our officers to start looking right away," Shery says, eyes wide. "It might be a matter of jurisdiction, now," Tallys answers quietly. "It sounds like the Inquisitors have taken the case over. We should respect their authority. Unless we're asked to join or intercede, they'll devote their resources to finding the children in our stead." What she doesn't say hangs between you in the air like an guillotine: that there may not be any children to find, because they're either long-gone or already dead. And what if they're dead because of you? Trouble balls his fists and stares at the ground, saying nothing. He still hasn't spoken to Tallys directly, not since their argument, and she has returned the treatment in kind. But now she stares at him with something like pity in her eyes and says softly, "You were right, Trouble. You were right all along." After a long, tense moment, he sighs. "Not about everything," he mutters. "The kids weren't there." "They'll find them." She takes him in for another moment. Then: "Did it feel good? Did it feel… right? Destroying those who tormented you? Taking your revenge on those who damaged your life so terribly?" Bizarrely, it's not an admonishment, but rather something like hope… Trouble snorts, and it's a bitter sound. "Ask me again in a few years," he says. "I don't know myself well enough yet." He glances at you. "I'm just glad $!{firstname} was there to make sure I didn't get myself killed." He turns away. "I guess I can take satisfaction, knowing they're never going to hurt someone like they hurt me again. And that my instincts were right. But—in this case—" He pauses, not looking at anybody. "I kind of wish they were wrong." *goto bladereturns The two of you return to the compound just as dawn begins to break, bedraggled but triumphant. Grey light touches the horizon just as you *if (childrenquarantined) herd the children inside, and for the next hour there's a great bustle and flurry of movement as Shery is roused from her bed and your new guests are examined, treated, and tucked into bed, with immediate summons going out to their parents. You're too exhausted to pay much attention to the logistics, but you do notice Tallys—owl-eyed and looking haggard—peeking her head around the corner to stare at the activities before beating a hasty retreat to her room. You look at Trouble, who shrugs and says, now in a very good mood: "I'll talk to her. It'll be fine." You glance at the sight of two siblings joyously reuniting with their parents and smile. "Yes, it will." *goto bladereturns *elseif (childrenhome) strip off your heavy, sodden cloaks and begin to drag yourselves to bed. Shery pokes her head out of her room, flustered and worried, and you spend some time catching her up on things while she brews the two of you some dark sweet tea. At one point you notice Tallys—owl-eyed and looking haggard—peeking her head around the corner before beating a hasty retreat to her room. You look at Trouble, who shrugs and says, now in a very good mood: "I'll talk to her. It'll be fine." You smile at the memory of bringing the children home to their families. "Yes, it will." *goto bladereturns *else *goto bladereturns *label troublehateend *set troublestatus "He despises you for what you've done." *set tallysstatus "She's a bit wary of you after what's transpired." Trouble shoves his way past you as you return to the compound. You're met by a worried Shery along the way, but Trouble doesn't stop to talk to her. He throws you a disgusted glance at you over his shoulder—one that says [i]You make me sick[/i]—before vanishing into his darkened room, a place that smells of gunpowder and iron. The door slams harshly behind him as he goes. The noise brings Tallys out of her room, and both she and Shery look at you questioningly. *fake_choice #"He'll get over it." *set compassionate -3 Shery bites her lip, looking doubtful. "If you say so…" Tallys just looks at you with too-knowing eyes, as if she can see the blood on your hands. *if (compassionate >= 50) You can't bring yourself to meet her gaze, and are forced to turn away. *goto bladereturns *else You stare back steadily until she's forced to turn away. *goto bladereturns #"Something terrible happened tonight..." *set compassionate +3 You explain what happened, and both women go utterly silent. "You gave them to the Inquisitors?" Tallys asks hollowly. "After all that?" Shery bites her lips. "I'm… I'm sure that the Autarch will treat them fairly. She must have a heart for children…" The Autarch, in fact, does not have a heart for children, and she also would not hesitate to extinguish a dozen young lives to protect everyone from an Endarkened threat. But her forces are better-equipped to handle something like this than you, at least for now, until the Order can find its feet. The three of you know this, but still, Shery looks like she's going to be sick. Tallys swallows, hard enough that it looks like it hurts, before coming forward very slowly and laying a hand on your shoulder. "You did the right thing," she tells you—but in the reflection of her doubtful eyes, your own look just as haunted. You're forced to turn away, and for the rest of the night, you're alone, staring up at the ceiling with only the steady pattering of returning rain to accompany you. *goto bladereturns *label tallysend *page_break ... *set troublestatus "He's angry with you at the moment, but he'll get over it." That night, Trouble returns to the Shepherds' compound soaked through to the bone. He's angry, and he doesn't want to speak to you. "I couldn't find them," is all he says. Then he storms to his room and slams the door. Tallys flinches at the sound, but when she looks at you, her face is as cool and composed as ever. "I think I'll go to bed," she says softly, looking down at the ground. Then she looks up again and smiles at you. It's a sweet and sincere smile, like moonlight peeking through pale clouds. "…Thank you, for following me tonight. I'll never forget it, $!{firstname}." Although you failed to help Trouble in his quest to catch the Equalists, you feel as if your relationship with Tallys has grown closer. *set tallysstatus "She feels grateful and close to you." *goto bladereturns *label bladereturns *page_break [i]Some time later[/i]... *if ((blaphemeldead) and (godspeaker < 7)) You fall into your bed like you're never going to leave it, and you sleep… …and you sleep… …and you sleep. You wake up on and off to drink from the pitcher of water by your bed, but you're always too groggy and heavy-headed to stay conscious for more than a few minutes. It's almost as if you have a fever—from mucking around in all of that rain, no doubt—but after three straight days of sleeping, you begin to feel a bit alarmed, even as the clutches of dreamless slumber fail to loosen its hold on you. Finally, on the fourth day, you manage to sit up. You feel… [i]rested[/i], but there's a part of you that feels a bit different. Changed, or maybe more hollow. You tell yourself you're simply very hungry, and rouse yourself from bed to go outside. The others are overjoyed to see you. *if ((troubleequalist) and (equalistscompoundintact)) Days later, you hear from Trouble, a bit bitterly, that the Inquisitors have begun their scouring of the Equalists' compound. They've uncovered a wealth of artifacts and tomes there in the catacombs, and have ferried most of it already to parts unknown. At least, you think, those dangerous spells and tools aren't lying around for just anyone to find. You just hope the Autarchy will dispose of it all properly. *if ((troubleequalist) and (equalistscompoundintact = false)) Days later, you hear from Trouble that he went with a few other recruits to oversee the final destruction of the Equalists' compound. There was some damage done to the catacombs and the adjacent graveyard, of course, which the Shepherds will have to pay for, but all evidence of the Equalists' activities—and the forbidden arcane tools they used—has been destroyed forever. Which is a good thing, considering you wouldn't want anyone else to mimic them… or for the city to break out in riots if they ever discovered what lay beneath their dead all that time. *if (childrenquarantined) The children begin to settle in to the numerous rooms at the Shepherds' tower, with their parents and families coming to visit them immediately. It takes some time to explain exactly why they're not allowed to go home… but their guardians seem so thankful the children are safe that they decide to trust you… for now. *if ((childrenquarantined) and (rikaalive)) Even the girl Rika wakes up, and apparently no worse for the wear; you see her in the morning being shakily embraced by her parents. They even brought their housecat, whose fur Rika dampens with her grateful tears. *if (rika) Maybe, if he ever feels better, Hal might be able to come visit her, you muse. *if (childrendead) Weeks later, Trouble informs you that the Inquisitors have had no luck locating the missing children. He says that he's setting up a small task force within the Shepherds dedicated to finding them, but the look in his eyes tells you that his hopes of success are slim. The trail has long gone cold. Still, it's a hope you both need—it helps to subsume the guilt. At least, Trouble tells you, looking off with a strange light in his eyes, the whole operation has given him a measure of closure he never knew he needed. And he wouldn't have gotten that closure if you hadn't stormed the hideout. Although he regrets not being able to save the children in time, he doesn't regret going after the Equalists and destroying them with his own hands. "That's one demon I can lay to rest," he says with a sigh. Then he smiles slightly at you. "Thanks for reminding me why I took on this job, $!{firstname}. Whatever happens, I've got to believe we did good." He pauses, nods to himself. Looks away again. "Yeah. We did good." *page_break ... Eventually, Trouble and Tallys reconcile and agree to let bygones be bygones. You don't witness the conversation yourself, but you notice that Tallys has defrosted around Trouble slightly, and soon enough the blond sniper is all smiles again. When you comment on the change, Shery, who was away on a business trip across the city, only sighs a little and shakes her head. "It's always like that with them," she tells you in a rare moment of honesty. "They're exact opposites. Vice-Commander Trouble's hot-headed, and Tallys is cool and composed… he gets too invested, she seems too aloof. When the Commander's gone, they fight like cats and dogs…" She sighs again. "I'm just glad you were there this time around. We need someone like you to keep them in check." Days later, Blade comes home, his clothes stained and bloodied. All the Shepherds who went with him also return alive and well. He's not back for more than an hour before you're summoned to his office. "I heard about what happened," he says, sitting behind his desk. He looks tired, but his gaze is as keen and cool as ever. "From Tallys and Trouble both. Now I'd like to hear it from you." He listens silently as you recount their argument and what ensued afterward. When you finish your story, he says, "You were put in a difficult position." He doesn't apologize for it, but he does comment, "You did well with the circumstances that were given to you." *fake_choice #"Aw, thanks, chief." #"Oh, I didn't do much..." #"Hopefully it doesn't happen again any time soon." Blade's lips quirk slightly, but the expression soon fades as he sits back in his chair and looks around at his office: a sparse and spartan space with almost no decoration. There's only his austere desk (neatly organized), a few chairs, a threadbare rug by the fireplace, some maps and weapons on the walls, and a medium-sized dark-wooded chest in the corner. It doesn't seem like he spends a lot of time here. "I'm sure you're starting to recognize the flaws in our system," Blade says finally. "We have around thirty fighters in the Order, and there's only Trouble, Tallys, and myself to lead them all as captains. Our problems are only going to grow the more our numbers increase." He pauses. "As it stands, we need to divide the troops into squads soon, now that everyone has been reasonably trained and acclimated. But who will lead each squad?" He makes a sharp, cutting gesture with his hand. "Trouble is popular with the recruits, but loses his head frequently and runs headlong into… bad decisions, with no regard for the greater picture or long-term strategy. Tallys is viewed as callous and unapproachable by the others, meaning her leadership qualities are weak, but she can make tough choices using logic instead of emotions… most of the time." He pauses again, and the ensuing silence is pregnant with expectation. Finally he continues, watching you in an assessing way: "Even I have my faults. And when I'm gone, we need someone who can keep things in balance. Someone I can trust to make the right calls." *fake_choice #"Who do you have in mind?" #"It sounds like you're talking about me." #Wait expectantly and say nothing. "I am talking about you," Blade says flatly. "I'd like to make you a captain alongside the three of us." For a moment you just sit there, blinking. You know the Order is struggling to get off its feet as Endarkened attacks across the Continent increase. But it's still surprising that you'd be offered so much power—and responsibility—within weeks of your arrival. Either you've made a very good impression, or the Shepherds are more desperate than they want to let on. Blade takes advantage of the silence to continue: "It won't come with a salary increase or greater privileges, and really only more responsibility, but we need more trustworthy leaders around here. Someone who I can rely on. You'll have more command over the recruits, and if Trouble, Tallys, and I are gone—or dead—you'll be in charge of the entire Order as Commander. You'll participate in more of the decisions around here and attend our meetings to help decide the future of the Shepherds. And you'll keep Trouble and Tallys in check when I'm not around, as you did this time." He looks at your face and seems to remember that he's not ordering you, but making a request. "I'll understand if you decide against it." *choice *if ((troubleequalist) and (cainesafe)) #"I'll do it, but I'd like a favor. I'd like to take in Caine Tavadon as a recruit." *set blade +3 *set compassionate +3 *set loyal +3 *set rank "Captain" *set bladestatus "He's beginning to entrust you with more power." Blade arches a brow. "Caine Tavadon?" "A Norm boy," you explain. "A wool merchant's apprentice—my friend. We came to Haven together, and I worry about him. So much turmoil is going on in the city: political uprisings, Endarkened attacks, children disappearing. I'd feel better if I could keep an eye on him here." You pause, weighing whether or not to say this, before adding: "He's also a devout friend of the Shepherds. I think he'd be overjoyed to join." (Overjoyed is an understatement, actually; you rather worry Caine might have a conniption when he finds out.) Blade ponders it a moment. "Can he fight?" *fake_choice #"A little. He'd be eager to learn." #"He's twelve." Blade's dark, perspicacious eyes scrutinize you for a moment, as if trying to discern your deeper motives. Suddenly he rises smoothly to his feet and extends a strong, slim-fingered hand towards you. When you grasp it, you notice his knuckles are covered in feathery white scars. "It's a deal, Captain," Blade says formally. "Caine Tavadon will join the Shepherds. *set cainejoin true *if (childrenquarantined) For the time being, he can help look after the children you rescued from the Equalists. At least until things are settled." *else He can be Shery's apprentice and help her with whatever she needs in running the Order." You nod, not bothering to keep the smile off your face. "Thank you, Blade. I'll let him know." As you leave the office, you swear you can hear a small boy somewhere in the city shrieking to the heavens with joy. *achieve caine *goto autarchsletter #"I'll do it, but I'll take a bonus now instead of a raise." *set rank "Captain" *set bladestatus "He's beginning to entrust you with more power." *set cunning +3 Blade ponders this for a moment, his face impassive, before he says, "I can do fifty deucalions." *choice #"Done." *set gold +50 Blade extends a strong, slim-fingered hand towards you; you notice that his knuckles are covered in feathery white scars. "Do we have a deal, Captain?" You grin and clasp his hand. "We have a deal." *goto autarchsletter #"How about sixty?" *if (charisma >= 30) *set gold +60 Blade looks slightly disgruntled, but he says grudgingly, "…All right." He extends a strong, slim-fingered hand towards you. "Do we have a deal, Captain?" You grin and clasp his hand. "We have a deal." *goto autarchsletter *else *set gold +50 Blade gives you a flat and stony look. "Fifty," he reiterates. He's not going to budge on this. Well, it was worth a try. "Fifty," you agree reluctantly. He extends a strong, slim-fingered hand towards you. "Then, Captain, do we have a deal?" You clasp his hand. "We have a deal." *goto autarchsletter #"It would be an honor. Thank you, Blade." *set rank "Captain" *set blade +3 *set bladestatus "He's beginning to entrust you with more power." "I'll do my best," you add, smiling at him. *if (gender = "female") *set bladeromanceflag +1 To your surprise, he smiles back. "I'm… grateful," he says, looking back at you. For a second you swear his features soften, ever so slightly. He looks genuinely [i]glad[/i]. Then he's extending a strong, slim-fingered hand towards you; you notice that his knuckles are covered in pale, feathery white scars. "Welcome aboard, Captain," he says with his faint smile. You grin and clasp his hand. "Happy to be here… Commander." *goto autarchsletter #"I'm not interested." *set blade -10 *set bladestatus "He's disappointed that you're not interested in becoming a captain." Blade frowns, though he doesn't seem angry. "That's a shame," is all he says, turning away. He lapses into silent thought for a moment, then glances up at you. "You're dismissed." The heavy oaken door slams shut behind you as you leave, blasting your body with a cold gust of air. It's almost as if a ghost was standing directly behind you, and—uneasy—you glance back over your shoulder at the closed door of the silent office. Of course, no one else is there. *goto autarchsletter *label autarchsletter *if (cainejoin) *page_break *set cainestatus "He's so excited to be joining the Order! He loves you so much." The next few days are a procession of getting Caine moved into the Order. As you'd predicted, he's over the moon at the news, jumping and hollering and running around so much that you can barely get him to listen to more than one sentence at a time. He promptly asks for leave from his master, the wool merchant Zatani Zircei (who tearfully informs you that he'd be happy to make the Shepherds their uniforms at a discount as he says goodbye to Caine). *if troubleequalist Caine also tells you that Hal seems to be recovering, and that he'd like to visit when he's feeling up to it. You tell him this shouldn't be a problem, and he beams. He moves into the room two doors down from yours, settling in immediately and *if (childrenquarantined) taking charge of the children, who take to him like awed siblings to an older brother. *else becoming Shery's assistant, enthusiastically helping her with all of the tasks a quartermaster has to deal with. Other than for work, he barely leaves your side—and for those first few days, life is bright and warm and blissful. *page_break ... By the end of the week, a letter comes to you sealed in an ostentatious gold folio, delivered by a silent and wall-eyed courier. For a moment your curiosity is piqued, but then you catch the look on Shery's face as she sits at the breakfast table across from you. All the blood has drained from her cheeks, and she looks like she's about to faint. "What?" you ask her as the courier takes xer leave. Shery points at the stamp of the all-seeing eye on the back of the gold envelope. "That's the seal of the Autarch," she whispers. *if (cainejoin) Pausing in his quest to shovel down as many eggs as possible, Caine cranes his neck over your arm and gawks. "[i]Whoa[/i]! You got a letter from the [i]Autarch[/i]?" At this, everyone in the refectory begins to murmur. A splash of cold dread runs down your spine as you carefully turn over the envelope and unseal the flap, feeling like you're handling an explosive device. You unfold the heavy, cream-colored parchment inside and begin to read the neat, gold-inked script: *if (troubleequalist = true) *goto goodletter *if (tallysequalist = true) *goto badletter *label goodletter [i]My dear $!{rank} $!{surname},[/i] [i]Thank you for your service to Haven. I have heard tell of your remarkable deeds in dealing with the Equalist problem, and I must tell you how impressed we are.[/i] *if (childreninquisitors) [i]My Inquisitors are still performing their tests, but I believe you did the right thing in turning the children over to their expertise. Rest assured, the children are in good hands.[/i] *goto token *if (childrensafe) [i]That you were able to save innocent Sun-touched children from certain death is something the Sun Court will not forget soon.[/i] *if (childrenquarantined) *set shepherdgold +500 [i]If the children prove to be too much of a burden for the Shepherds, have your Commander notify my offices, and we will increase funding and resources to accommodate.[/i] *goto token *if (childrenhome) [i]That they were able to return home safe and whole seems truly a miraculous gift from The Most High.[/i] *goto token *if (childrendead) [i]It is unfortunate that the poor Sun-touched children could not be saved—but the One-God has plans for us all. [/i] *goto token *label token [i]Please, take this token of my appreciation. I would like to meet you someday soon, when the gaze of the One-God is not quite so scorching. [/i] [i]Until then,[/i] *line_break [i]The Golden One[/i] *set gold +100 *page_break *if (cainejoin) Beside you, Caine squawks. "I can't believe the Autarch [i]praised[/i] you, $!{firstname}!" His gaze widens when it falls upon the elegant, white leather pouch that the courier so politely placed near your breakfast plate. "And God's teeth—that's a [i]lot[/i] of gold!" *else Shery squeaks. "I can't believe… the Autarch… actually wrote you a letter!" She stares at the elegant, white leather pouch that the courier so politely placed near your breakfast plate. "That's so much gold!" "I know." You turn the parchment over, but the backside is blank. Did the Autarch really deign to send you a written note of thanks, of all things? And rewarded you with money? *if (troublehate = false) Trouble strolls up then, holding a tray heaped high with hot and buttered breakfast rolls. "What's all the fuss?" he asks. You explain the message you received from the Autarch, and he makes an indignant face. "What the Hael? I didn't get kak!" Blade sits down at your table now, looking at him impassively. "That's because the Autarchy hates your guts," he says flatly. From the slight drawl in his voice, though, you can tell he's simply teasing Trouble. "An insurgent Norm who frequently advocates for equality with the Diminished? You're hardly in their good graces." Trouble looks like he wants to stamp his foot. "But $!{firstname} [i]is[/i] Diminished!" "But everyone likes ${them} better than you." "Oi, I'll kill you—" *choice #"We can split the money, Trouble." *set compassionate +3 *set trouble +1 *set blade +1 *set shery +1 His face splits in a grin, argument instantly forgotten. "'S alright, $!{firstname}," he says, clapping you affectionately on the shoulder. "You keep it. You earned the Hael out of it, that's for sure." You smile at him. "Thanks." #"What can I say? I'm just very likeable." *set blade +1 Blade smirks as Trouble unleashes a veritable storm of indignant protests. #Let them bicker. You're too busy counting your shiny new coin. *set cunning +1 After a few more moments, you turn back to the letter, utterly puzzled. "What do you think she means when she says she'd like to meet me when the 'eye of the One-God is not so scorching'?" "It's a fancy way of saying it's too hot to go outside," Shery explains. She looks around furtively before lowering her voice and practically whispering: "But the reality of it is, the Autarch has been ill for quite some time. She's likely just too sick to see you, though the Sun Court will never acknowledge that." You nod. You've heard rumors swirling about the Autarch's sickness for a while: even Ebert the meat merchant mentioned it to you when you were still guarding Prihine. "How should I take this very unnecessary gesture?" you ask her. You hadn't thought the Autarch—ruler of the iron-fisted Autarchy, mouth of God and overall inheritor of a monstrous dynasty—would be so… generous. Or normal-sounding. Or even… kind. Blade glances over as he rises from his seat at the end of the table, taking his cleaned plate as he goes; he often eats so quickly you rarely ever see how the food reaches his mouth. "Take it as a good sign," he tells you as he passes. "You've fallen into the Autarch's good graces." Shery's spectacles flash at you from across the table. "Or take it as a sign to be careful," she murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear. "That also means the Autarchy is more aware of you, more likely to notice any slip-ups. And as they always say…" She looks at you meaningfully. "…The eyes of the Sun Court are everywhere." *goto reallytheend *label badletter [i]$!{rank} $!{surname}[/i]: *if (inquisitors) [i]We have been informed that the Shepherds have come into conflict with the Inquisitors. Both serve as hands of the Sun Court, and [b]both[/b] must abide by its laws. Be forewarned: if you continue in your insubordination, you shall be summoned to the Chrysalis yourself.[/i] There's no signature, but there's no doubt in your mind that this either came from the Office of the Head Inquisitor or from the Autarch herself. You fold the parchment up slowly, and Shery, watching your face anxiously, whispers: "It's not good?" It's at this exact moment that Tallys approaches, bearing a simple plate of toast and jam. "What's not good?" she asks. Then she spots the envelope with the Autarch's seal in your hand, and all the blood drains from her face. *choice #"It's all right. There's no need to panic." *set courage +1 "It's just a warning," you tell her. "They're just telling me not to cause trouble with the Inquisitors anymore. No one's being dragged away or executed." Tallys sits down shakily. "Still, though… They heard about what happened at [i]the King's Crown[/i]?" In her panic it seems she's forgotten the Elvish conventions of avoiding direct questions. You glance back at the letter. "It seems so." Tallys passes a hand over her face. Shery fidgets in her seat and murmurs, "You have to be careful, $!{firstname}. Maybe you should stay close to headquarters for a while?" You stare at her. "Whatever for?" She gives you a meaningful look. "They sent this letter to tell you that they're watching," she tells you. She steals a glance at Tallys, who looks positively haunted. "Just… be careful, please…" She bites her lip. "You haven't been in Haven long enough to know this, but the eyes of the Sun Court are everywhere. If you blind yourself to them… well…" She trails off meaningfully. "Let's just say that being dragged to Hael seems merciful in comparison." *goto reallytheend #"Yeah... I'm... fucked." *set courage -1 Tallys' eyes go wide, like a prey animal standing stricken before a predator. Her lips part slightly, and you can read the fear in her airless voice when she says, "They heard about what happened at [i]the King's Crown[/i]?" In her panic it seems she's forgotten the Elvish conventions of avoiding direct questions. "It seems so." She sits down shakily on the bench across from you, exhaling forcefully and dragging a hand over her face. *if (cainejoin) Caine, beside you, watches with wide and startled eyes as Tallys struggles to collect herself. When she finally looks up, she says seriously, "You need to stay close to headquarters from now on. And you have to be very, very careful." You nod. It seems like a good course of action—and you can't say you're feeling particularly brave with how fearful both Tallys and Shery look. The latter looks like she's seen a ghost, and the former gazes at you with her sad green eyes. The expression on her face is that of someone mourning a close friend. Finally, Tallys blows out a breath. "I'm sorry, ${firstname}," she says slowly. "You're being wrongfully targeted for doing a good deed… but wrongful or not, you [i]are[/i] being targeted." She looks up at you, and her eyes are suddenly caustic and hard as glass. "Consider this a warning shot before a battle; the pistol that starts the race. They sent this as a warning to you—a warning that they're watching, scrutinizing you for any more slip-ups or mistakes. Any excuse to bring you in." She stops, looking distraught, and now Shery takes up the warning, watching you with her stricken pale-blue eyes. "You haven't been in Haven long enough to know this, $!{firstname}," she murmurs, "but… the eyes of the Sun Court are everywhere. There's no escaping them, and even the safest-seeming spaces have been infiltrated by their spies." She bites her lip. "And right now, according to this letter… you have to be very, very careful. Their gaze is turned utterly on you." *goto reallytheend *else [i]Welcome to the Order.[/i] That's all the simple script says, but for whatever reason, the words seem stark and ominous: almost like a threat rather than a greeting. You tuck the letter away, into your breast pocket, but the ink unfurls in your head long after everyone else has forgotten about it. Is this just a polite letter, a political bluff… or have you somehow played right into the Autarch's hands? *label reallytheend *finish