Fantasy The Devil's Meridian (Closed)

[Radley]

Flint returned Dos Santos reply and smile with a brisk nod. As the Platenese were no longer with the fleet, perhaps it would be better to send it to the Prophet. After all, Dobbs and the Albion crew were still trustworthy. As the group walked out of the palace, he instructed one of the sailors that had accompanied them to return to the Terror and instruct Rourke to turn over the scroll. A copy would be made of the writing, but Flint knew Rourke could assign anyone he saw fit for that job.

He then turned himself towards Ardekkan, "You have been quite interested in my ship and the tactics of our fleet. Now, I must say, you have sparked my interest for your forces as well. Would you be able to show me your garrison?" He asked the Bulwark. While some of the ships might need to look for supplies, the terror was still sufficiently stocked that he could afford to take some leisure time.
But who knew? Perhaps Ardekkan and his soldier had some sort of stockpile of food that they would be will to part with in exchange for some technology?

 

[K0mori]

To Captain Warren's surprise, Malkon gave an uneasy laugh when the former requested a tour of the latter's buildings. "Sir," he replied in his unnaturally smooth voice, "while I assure you that I am a businessman of the highest standard, I must warn you that there are some unsavory characters living among my dwellings. It is a sadly common reality that the poor and needy often turn to petty crime to make ends meet, as they lack the skills or the education to make something better of themselves... Or perhaps it is a lack of motivation? The city guard may take take in the young and able, but they are too busy putting intoxicating drugs into themselves, making babies they cannot possibly afford to feed, and just generally dishonoring the parents who took such care to raise them."

Malkon took a step away and looked over the city, a smirk forming on his face. "...They could even work the land. They could be out in the fields, harvesting to feed themselves and others. But they only know how to beg and borrow, or steal. And while I would be happy not to associate myself with such lowly figures, there is no shortage of suitable housing for the well-to-do like myself. No, it is the poor that need housing, and as long as they would remain poor regardless of who was collecting their rent, then why should it not be me? I would rather take you to the Emerald Canals, where I personally reside. My neighbors are of good standing, and very intelligent, as one would need to be to rise above the muck. What do you think?"

---​

Vostar returned Kortova's smile, albeit nervously, before slipping away from her touch. "Madam," he said, "while I believe I can help you in your... pursuits, I'm afraid you misunderstand my standing." He looked over his shoulder at the other officers and guides emerging from the palace and sighed again. "...Follow me," he instructed, and led them down toward the waterfront. They walked briskly, a bit more so than what was comfortable, leading the two women to exchange some uneasy looks. Had the Grand Captain upset the young noble? Kortova concentrated on the back of Vostar's head as she followed him, trying to key into the sixth sense she had felt at the collapsing island, and gradually, an impression of his thoughts came to her. He was extremely uncomfortable, as well as suspicious, but there was also a great, yearning curiosity within him.

They took a turn into another crowded street, and then another, empty one, revealing a venerable stairway made of wood. Its steps were smooth and yet uneven, and polished to a mirror shine near the edges, as if the authorities had taken great care to maintain the passage despite an overwhelming amount of foot traffic threatening to grind the timbers into sawdust. Only after they had hastened up the stairs did Vostar stop, amidst what appeared, to Kuromaki, to be a zen garden and temple. There was no one else present here aside from a few men and women in the distance maintaining the land.

"These grounds are used for funerals," the young demonblood explained, "but typically, only the wealthy can afford to hold their services here. This garden doesn't normally allow visitors, but they'll make an exception for us, because I brought you here."

Kuromaki looked over a tranquil pond of clear water amidst the reeds and shoots of bamboo-like stalks growing from the smooth rocks which outlined the garden. "You said before that you weren't a prince," she said. "But you are someone special."

Vostar nodded. "Now I can tell you what I wanted to say when you spoke to me before. You seem to think of me as a prince, but this city is no kingdom. You can think of it more like an aristocracy, founded upon the Knowledge. In order to protect our people from those ancient evils, some must know of the truth, without clouded eyes, and so it was many centuries ago that three incorruptible knights of the city were chosen for the sacred duty of guarding it. Their descendants rule the city to this day, but their power does not simply filter down from father to son. The elders disperse the Knowledge in pieces to the children of the next generation of their clan- sons, daughters, nieces and nephews. As a result, the elders have brothers, sisters, and cousins who are all partially informed.

"When an elder dies, the entire knowledge remains within his generation. They must decide who among them will take the elder's place, and if there is only one left in a generation, it is his or her sacred duty to ensure the following generation is fully equipped. Then, upon their passing, the next generation decides among themselves who will be the next elder, and then they must all share the Knowledge with that individual. While my grandfather is the last of his generation, when he passes, I will still be many years away from stepping into his shoes, and only if I am the one selected by my family to rule."

Kortova and Kuromaki hid their disappointment. "But... you clearly hold some favor, do you not?" Kuromaki asked.

Vostar smiled. "Yes, of course. I am still a noble, and it is considered a great crime to harm anyone of the knights' bloodlines. There are many places I can go that others cannot take you, and rules that I can bend without causing a stir. But you must be reasonable with me. As much as I would like to solve the divisions in your fleet, I can't embroil myself too deeply in your affairs without risking the acceptance of my family. As it stands, I am the most favored of my generation, but I have four cousins... I could become the last among them if I were to, say, form a public alliance with visitors from afar whom I've only known for the small part of an afternoon."

The two officers noticed Vostar's influence on the word "public." It seemed the young man wanted to make clear to them that he was not at all opposed to an exchange of favors, but wished to keep any such negotiation a secret.

"That being said, if you seek influence, then I recommend sticking to our kind, madams. Perhaps it would be wise to recruit a few locals onto your vessel as well; there is great poverty in some sections of this city and I'm sure there would be more than a few willing to jump at the chance to leave here, especially under a leader as illustrious as you, Grand Captain. You would probably garner even more respect if you could somehow convince some demonbloods of standing to go along, although the very quality of prestige within this society would make them reluctant to leave it. But there is one last thing I must advise you on.

"You asked about the Ashes," Vostar said, looking very concerned. His voice grew hushed. "We know of such a place, and we know that it is the ancestral home of all demonbloods. But it is not a place that is held in high regard among those with Knowledge. The common folk speak of it as if it were just another far off land, or a part of Altanis that fell along with the rest of it, centuries ago. But I know that it still exists, and that my family wants no contact with it. You... you may very well know more about the Ashes than I do. And while this is very inappropriate of me, it's almost like an itch I can't quite scratch. Why would us demonbloods fear the Ashes?"

---​

The two scientists met outside the palace with Envini and expressed their desire to see a library or historical site to begin their research. "Ah, yes, both actually. There is a public collection of written works further inland and uphill. There are monks who live there, constantly recompiling the information into tighter volumes. None of the books are more than two decades old, but the information contained within stretches back perhaps about two centuries," he explained, pointing up at the uplands that were barely visible between the taller structures in the core of the city. He then motioned back in the direction of the fleet in the harbor. "There's also the Fortress of the Moon. The city only arms it with soldiers and cannons during times of war with the other city states of the land, and even then, they only do so to the minimum number necessary to keep their boats away. ...There are many rumors surrounding the fortress. We don't know how it got its name - or at least the common people don't - and there are quite a few who say that it's haunted."

He seemed almost embarrassed at the suggestion. "I'm not a superstitious man," he added, "but there are locked doors in the fortress through which we are not allowed to pass. They may be holding cannon shells and black powder in there, but the general consensus is that the fortress is built atop something of great significance to this city which the elders do not wish to reveal. It's at least five hundred years old, but we have few surviving records from that era."

---
​

A few yards away, Captain Dobbs whispered to Urna the name of Astrius, but she turned and shook her head in confusion. "Sir, I promise you, I'm no more than an angler. If it's an important person you're looking for, then perhaps we can ask a taxman? They'll know every residence in the city." Sensing what Dobbs really meant from his expression, Urna grew a bit more serious. "...There are people who keep secrets in this place, and then there are those like me who weren't privy to learn them at all. There are some who live in this land, outside of the city. They know things that the elders do not wish them to know, or at least they claim to. I've encountered them while out on my boat; they'll come right up along side you and try to entice you to follow them somewhere. We have all been told not to follow, or even to listen to their words."

---
​

Ardekkan beamed at Captain Flint's request. "Well of course I can show you my garrison! But, uh, I'm going to expect you show me the inside of that iron ship of yours before you go. We're going to need to head to the far side of town. My soldiers live and train at the southern crossroads. We mainly settle land disputes and keep watch for any incursions from the outsiders."

They traveled along the river for a while and eventually turned down a winding series of back alleys. The commercial facades gave way to a series of badly dilapidated buildings, and slowly it occurred to Flint that these were not abandoned like the ancient structures of the "Old City." These rotting and crumbling buildings were occupied, and some of them were operating very questionable businesses of their own, whose purpose could be discerned by vulgar paintings on the glass of the windows.

"Don't mind the look of things down here," Ardekkan said. "These streets look like trouble, but there's always good folks among them. I know, because I was one of 'em. Just ahead, there's another street that goes west back toward the coastline, and if you take that way for about three blocks there's a shack that's just about fallen over. My father runs a junk shop on the bottom floor, and I was born in the apartment he keeps in the loft."

The two men eventually emerged from the overcrowded web of streets to find themselves looking out over farmland, and in the distance, a low, stone building with a large wooden paling surrounding it, with iron-tipped spears jutting out periodically. Beyond that, hundreds of tiny ramshackle huts and tents dotted the landscape, with plenty of outdoor infrastructure under tarps which Flint could not identify from such a distance. The fields in between were neatly plowed and spangled with some sort of food crop which resembled watermelon, or otherwise were filled with livestock of both familiar and unknown variety. Flint was briefly arrested by the incredible size of the cattle he found in a nearby yard- far larger than any he had seen in Alleghenia.

He couldn't help but think of one word: Steaks.

 

[Infab]

"...I would rather take you to the Emerald Canals, where I personally reside. My neighbors are of good standing, and very intelligent, as one would need to be to rise above the muck. What do you think?"

The trio of officers stood there listening to Malkon as he spoke of the poor living in the buildings that he owned and maintained, before suggesting to visit where he lived in the city. The 'Emerald Canals'. Warren wanted to say something, so very badly. He saw this sort of thing quite often back home in the large cities of Alleghenia. The poor living in run down apartment buildings or out on the streets, while the rich lived in lavish houses and mansions on the coastlines. Old and new money, simply clustered together and peering down their noses at the poor and unfortunate. Hell, Warren himself came from poor farmers in the Alleghenian midwest. The only reason he had anything now besides dust and dead crops was because he joined the Navy. These people had to be helped beyond just providing homes for them. Not simply left to fend for themselves, forced to pay rent with money and other goods they likely stole or worked themselves to near death to get. And if these people wouldn't lift a finger to help them, than Warren didn't want to associate with them.

Slater, noticing the look on his face, forced him to stop. She pulled him to the side, whispering quietly to her commander. "Sir...I think we can use this to our advantage." she said. Warren gave her a look. "...Slater. You know where I come from, correct? Do you think I would--" he managed to reply to her before being cut off.

"Sir, if you don't make friends with the more...sophisticated types here...Kortova will. She's 'royalty'. She'll try her best to slip right in and rub shoulders with the wealthy elites. We can get ahead of the game here...and maybe find out more about that statue in the cargo bay as well as your dead goddess." explained Slater. She then smiled gently. "I come from old money, sir. I know my way around the lavish and refined."

Warren eyed her for a moment, before sighing and nodding. "Fine. We'll go." he said, before turning back to Malkon. "Let's see the Emerald Canals, then." he said. Riddle cut Warren a look, which Warren answered with an order. "Riddle, head back down to the beach and see how things are coming. And leave a scout here with me."

Riddle hesitated, before saluting and turning to the few troops following him. "Sergeant Stark, stay here with the commander. The rest of you, follow me." The troops saluted, before strolling off with Riddle.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Kortova fiddled with her fingers, considering Vostar's question. What should she say - that the Ashes is home to descendants of the true demons, of the corrupted and damned, and the prison to the terrible - and very rude, Kortova had to add - goddess Wulfera? It certainly was no holiday destination for the casual traveler, and one without power, especially. "Balth forbade me from speaking specifically on these matters, you must understand. I do not wish to test that line too much. Of course, as you are of status to know these things, I can perhaps offer a little that does not harm that boundary."

"The Ashes is... how should I say, still rather active, to my knowledge. A realm like this one but someplace else and different. Sort of like an afterlife, you could say. If you are familiar with the concept of aether and aetherine, the Ashes uses the opposite. Naether," she explained tentatively. "So, in that regard, I'm sure the elders wish to avoid it on the basis of sorcery and all that. Among those from the Ashes are some who are called alterationists that are capable of... enhancing... people from this realm to be more demonlike. Again, sorcery and what not. Oh, and one of the ancient gods is trapped there," Kortova added offhand, not wanting to delve down that route and attempting to bypass it casually.

She cleared her throat, switching tracks effortlessly, and spoke in a lower tone after a slight glance around. "You know what we want. What is it that you want from us in exchange? I can speak a little more on ancient history but not much more at that. I don't know a lot myself, though there are some... peculiarities that may be better left unspoken of, even in private."

"Tangibility - that is the strength of what we can offer. Technology. Things like... like... electricity, and machines, and medicine. That could help you - and your people - a great deal." And also hurt them a great deal, depending on how they are used.

 

[Radley]

As they walked through the more unsavory part of town, and Ardekkan assured him that there were surely good people among it's denizens despite it's degenerate nature. Flint had no reason to doubt him. In fact, he felt more comfortable looking out over the farmlands and simple dwellings outside of the city than the lavish structures they had seen on their way from the harbor. Haskell, situated on the bank of copper creek, bore many similarities to it. Most notably in it's frugal nature. A tinge of homesickness crept up on him, which he promptly swatted away. Perhaps he was no admirer and indulger of the more refined ways of the cities and associates his title had earned him, but the destitution of his origin was nothing to envy or find contentment in.

As his eyes caught the massive cattle that grazed in a nearby lot, he spoke to Ardekkan, "Say, Bulwark. How would you describe the meat of these creatures? Their appearance are similar to that of cattle found in our lands, yet these are much larger. We have only brought with us treated rations from our home, and I would be quite interested in partaking in some of your local cuisine."

---

Down on the docks, Rourke cast stod and watched as some lively festivity was taking place out onboard the Correntino. His thoughts were interrupted when the sailor who had accompanied Flint arrived. After being relayed the information that the Captain had gone on a tour of the city with the All-talker that had been assigned to them earlier, Rourke was somewhat confused. Flint was not usually the man who would partake in such activities, but surely there were matters that his captain had deemed favorable attached to a showing of what this exotic city and culture had to offer.

After receiving the final instruction of copying and delivering said copy to the Prophet, Rourke ordered the men to remain at ease. Well back on the Terror, he discussed briefly with Bates, who then ordered that a those who had earned commendations during the journey would be allowed to take a shore leave in the city. They would only be allowed to carry their pistols, and sailors would need to be grouped with at least one officer. Item brought back from bartering or through other means were to be presented upon return and documented. There was a moderate cheer from the crowd, while some of the men simply wore unamused frowns. One of these men was chief of engineering Franklin Ross, a relatively tall and slender man, with a somewhat gaunt visage and smooth, dark hair protruding from beneath his officers cap.

"No credit for shore leave, Ross?" Rourke asked, with a hint of a jest. Ross cut the first lieutenant a sharp look "When you work as well as me, it'd hard to perform beyond expectations" he replied with a slightly raspy voice, clearly annoyed. "Perhaps" Rourke replied, lifting his hands slowly to show it was meant as a joke. "But I have a job for you that will net you a permission to disembark". This offer was enough to make Ross exchange his frown for a expression of intrigue. Once the task had been explained, the two men headed into the cargo hold to begin transcribing the scroll. While Ross toiled away, Rourke sat nearby and studied the looking glass, trying to discern if any of the red hue was still present in the artifacts reflection.

On the shore, the sailor and their officers began arriving, gathering into small units that dispersed in different directions. Some remained in the harbor, trying to make common ground with the fascinating locals, while others moved into the city to see what exotic goods and services they could find. The language barrier would obviously be a great obstacle, but many of the sailors were well versed in the art of communicating with gestures and charades, a skill that had been honed when arriving in foreigin ports across the old world.

 

[joshuadim]

Lonstray was rather pleased by Envini's news and his mood improved upon learning of such things. Most of all, he was rather curious as to what Envini had meant in regards to what potentially lay hidden underneath this 'Fortress of the Moon'. He raised an eyebrow as the speaker explained and scratched his chin: "Rather intriguing if I say so myself." Lonstray commented once Envini had finished speaking. The scientist rubbed his chin in thought before looking towards Dos Santos. "What do you make of this?" he asked curiously, "Something hidden underneath the fortress ought to be something of great value in research."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Dos Santos imagined hundred of ideas, as Enveni spoke of the most interesting features in the settlement. But just like Lonstray, the mention of a 'haunted' fortess caught her attention. It reminded her of several scientific books describing the encounters between explorers and adventurers. Among these famous adventuerers and explorers was the famous Amelie van Frysk, known for exploring a 'haunted' temple located in the lands of the Kawatu tribe. The adventuerer remarked the unwillingness of the natives to guide her to the temple, with some even becoming hostile. Afraid that she could curse them all for poking into that acursed ancestral place. If what Envini said was true, then there might be repercutions for them if they were discovered poking around this fort. But her desire to seek more knowledge eventually won, as she gave both men a nod. "Yes, we should explore the fortress. But lets be respectful, as the last thing we want to do is offend the local population."

 

[joshuadim]

How would one find scientific inquiry 'offensive'? Surely even these people know the need for progress? Lonstray thought to himself with annoyance before clearing his throat and straightening himself. "Doctor I assure you, whatever we may find... whether grand or not... it will be done with careful procedure, not with wanton gunslinging." he spoke, trying to evoke the confidence of both Dos Santos and Envini with his words.

---

Dobbs was intrigued to hear such information from Urna, for perhaps he could learn more of what he desired from these... outcasts, as she had described them. "Walk with me then, madam." Dobbs then invited as he moved away from where they had met the elders and walked down one of the main streets of the city along with Lt. Reid and the sailors that had gone along with them. As they moved about, Dobbs continued his conversation with Urna: "Do tell, where do you live? I should like to see."

 

[K0mori]

Commodore Meinhardt was the last of the officers to emerge from the palace, having stayed to clarify a few trivial matters of the fleet's size and composure to satisfy the elders' curiosity. He promised to return the following day with images of the faraway lands, and showed them a pocket-sized photograph of his wife to prove how true-to-life the images would be. Silara, his appointed translator and guide, shadowed him and Walkenhorst as they stepped out into the afternoon sun.

"Looks like Flint's already gone off," Walkenhorst observed, grumpily. "I wanted to give him a piece of my mind."

Meinhardt shrugged. "He said that it only served to guide us here, and nowhere else. If that's true, then no harm was done, and I wasn't about to accuse him of lying in front of the fleet."

"But sir, he shouldn't have just been able to-"

"...And I would have loved the chance to inspect it myself to confirm his honesty, but unfortunately we allowed the Alleghenians to take over on navigational duties. Seems like a missed opportunity," Meinhardt interrupted loudly, embarrassing the Captain. Walkenhorst grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking out over the city.

Silara looked on in confusion. "Is everything okay?" she asked in her ghostly voice.

With a sigh, Meinhardt replied, "quite so." He then surveyed their surroundings like his subordinate and took stock of who had and hadn't departed the area yet. After what had been revealed about Kortova and Kuromaki at the meeting, he was vaguely concerned for the wellness of the young man who had been assigned to guide them. "Silara, I think the two of us would appreciate some knowledge about the demonblood kind, as they're unique to this sea."

"You wish to understand those two women better," Silara mused.

Meinhardt nodded. "Yes. And the way my fleet has been acting lately, I'm not sure how much I can trust them to be honest with me. You feel the same way, don't you, Captain?"

Walkenhorst glanced back at the captain and gave him a smirk. "Aye, sir," he replied, but deep down he wondered whether or not the Commodore was deserving of the honesty and respect that he expected from his subordinates. Leadership seemed to come naturally to some, but not to others.

"I would like to show you something," Silara said. "There is a plaza near my workshop with an ancient pillar in the middle. They call it the 'Forbidden Pillar,' although you can walk right up and touch it if you like."

The Commodore nodded. "That sounds fascinating, but how will that help us?"

As mysterious as ever, Silara replied, "I don't know... I just have a feeling."

---
​

While the Commodore followed his guide toward a neighborhood in the heart of the city, Captain Warren followed Malkon toward the Emerald Canals, a more secluded place down near the coastline. On the opposite shore of the harbor from the Fortress of the Moon, there was a long peninsula covered in small brick buildings which served as warehouses for trade goods and, especially, fish. Beyond that, there was a ridge covered in foliage that obscured the view of an old canal much smaller than the river canal which flowed directly through the city. The entrance to said canal had nearly been covered over completely with silt, so that, at high tide, only a small amount of ocean water would trickle into its ancient ducts, whereas it formed a land bridge when the tide was low. Although the crowd near the anchored fleet was entertained by festive music, none of the sound penetrated the various natural barricades to the opposite side.

Malkon led Warren down the road toward this secluded water system, which, surprisingly, was as green as the name suggested. All around it, large villas with low, sloping roofs gave an immediate sense of serenity to anyone who laid eyes upon it. Here, life happened slowly, and despite his earlier distaste for Malkon's contempt for the poor, Warren couldn't help but have a small amount of envy for the residents who lived here. It seemed like a great place to start a family, unlike the dark and threatening back streets of the city, away from its commercial centers. That would hold true just about anywhere in the world.

The road followed the canals tightly as it wound through the walled-off villas, and at each wrought iron gate there was a servant standing by as a porter. Malkon approached the very first one at the entrance to the neighborhood and greeted him. "Hello, Noshan. How are the Gulkers? ...Ah, good, good. If they are available, please tell them to stop by my property. We have guests from faraway lands! ...I'm sure you have, there was quite a crowd... ...Yes, you too." Malkon greeted each of the porters in this way as he passed, and each time, they hurried away from the locked gate to go inform the masters of the properties that important guests were in the neighborhood. At a certain point, they reached Malkon's property, but did not go in immediately. He instructed his own porter: "Roca, dear, tell the staff that we're about to host a gathering on my lawn. There's no time for food, just drinks. ...Yes, that would be fine. We'll be back shortly."

As they walked, Malkon spoke about some of the more important families, although it was difficult to tell whether he was doing so in order to make Warren and the others feel more comfortable, or if he was subtly trying to brag about the company he kept in his daily life. Either way, it was somewhat useful information. The Gulker household owned several metalworking and gem cutting workshops in the city that both produced fine jewelry as well as strong, reliable weapons and armor for the city guard. Most importantly, however, they owned the school in which these skills were taught, the only reputable one in the city (although Malkon disparagingly mentioned self-taught "rat-jobbers" who could produce crude imitations of the Gulkers' works for cheap.) There were also the Dalmans, who owned an extensive network of contracts for the production of quality alcohol of a type not found in the rest of the world, called Fira.

Finally, they reached the most secluded property at the rear of the canals, an absolutely massive mansion standing at three stories high, with wide, stately columns in the front: the home of the Molichans. To Warren's amusement, the porter at the gate seemed dismissive in his body language toward Malkon, which embarrassed the latter. In fact, it seemed as if the porter didn't even believe what Malkon was trying to tell him. "No, I insist, your masters will want to hear of these travelers. They come from the faraway lands, understand me? ...No, I would never! Have you not heard the rumors? ...No, I suppose not," he sighed. "Nonetheless, look at them with your own eyes, and judge for yourself if they look like anyone you've seen in your life. ...Yes, at my property! ...Because they're my guests, and I've already invited the neighbors! ...Good. I'll see them soon. Good day to you!"

Malkon tried to hide his frustration as he let out a sigh. As they walked back toward his comparatively humble property, he explained that the Molichans were the oldest and richest family in the city. They were bankers, and therefore had a hand in everyone's lives, to the point that debtors sometimes came directly to their gates to beg for forgiveness for their loans. "Not that I've ever embarrassed myself like that," Malkon insisted, "but they are weary of just about anyone. Ask any of the canal's residents and they'll tell you the same as I: No one alive but a Molichan has ever stepped foot in that mansion."

"Not even the elders?" asked Sergeant Stark.

Malkon shook his head. "The elders are the city administrators, but their power comes from strict adherence to tradition. The Molichans are powerful in their own right. Some say they maintain their merchant empire by use of the forbidden ways of the ancient era, and no one can disprove it. Some even believe the elders are simply puppets of the Molichans, behind the scenes. I've only ever met their patriarch once in my life, years ago when I purchased my property here. He came to greet me, shook my hand, and explained in no uncertain terms that we would not be friends, but neighbors of mutual respect. I believe I've held my end of the bargain, but I seriously doubt he holds any regard for me."

By the time they returned to Malkon's property, many of the neighbors had already entered, and were now milling about on the grassy lawn sipping on cocktails mixed by the house staff. They were all extremely well dressed and clean-looking, just like the host, who clapped his hands one time loudly as he entered their midst. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's a pleasure to see you all in good health. I would like to present Commander Bishop Warren of the faraway land of Alleghenia, and his esteemed company from the warship Jackal, currently moored in the city harbor on a mission of peace and discovery."

The aristocrats raised their glasses in a toast as a servant arrived to offer drinks to the Commander and his company. Along with the mixed beverages, there was also tall, surprisingly cool glasses of water with sprigs of what seemed like lemongrass placed in them. Over time, the other residents of the neighborhood trickled in to join the gathering, but the Molichans had not yet set anyone.

---
​

In the zen garden, Vostar nodded and listened with increasingly wide eyes. "An 'afterlife...?' Then you must mean it can't be reached by sailing. That would explain much... I've heard of common, low-born demonbloods setting sail in search of the Ashes, never to return, although it doesn't take an elder to tell you how treacherous the waters are. But some in the community genuinely believed they had reached it, and it was a sort of paradise from which they wouldn't want to return. Now I know they're all probably dead." He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "And... you say there's a god 'trapped' in that realm. I'm not going to ask you more about them, but I must say I'm..."

He fumbled with his words, clearly impressed. "...Going by what you've told me, I must assume you've met a living god, then. And, I'm a bit frightened that they aren't all dead, which is what I often hear. By coming here, I hope you aren't a warning of what might follow. But... let's set aside matters of gods and sorcery, and focus on what we can speak about freely. Technology is a wonderful thing. We have little to compare ourselves to in these lands, but I should hope that we are not too backwards compared to your own societies in the faraway lands."

Vostar smiled as he led them back to the stairs toward the city. He seemed to be much more relaxed now that the conversation had moved beyond the touchy subjects they had began with. "There is a neighborhood in this area which is historically associated with our kind, with many businesses and workshops where you can find artisans. ...Now that I think of it, it would be very easy to earn their respect by purchasing goods from independent, demonblood merchants, and by that I mean you can use the money I offered you earlier. They'd be thrilled to hear that their crafts would be shared with the outside world as 'treasures' or something of that nature. I may have spoken too hastily earlier when I suggested recruiting beggars and the like. While giving jobs to the jobless would easily win the hearts of the community, you may choose to take on a few of those aforementioned artisans. They may be tempted by the idea of becoming celebrity in a world without their kind, as lonely as I imagine an existence like that would be. In the meantime, they could practice their craft on your ship and be of more use to you."

As they descended the stairs, in the distance, the Commodore and his company walked past, apparently without noticing Kortova up on the stairs above, aside from Walkenhorst, who paused a moment as he looked at them, apparently considered saying something, before ultimately walking away without doing so.

"As for what I would ask of you," Vostar continued, "it's difficult to say as I know so little of what you have. Word had only just reached me of your arrival just before I was summoned, but I do know that you came hear aboard metal ships that move without sails, under their own power, through the use of machinery. That sounds incredible to me. I see that you also carry about with you strange, small guns on your hips."

Kuromaki gave a sly grin. "Oh, this?" she said, pulling her Luger out of its holster. "This is called a pistol. The shot it fires is of a standard size, with a standard load of gunpowder in a form called a bullet. There's a mechanism that loads a new bullet into the chamber as the previous one is being fired." She demonstrated the stance used to aim the gun as they paused briefly just above street level. "You squeeze the trigger in to shoot, release it, and when you squeeze again-"

"-It fires again!?" Vostar blurted in amazement. "That's... That's exactly what I'm talking about! Our gunsmiths have been trying for years to produce weapons that are easy to reload, and you come along and tell me you have a pocket-sized gun that loads itself!?"

Kuromaki allowed Vostar to take a close look at the Luger as she carefully held it sideways. "Nearly," she replied as she ejected the magazine. "Once all the bullets are fired, you have to refill it with bullets yourself. Or, if you fill several of these ahead of time, you can switch out the entire stack in the heat of battle and keep shooting. Moreover, all the guns carried by our fleet use smokeless gunpowder, so that a massed group of soldiers firing won't disrupt their own vision."

"H-how accurate... would you say these weapons are?" the young man stammered.

Kuromaki gave a devilish smirk as she glanced back at Kortova, realizing what a terrific job she was doing enticing their host. "There is a technique," she replied mysteriously, "employed by gunsmiths in our nations which causes the bullets to fly in a near perfect path, one after another. In your muskets and cannons, the shot flies in unpredictable ways, does it not?" She asked, and Vostar nodded. "Then you will be probably be pleased to know that, if I so chose, I could shoot a bullet into the third-floor window of that building down the road with the red quilt hanging out, and then fire the next bullet into the very same window, again and again until I have expended every round."

Vostar's mouth hung open for a moment as he looked back and forth between the gun and the distant window. Kuromaki had exaggerated a bit when describing her marksmanship, but that came down to her own skill, rather than the sound mechanics of the Alamannian-built pistol. "For weapons like those... I could arrange a... vast... sum of money," he said. "...And it would all be legal. Who would ever need sorcery with such power at their fingertips?"

---
​

"Ah, never seen an arox?" Ardekkan replied. "I personally prefer white meat myself, but nothing gives you more meat for your money, except maybe a good tiphan... er, that's a big old fish if you've never heard of that, either. So what do you mean by 'treated' rations?" Captain Flint briefly explained the concept of canned and otherwise sealed rations by comparing the process to pickling vegetables and salt-curing meats, concepts that Ardekkan was familiar with. Again, the bulwark was impressed with the foreign technology. "So you're saying you can keep these foods fresh in a container without ruining the taste, and it all comes down to keeping air out?"

One of Flint's sailors joked in reply, "that's a bit of a stretch about the taste."

"...And that's why some real, fresh meat sounds good about now, doesn't it? I'll have the cooks serve us up officers' cuts when we all sit down for dinner."

The group continued along the dusty road until they reached the camp. The afternoon was gradually giving way to evening, but it wasn't yet suppertime, and once inside the wooden walls of the fortress, they found themselves surrounded by men and women of all shapes and sizes practicing their drills and going about their duties and daily routines. Although very old fashioned, Flint was impressed with the level of organization displayed by the guardsmen. Their weaponry and training regimens resembled those of the 1700s elsewhere in the world.

A young woman with beastly, warthog-like features trotted up to Ardekkan and gave a quick bow. She spoke in the native language of the land, to which the brute replied, "good to hear. Attendant Sveket, this is Captain Flint, of the faraway lands. He is here to observe our operation for the sake of better understanding our people. Treat him as you would treat me."

"Oyoha apawanda," Sveket said with a slight bow to Captain Flint.

---
​

Back at the harbor, the curiosity of the travelers' arrival had given away to a more festive atmosphere. The sailors of the Correntino were playing music and handing out fresh food, which attracted a great deal of attention, and it soon became clear that the less-fortunate among the city dwellers were ravenously hungry. It was difficult to tell if they honestly enjoyed the taste of the Platense cooking or if they would eat anything in their state of famine. Those who were less desperate gave up on the food line, but still gathered for the exotic music, and between songs, cheered the sailors along to continue.

The Alamannians had begun to relax, with many heading back onto the ship and leaving only those armed with submachineguns to guard the gangplank. Increasingly, they grew bored and frustrated with their lack of orders, especially when they witnessed Alleghenians from the Terror going ashore to explore the city. Even the Sokrovians were more productive, setting up tents along the shoreline where a few of the ship's doctors set up shop for what could be described as humanitarian aid. Although the locals could easily recognize the tools of medicine, the language barrier meant that it would take a few more hours before any treatment could be safely prescribed. Still, a number of sick, injured, or simply malformed islanders congregated near the tents, patiently waiting to explain their plight to the doctors in hopes of treatment, or perhaps some sort of miracle cure. Many of them, too, were obviously poor.

As Flint's sailors made their way into the city, they formed into small groups as no man wanted to walk alone in the confusing spiderweb of narrow streets. Despite their best efforts, a few quickly found their pockets picked as they explored, and most alarmingly, one man lost his pistol after a group of locals "accidentally" collided with him at a street corner. As a youth ran off with his newfound treasure, another of Flint's sailors drew his pistol, took aim, and then thought better of it and put his gun away. There was no telling what sort of panic would be set off by wantonly firing into a crowd. Instead, he and his mates took off in pursuit, chasing the boy for several blocks until they finally caught up with him, being both of taller stature and in better physical health. The boy cowered on the ground, clearly expecting a beating, but the men smartly took the weapon back without touching him.

Others were not so lucky with their lost possessions.

---
​

Envini listened to Lonstray's assurances and nodded his head. "I'll keep watch while you're inside. If you find something in there that I'm not supposed to know about, then don't tell me what you've found. It's as simple as that," he told his guests. "No one will expect us to be there, especially so soon after your arrival. If we're going to explore, we'd better get a move on." He gave a confident smile, proud to be part of their adventure.

The trio headed back down toward the harbor, spotting numerous Alleghenian soldiers along the way, and giving rudimentary directions to a few who stopped to asked for them. Once they neared the water, they turned down another road in the opposite direction from where the Nixe was docked and headed toward the interior of the harbor. All in all, it took about an hour to round the harbor on foot, which was about double the time it would have taken to go by boat, but this method drew far less attention. They soon neared the Fortress of the Moon, which was much larger than it appeared from the water and was very imposing. Its ancient brick walls were crumbling like the ruins found on other islands in the Uncharted Zone, bringing up ugly memories of the Ossuary chain to Dos Santos while inspiring great hopes in Lonstray.

There were huge iron-plated doors blocking the entry which were locked in such a way that it would be impossible to enter through the door. "Those aren't normally closed. Let's see... How are we going to get in?" Envini wondered out loud. The demonblood looked to the crumbling bricks and the way they sloped inward, toward the fortress, and shrugged. "Honestly, I think we can just climb it."

Carefully, they mounted the steep incline of old stone and crawled their way up, knocking a few bricks ajar as they reached the top of the wall. Peering over it, the three scholars could see a sentry posted at one of the far corners of the star fort, his legs dangling over the wall's edge as he looked down on the fleet far below. He didn't seem all too attentive, and it would be easy to slip into the building without him noticing. "Alright, come on then," Envini whispered as they quietly stepped over onto the flat walkway and then moved quickly to a stairway which led down into the middle of the fortress. It wasn't long before they were in the shadow of the structure, out of sight from the sentry, and there were the smaller doors Envini had originally referred to when they were down in the city below.

The doors had a strange patina which obviously was not iron or steel, and an image of a crescent moon was carved into them. Envini reached to the handle experimentally and tried to squeeze the latch before recoiling in pain. After stifling his urge to scream, he finally whispered to them in a mixture of surprise and agony: "it's silver! Th-the whole door is covered in silver!"

---
​

"I live down at the harbor, right next to where you anchored your ships," Urna replied to Captain Dobbs with a curious tilt of her head. "Are you certain you'd like to go back there?"

 

[Emperor Sagan]

The Grand Captain was mildly amused at Kuromaki's antics in her demonstration of the pistol, and Vostar's subsequent marvel at the weapon. Her exaggerations weren't even that outlandish. With a steady, braced hand and good eye, the shots she claimed to be able to make were not impossible. Kortova figured she'd be able to make the shots, too, though her pistol marksmanship could probably use a slight touch up before she attempted it.

"Sorcery and technology are too very different things. While you may think our weapons surpass sorcery, I rather think it is the opposite. After a certain point, at least. Sorcery can do things that even we deem impossible. I know this because I have witnessed it myself and," she pitched her voice slightly lower, "I do possess some limited skills myself, innate talents granted to me by my transformations. Demonstrations can be done, but later." Kortova cleared her throat and continued. "That said, sorcery only surpasses technology when it is properly harnessed by an expert. None of which are around. Not here, and not in our fleet, though some of us have our little tricks. All of that said... it is a rather moot point. Guns are fantastic things, and even more fantastic to you. We can not only offer several types of weapons - pistols, rifles, shotguns, even machine guns, which are simply large repeating rifles that can fire hundreds of bullets within minutes - I do think that we can offer something even better. The means to make your own weapons. Unfortunately, your tools and artisans will likely be unable to replicate what our engineers take for granted, but there are weapons older to us that will still be marvelous to you that we can likely instruct you on how to make. Breech loaders, for example, or simple replicas of non-magazine fed bolt actions, like the Alamannian needle gun. Of course, there is the problem of ammunition, but all in due time. We can also offer more than just the weapons. Medical technology, machined tools, steam engines. Are you aware of germ theory? The concept alone would revolutionize this city overnight. Sanitation, basic locomotives, steel, electricity!"

Kortova paused to take a deep breath, somewhat getting carried away. These people were no tribal islanders who couldn't grasp these concepts once shown. They were far enough ahead, and far enough behind, that they could close a gap a century wide in the span of days.

She gave Vostar a friendly smile. "There is one not entirely small... issue. Whoever controls this technology will undoubtedly be the undisputed ruler. It is a simple fact. Sure, some of it can be handed out to the masses for the greater good, but weapons? Your quaint system of power in the hands of your elders could collapse because a few dozen revolutionaries - the bad kind - have their hands on rifles and pistols and can kill triple or quadruple their number in an afternoon with basic training. If you think this is outlandish, banish the thought. Many countries in our lands have purposefully, or accidentally, caused these very same situations to happen among those who are even less in technology than you. All it takes is an individual with ambition to bring your society into a brave, new world, and that world can be very scary." Kortova's smile then grew a little wider, if not coy. "As you deal with us, that makes you the undisputed gatekeeper for all of this technology and knowledge. I have full faith that whatever you do with it will be for the best. After all, you are such an intelligent and wise young man. If, for example, you find yourself interested in replicating some foreign political systems...." She trailed off again, glancing around at the city around them.

"As for your artisans... I do not doubt that they are skilled people with wondrous goods. However, I have no place for jewelers and candle makers and the like. A dozen beggars may very well help me because we can always use more hands to shovel coal or tie off rope, or merely carry guns and shoot them when needed. I'm not opposed to bringing artisans on board to bring back home, but that benefits them far more than it benefits me in the here and now, I dare say. The community's love is a necessary backing. A few pleased merchants, while helpful, won't carry us very far. Unless... these happen to be very skilled artisans, in which you could monopolize the creation of our technology under your oversight. But again, that helps you directly more than us. We also need tangible boons. This city may very well become our local port for the foreseeable future, as we are very, very far from home. We all want to return home, but not before we have had our appetite sated, and there are many hungry people in this fleet."

Kortova paused again, adjusting her hat in what was clearly a tick for her. She glanced at Kuromaki before looking back at Vostar, returning to the seed of thought she mentioned earlier.

"But above all, there is one important matter I should mention before I forget," Kortova said, her gaze growing stronger and more piercing on the young demonblood. "Everything we can offer to you, can be offered by others to their respective friends. It would be deeply unfortunate, tragic even, if someone else happened to get a very fast head start with special goods from our lands. Remember what I said about revolutionaries? What if the poor in this city were armed and decided to revolt because they were told that they could seize a better life by force? What about the military? With our weapons and their existing power base, they could decide they want to rule. Or your elite class. I suspect there are wealthy people here, yes? They could decide that to preserve a future satisfactory to their interests that they may need to be more direct than throwing around money and influence. Hell, what of the other cities of this island? I don't even know how big this place is. Are there rival cities? Nations?"

"Dear Vostar, we bring peace, war, and anarchy all in a single package, whether you want it or not. It will be the one that rises to the top first that will decide the fate of your people. Better it be someone who understands the stakes than the rabble in the streets, or some shady backhanded merchants. Or worse. Foreign puppets. Believe me when I tell you, there are those in this fleet who would relish the thought of colonizing this place under their own flag, like the Albion imperialists. There are also those who would gladly ignite a spark and allow it to become a towering blaze if they felt it was the moral or right thing to do. Those being the wicked Platine. Be very weary of their ilk. As for myself, of benevolent Sokrovy, and Kuromaki of beautiful Shinju, it is our only desire to keep a happy and deserving peace, with mutual benefit. We would be remiss in our duty if we did not make the entire situation clear to you, and I can assure you, the others would never be so straight forward and clear as to the consequences that our visit can - and will - set in motion."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Without further ado, the group separated themselves from Hobbs and the rest of the men from Albion. This gave them the chance to see the sights of Rika and its natural beauty. However, it didn't take long for Dos Santos to notice the inequality among the various types of people walking past her. It was upsetting for her, but understandable for a developing state. Hopefully they'll learn the value of equality and the distribution of wealth. She thought to herself, while walking a few steps behind Envini and Lonstray. She looked up to notice that they were slowly inching further away. "H-huh? Wait for me!" she shouted before catching up with them. Soon after, they arrived at their objective. The Fortress of the Moon.

The fact that it was similar in design to the ruins back on the Ossuary chain brought her bad memories. Specifically the death of Alvarado. But it was too late to go back now, and her curiosity did not allow her to leave. The main doors to get into the fort were closed shut, to which Envini remarked that these were not here before. After some examination of their surrounding, the demonblood suggested to climb up the wall. "C...climb...?" asked Dos Santos while looking rather nervous. She looked down at her skirt and sighed. "You gentlemen first..."

Once the three scholars were at the top of the walls, they noticed a sentry just sitting there. Looking over the horizon. They easily avoided him and reached the center of the fortress, where they were welcomed by the sight of smaller doors leading inside the structure. They noticed the patina covering the doors and an engraved crescent moon on it. When Enveni tried to open the door, he recoiled in pain, thankfully holding his surprise while letting them know that the door was covered in Silver. Dos Santos, out of instinct, decided to help their new ally. She took his arm and looked at his hand, with a makeshift bandage in her hand made out of her sleeve.

"Dear Goodness, are you okay, Envini?" she asked with a concerned look, trying to take a look at the Demonblood's hand. Before he could say anything though, she looked at the doors and then back at Lonstray. "It clearly does not want Demonbloods inside... what do you think the Moon means?" she asked, before looking back at Envini with a smile. "It's a good thing you wanted to stay out as a sentry, Envi."

 

[joshuadim]

Getting up the walls was a rather simple task, as Lonstray was still at a ripe age to perform such activities. Although he was more an indoor person than one for the physical activities of the outdoors, he needed to get into the fortress and investigate. Discovery does not come to the sedentary in any case. Getting past the lone sentry was rather simple as well, as it seemed as though he was rather bored with his posting.

Lonstray was curious as to what exactly caused the painful reaction to silver for Envini as he quietly observed both his and Dos Santos as the latter tended to his injury. It was rather strange seeing things that one would consider to be folk legend, such as the Hunter of Grimswald using a silver sword to slay the Werewolf of Dunland in those children's stories back home. Silver on its own was rather harmless to a person, but it seemed as though it disagreed with the touch of Envini in a volatile manner. An interesting reaction that perhaps warranted further study. In the meantime, Lonstray scratched his chin as he observed the door.

"Likely a symbol of importance to those that built it." Lonstray remarked as he observed the door, "Moon worship is not entirely uncommon in many cultures." The scientist moved towards the door in order to put his own hand on the handle to try to push it open.

---

"Truth be told, I am hesitant to ask what I want to do because I'm taking into consideration you and your welfare." Dobbs said to Urna as he looked out towards the distant harbor. Dobbs took a moment to clear his throat and turned to his guide. "In regards to those you spoke of seeing outside the city... do you perhaps remember where exactly you saw them? I ask because... I should like to speak to one of them."

Dobbs awaited Urna's reply with abated breath, rather nervous of the response he would get considering she seemed rather meek towards doing anything of the sort. And he certainly would not force her to do anything she did not wish to be a part of.

 

[Infab]

Warren had never been one for large parties and gatherings, choosing to instead have small get togethers with friends and family. It had never been for anxiety reasons, just because most of the time the people that were at these large gatherings were often just there for the attention. Often those that attended were among the well off. Famous, or simply having loads of money and just wanting to show it off. Chit-chat with others like them, and subtract from the actual meaning of the gatherings. Warren and the others of the Jackal were the focal point here, being foreigners from a strange land outside of the Meridian, but really this was another gathering of the well-to-do here in the Emerald Canals. Likely just one of many that they often had.

He managed to keep a straight face, taking only a glass of water when offered. Internally, he loathed everyone here, and would have rather just went back to the ship. Meanwhile, Slater started to make her rounds, introducing herself politely with Malkon's assistance to everyone at the party. Stark simply stood by, smiling and waving at everyone as she remained near Warren. Rifle slung around onto her back. Eventually, a few nudges from Slater forced him to start greeting people himself. Standard "Nice to meet you.", "How do you do?", and so on. Trying his best to be polite to the kinds of people he utterly despised. It was indeed interesting to know what each of the families owned and produced. And Slater was already hard at work rubbing elbows and filling them in on a few things from back home. With a little Alleghenian entrepreneurial knowledge, and some high-class charm, maybe they could establish a decent relationship with these people. Perhaps gain some leverage over Kortova, whom was likely already filling the young Vostar's head with nonsense and twisted views of the rest of the world.

 

[Radley]

As Ardekkan introduced Sveket, Flint returned her greeting with a respectful nod. He cast a look to his sailors, "officer on deck." He said with his usual dry tone, making the men snap to attention and gave the beastly woman a uniform salute. Looking around, Flint surveyed the training grounds once more. The clear level of discipline and the equipment conjured up images of historical records of the early days of the Alleghenian federation. "It seems quite fascinating to me, Bulwark. Your equipment and procedures are similar to that of our own nation roughly two hundred years in the past." Ardekkan once again listened eagerly as Flint explained the history of the federation, about the war of Independence and how the fledgeling colony at what was then considered the edge of the world could rise up and eventually become one of its most prominent political powers.
Flint then discussed briefly about the virtues of relying on technology instead of magic. "In our lands there are tales of magic harnessed in ancient times. Such powers brought terrible chaos upon the world. Of course, such powers and their consequences are only tales. But here, in this sea, I have already seen enough to know not to dismiss such stories. Your elders are wise to cast your ancestral powers aside. Your might and discipline are sufficient enough for your people overcome whatever challenges you might face." Suddenly Flint expression turned serious, "But there are those in our fleet whom I suspect of consorting with the powers your elders have disowned. Being a Bulwark, I'm sure you have their ears to caution them of accepting assistance in such regards."

---

When the sailors caught up to the pickpocket in a alley and took back the stolen weapons, one of the sailors grabbed the youngster by the collar of his shirt and slapped him hard across the cheek, causing him to tumble back to the ground, "Your pa ever teach you any manners, boy?!" He shouted as he towered over the child. The sailors raised his fist and the pickpocket winced and raised his own hands to block any incoming blows. The other sailors, whose handgun had been stolen, stepped in an dissuaded his riled up partner from escalating the violence. The former glared at the youth, spiting on the ground in front of him, "I oughta give you two for flinching, ya little runt".

As the first one began walking back towards the rest of the group, the other sailor tossed a alleghenian coin to the would-be-thief. "Stay out of trouble" he said in a low voice before join his companion and eventually returning to their party. Frustrated about being skinned of their valuables by common street urchins, the sailors began returning to the harbor as evening crept up on the city. As their small groups started congregating on the main roads, they started singing to discourage any further assault on their pockets.

 

[K0mori]

As the afternoon sun slowly sunk from its high perch in the sky, Meinhardt and Walkenhorst followed Silara through the winding streets until they reached a stairway that descended below the water table; a deep channel had been cut through the center of the walkway so that water could run through, like a gutter, and the stone steps were slimy with mildew and other mold on either side. There was a foul stench in the air, like sewage.

"We're going down there?" Walkenhorst complained, pulling a scarf out from beneath his pea coat and wrapping it around his mouth and nose. "Commodore, honestly, I think I might be sick if we do."

Meinhardt looked harshly at his first mate, even as he took out his own scarf and did the same. "Have you ever traveled outside Alamannia? I swear I saw - and smelled - worse when I visited Shenzhou. Galatia had its locales, too. It might do you some good to absorb some local culture," he said with a hint of sarcasm.

​

"I'm not uncultured," Walkenhorst shot back immediately. "If you make me go down there, I'm going to vomit, and I have half a mind to aim for your boots," he jokingly warned.

Meinhardt would eventually move on without his Captain, leaving the latter to explore at his leisure. The Commodore was in no mood to argue with Walkenhorst any further, about anything, after the kind of day he had been having. Stepping down the squishing stairs set his stomach ill at ease, but finally, they reached the bottom and emerged into a long, empty corridor with doors on either side, set imposingly flush in the stone walls of the channel. Another duct carrying wastewater ran the entire length of said corridor before it emptied into a vertical shaft covered by an iron grate at the same point as the stairway's gutter, and once the two had walked far enough from the drain, the smell in the air was replaced with the odor of ripe garbage, the noxious smell seeping through the threads of the Commodore's scarf.

Silara glanced back at the man as she walked with her hands gripping her dress, holding it high so that it wouldn't drag along the dirty ground. "I'm sorry for taking you this way," she said after some hesitation. "The miasmas aren't as strong after rainfall, but it's been two days since the last storm."

With a muffled voice, the Commodore replied, "I'll be fine, thank you... but how much further?"

"Not far," she answered. "Ahead, there is a major crossing between six different streets. This way is called the Black Beds, and it's the shortest and most direct connection to the avenue we were on. From its name, one can understand this place's reputation."

Meinhardt looked up and down the road, noting how unnaturally empty and quiet the passage was. Some curtains were fluttering from a nearby window, and he could smell lye on the fabric as they trudged by. Inside, he caught a glimpse of the squalid conditions residents were living under. "Forgive my judgement," he began to say, when Silara interrupted him.

"...but the conditions here are far worse than in a normal slum. That's because the residents here are all at the very ends of their life. Most are simply old, while others are young and sick beyond helping. There is little else they can do but lay in their beds and wait for the end. I'm sorry you had to see this."

Meinhardt gave her a strange look. "You have a knack for predicting what others say, don't you?"

Silara nodded. "Since birth, I've known how others feel, and could predict what they wished to say to me. Your friend, for example, is a very angry man. You should commend him for his restraint; he was outwardly very polite with us."

"Walkenhorst was angry with me?" Meinhardt replied in surprise. He thought the man had only been joking, or at worse, was angry of circumstances beyond their control. "Was it about the wayfinder?"

"I don't know," Silara answered, seemingly detached from the world around them, "but I believe he dislikes you."

Meinhardt huffed. He thought he had been fair enough with the man throughout the expedition, but he apparently had misjudged him. He decided to change the subject. "Fine. But getting back to the matter at hand, you said that there are young people here who are dying of disease. Is there any way-"

"-that they could be seen by your fleets' doctors?" Silara again finished his sentence. She shrugged. "The only matter is distance. Either the doctors could come here, or they could be brought to the doctors. But you should not expect anyone to help move these poor souls to the harbor. Few are even willing to cross the thresholds of these homes."

"I see," Meinhardt replied, grimly.

---
​

Walkenhorst doubled back the way he came and kept a close eye out for Kortova and Kuromaki. After a while, he spotted them stepping out into the avenue, and sunk into the shadows where he wouldn't easily be seen, or so he assumed. Kuromaki was putting her pistol back into its holster while Kortova was giving a long-winded speech to Vostar, who seemed positively enthralled by what she had to say.

As he crouched and held his low profile, he was again hit by the same sense of jealousy he had felt at his last stop. The Grand Captain's mutations were strange, but she seemed to be taking full advantage of the great adventure they were now on. The Commodore, on the other hand, still acted as if he were on an archaeological mission, and his imagination rarely stretched beyond the ordinary navigational tools he had at his disposal. With so much to discover, who was to say that this sea didn't contain some great fragment of the past, like a weapon powered by magic, or living gods that could be bargained with? After the humiliation Alamannia suffered at the hands of the Shinjuku, what if the knowledge hidden away in the Meridian could turn the tables, perhaps forever?

Then, a thought crossed his mind as he watched Ensign Kuromaki slink into the street behind her new commander. What if the commissar brought that same power home to the empire in the east? What if Alamannia was doomed to suffer its humiliation, crushed under Shinjuku boots for the rest of eternity? He bit his lip, and watched them fiercely as they slowly approached. He would wait for them to pass, and then act as if he didn't know they were coming. As it so happened, the trio paused only a short distance away from him, causing him to sink even further around a corner, out of their line of sight. But he could hear them, just barely.

---​

Vostar's expression changed multiple times throughout Kortova's extremely long-winded tirade about the potential of the technology she offered. When she finally allowed him time to formulate a response, the young man looked almost beleaguered by the enormous responsibility which was falling on his shoulders. "...You're mixing truths and untruths, aren't you?" he mildly accused her. "I may be young, but I do know that the world is not so black and white. The way you paint the others of your fleet with such a broad brush, you cannot fool me so easily," he said, as dread pooled at the pit of Kortova's stomach. "Each of you would do the same to convince of your good intentions.

"However," he continued, "I am a realist, and I now see that the elders have made a crucial and irreversible mistake by allowing you all to come here under such lenient terms. You could obey all of their rules and still topple our entire society with technology alone. I fear that they have allowed their fear of sorcery dictate their assumptions about you all. And what you say about the undercurrents of rich and poor in this city ring true. I know the other all-talkers and their occupations. I do not fear the artisans, Silara, Urna, or Envini, but Ardekken of the city guard, and Malkon, the landowner... If the former is able to secure such prized technology for the guard without our control, then they would undoubtedly stray into political matters in a way we have never seen before."

Kuromaki cocked her head a bit, like an animal might. "They don't already have political sway?" she asked, confused by the concept as her own country relied heavily upon military leadership.

"They pride themselves on their commitment to the law, of which there is little, but it is held sacred here. The elders rarely change it, as the tradition has served us well, but that does not mean they have not been petitioned many, many times. An unsolved issue of grave importance is the lack of bounty and spoils; our soldiers are paid enough, but they wish to be rewarded for every act beyond their ordinary patrol. You asked if there were other city states, and there are. There are places in this land which still know of the old gods, and still practice sorcery to some extent. There are also the barbarous sorts, wild peoples who war with each other and themselves. And every time they mass an attack on Rika, our guardsmen demand extra compensation.

"The problem is, such a thing would require the elders to order a tax levy on the people, and many cannot afford to pay. The Molichans could loan the money to the city, as they are far and away the richest in all of these lands, but that only complicates matters further. In the end, the people would still have to pay, and that would anger them as they already feel as if the rich are in a country all their own, outside our jurisdiction. They even maintain an extensive network of debt collectors who are the worst sorts of thugs you could imagine. People sometimes disappear in this city for crossing the Molichans, even..." Vostar paused and looked around himself for eavesdroppers, narrowly missing Walkenhorst. "Even members of the elder families have been murdered, although it hasn't happened in many years. If Ardekkan were to have these weapons, he could easily convince his soldiers that the Molichans are a threat to the law and our way of life, because they very well might be.

"But if he seizes their fortune, he would be hard pressed to turn it over to the elders."

Kuromaki nodded. "And what about the landowner?"

Vostar gave an almost mean spirited chuckle. "Malkon is harmless. It's the people he knows..."

"The Molichans?" Kortova asked.

Vostar nodded. "That scares me more than anything else. If they could build and place those weapons into the hands of their mercenaries, they could overpower the city guard and end the elder leadership of this land. Our centuries of providence would collapse, and we would become like the other states. I fear it would be the return of sorcery as well," he added, his dark tone suggesting that he feared such a thing no differently than religious zealots of the outside world fear the end of all times. "We must move first, if that's the case."

Finally, Walkenhorst emerged from the shadows, acting as if he hadn't been nearby for the duration. Upon pretending to notice the trio, he greeted them warmly. "Ah, Grand Captain, Ensign, Mr..."

"Vostar," the young man answered slowly.

"Mr. Vostar," Walkenhorst repeated. "May I join you lot? I got separated from the Commodore in the crowd and I've been trying to find my way around.

Vostar crossed his arms. "That alley doesn't connect to anything," he spat. "How long were you listening?"

The Captain kept his cool. "L-listening? I'm sorry, no, I walked down that way, reached the end, and came back-"

"I lied," Vostar immediately countered, becoming infuriated. "It connects to the High Stone Road. You'd have found your way out if you had gone down that way, so why are you lying to us? What did you hear?"

Walkenhorst dropped the act. "I heard you talking about Ardekkan and the Molichans, alright? And, for what it's worth, I'm on your side here. When your elders failed to put any restriction on our interference outside of magic, our Commodore should have made a plan. He doesn't have any ambition, or even imagination, to realize what is about to happen to this city in the near future. Grand Captain," he said, turning urgently to Kortova, "I think he's a buffoon. I'm not telling him a damned thing about anything you were talking about; he'd only muck it up."

---​

Envini's hand looked burned, as if he had placed it in scalding hot water. While Dos Santos wrapped it for him, she could sense his aura- it was simultaneously human and alien to her, like a message written in two languages at once. She remembered the dream she had experienced several nights prior, in which she had been a sort of surgeon, and the temptation was there to see if she could help repair his hand instantly. For now, she avoided asking. Envini was reluctant to tread foul of the law, and so she was unsure if he would find such a proposal offensive.

Meanwhile, the door gave way easily for Lonstray, as he squeezed the latch gently to avoid making too much noise. The door swung away, and the trio was met with a dark hallway. Lonstray happened to be carrying a lighter, and after quickly scanning the immediate interior of the building, found a sconce with an torch hanging off the wall. Oddly, the torch didn't seem too old... It was certainly made sometime within the last few decades, but clearly hadn't been burned in quite some time. He took it and lit it, casting a cone of light down the passage. Ahead, along the brick walls, he looked for shadow mass, especially in the cracks and mortar work where the dreaded drops would sometimes hide. There was none, and after breathing a sigh of relief, he and Dos Santos were ready to proceed.

"I'll stay here, like I said before," Envini assured them. "Be back soon, okay? I don't want to have to send anyone looking for you."

Dos Santos took note of the time on a pocket watch and agreed they would spend no more than an hour exploring the fortress interior. Shortly after, she and Lonstray proceeded down the hall until they hit their first turn, and, after stepping through a partially-collapsed room full of ruined furniture, they began to notice mounting points on the wall and markings indicating that large tools, or perhaps more likely, weapons, were hung there. After a descent down a set of spiral stairs, they reached what was likely the basement and lowest floor, where there was no light whatsoever. Again, Lonstray checked for shadow mass, and, having not found any, they crept forward into the silent and bleak corridor.

There was a jangling in the distance, like chains scraping against the ground, and they froze. Metal gleamed and glimmered in the sparse fire light, and squinting, they could see the vertical shapes sunk just past edges in the wall: they were tall, metal bars coated in silver: prison doors. There were more sounds of metal jangling, and a creeping suspicion crawled up their spines that they weren't alone.

"...Mercy... ...please..." a hoarse voice whispered from some unknown cell in the distance.

---
​

Urna listened to Dobbs, a bit amazed that the foreigner would seek to put herself in a situation which was illegal and probably dangerous. She hesitated, clearly weighing the consequences in her head, before silently reasoning that the visitors were not under any requirement to follow local laws, only to follow their agreement with the elders. "You'll need to get one of those small boats you came ashore in, and follow me out of the harbor. There's a coastline around the tip of the fortress that's relatively straight, and if you follow it long enough, you'll find an inlet with almost-clear water in it, that makes for excellent fishing. There are usually more than a handful of boats in there, but sometimes, when I sit out there alone in the early morning, I see the sails of an outsider's boat cutting through the fog, leaving the inlet. I assume they might camp there overnight."

With the sun beginning to set, Dobbs realized that this would be a well-timed outing. The pair returned to the harbor together, further discussing how to recognize the outsiders' boats. They were described as being dual-hulled designs, and the more details Urna provided, the more Dobbs realized that the outsiders' ships were, in fact, catamarans, which was encouraging because it would make them easy to spot. It wasn't long before the boats were readied for departure, although Dobbs still needed to decide what he would be taking along with him in his skiff.

---
​

The introductions at Malkon's party went smoothly, and Commander Warren soon found himself the subject of the guests' innumerable questions. Where had he come from? What was life like in the faraway lands? What did he and his crew think of Altanis? He explained these things many times in short order, until he grew sick of it. Then, there was a commotion, and all present turned to look at the gate at once. Malkon himself seemed to breath an enormous sigh of relief as in walked a pair of massive armed guards, followed by a somewhat shriveled looking old man, a younger man who, like Malkon, was exceptionally well-dressed and had long black hair which he slicked backwards, and a woman somewhere between them in age with golden hair, pinned into wide loops which probably had taken many years to grow. Each of them were mutants, whose cheekbones, necks, and tops of their arms were covered in silvery scales.

The old man, it was soon revealed, was Algas Molichan IV, patriarch of the family. He immediately spotted Warren at the far end of the party and kept him affixed in an unpleasant, judgmental glower. His son, Quictus, was taller and bore a confident, if not outright contemptuous grin full of fanged teeth. Gold jewelry speckled from his hands and wrists in the low sunlight. Mostica, Algas's wife, was rather aloof, as if she had been dragged to this event against her will.

"Yeggeha fira," she ordered a servant, who sprung into motion as if there were hot coals under their feet. Malkon approached Algas to shake his hand, but the latter didn't even look at him before one of the brutish guards forcefully shoved the landlord backwards, nearly knocking him over. Malkon didn't seem to mind; instead, he continued to speak to Algas and Quictus as they walked across the lawn, identifying Warren and Slater. Quictus was the first to speak to Warren as a servant arrived with a cocktail for Mostica. A hush fell over the gathering. Malkon translated: "Welcome to our city, traveler," he said, and from his tone, Warren realized that the man had referred to the island as if it were the Molichan's property. "I'm sure you've already met with the elders. Let's be honest with each other; you are not their subject and are free to do as you please here. We will see to your needs from now on."

---
​

Ardekkan nodded along as Flint warned him of potential treachery. "I would report them to the elders immediately and personally escort them back to the harbor," he replied, sounding quite official. "But... I must admit that my attitude isn't the only one. Depending on who they talk to, they might find sympathy in other branches of the guard, especially anyone who had to fight the last incursion up close. Some of the outsiders use sorcery," he explained quietly. "We are under a great deal of pressure not to speak of it publicly. But, it is as you say, our willpower, and firepower, carried the day."

Ardekkan continued to introduce Flint and Attendant Sveket to each other. The latter was an experienced dragoon, and had distinguished herself early in her career for bravery, riding into close range for battle multiple times against their savage foes. The sun fell lower in the sky, and soon, dinner was ready. As promised, Flint and his men were served cuts of steak from the arox along with some odd local vegetables. Thankfully, everything tasted familiar enough to them to make it palatable, and the meat wasn't too different from the familiar beefsteaks they were used to. For a while, conversation was cordial, but there soon came an awkward pause. Sveket spoke up, and Ardekkan followed: "The Attendant wants to know: what will you and your crew do if you cannot find a way home?"

 

[Infab]

Warren looked between the two guards, before looking over the Molichans. The looks that he had received from the group, how they acted, and how they treated all around them only worsened the thoughts he was having about all of this. He was about to talk to some of the worst kinds of people. He glanced to Slater, and noticed she was giving him a look of her own. As if she was mentally directing him to play along. And he really, really didn't want to.

"Welcome to our city, traveler. I'm sure you've already met with the elders. Let's be honest with each other; you are not their subject and are free to do as you please here. We will see to your needs from now on."

And when Quictus spoke to Warren, Warren didn't respond. Of course. They have all the money, so they have all the power. Slater looked between Warren and Quictus for a few moments, noting quickly that Warren wasn't talking. Frustrated, she went to speak for him. "I believe I can speak for my commander in saying that we would very much appreciate that." said Slater, giving Quictus a smile.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Kortova stared dubiously back at Walkenhorst, her back straight and hand resting on the hilt of her Sokrovian saber. Not in a threatening manner, but in mild irritation, done by one who looked like a wild animal infested with the mange had strolled across her afternoon walk. Being spied on did not set her at ease, despite the man coming clean. It was only that he was an Alamannian that she put the worst of her worries aside, for he belonged to the Commodore's bunch. A rather toothless lot they had proved to be and for that she was willing to believe the man, partially, for it seemed he recognized this.

"The Commodore is... decent enough," she said in a measured manner, considering her words. "Unimaginative, perhaps. I had assumed there were plans in place but if you don't know of any, that is concerning. He is injured, though, so perhaps his mind is too caught up in his own recovery. A man of his station and in the state he is in now is very... vulnerable. I do believe he needs a good rest, and to know that he has friends, such as myself, dear Kuromaki, and his own ship captain, to lean upon in his time of need. We should take it upon ourselves to help... guide him however we can." Kortova offered a friendly smile, and glanced between Vostar and Walkenhorst, raising her hands like a broker displaying two particularly choice selections to a prospective buyer, who in this case looked to be Kuromaki as Kortova's gaze settled on the woman for a moment.

"It is evident to me, Master Vostar, that the stability of your nation and your way of life may be at great risk if we do not indeed act decisively. You suggest that I may be exaggerating in my descriptions of my fleet associates, but I am not. They are a dangerous, vindictive, and too high-spirited sort. If I am remembering correctly, the soldier all-talker, Ardekken, and the rich one, Malkon, both went their way with the Alleghenians. Flint is not so much an issue - I don't think - unlike that blasted Warren. And as for the Platine, god knows what they are up to. Poisoning this beautiful well of a city with licentious thought, undoubtedly. As for these Molichans...." A seemingly untouchable wealthy elite that pulled even the strings of government were no unfamiliarity to her. Father was clever, and their family rich, but they could not get away with disappearing leadership. Had they even wished to take such a barbaric route. Bribery and blackmail proved startlingly effective. Killing off fellow Sokrovians that were only weak, not traitorous, did not seem prudent to her. The failed Ruthenian coup had been generations ago, but the burn never quite healed right.

Involuntarily, she smiled again, and actually had to suppress a laugh. This was thrilling. Far more entertaining than she had anticipated. Here she was believing that fancy dinners and lavish gifts were all this land could offer. Well, she still expected that. But now there was a deeper and richer flavor surrounding her. Politics.

"These Molichans seem an unscrupulous bunch that, well, I can't help but imagine to be wreathed in criminality. To hold so much sway over the legitimate government... scandalous! My dear Vostar, I would be happy to lend more than just technology to your cause. I am, after all, the proud and honored commander of nearly two hundred souls on board a very distinguished military vessel. My marines, my sailors - all very well trained," she explained, lowering her voice further so that no more eavesdroppers could hear her. "If, for example, a certain element within this city needed to be... removed... before they sprung their diabolical plans upon the peaceful people of this land... I would be morally remiss not to assist you in counteracting that. Be they supposed patriots in the guard, or puppet masters dressed in silk."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Dos Santos looked around the fortress with wonder in her eyes. So far, these hall were dimly-lit and had furniture typical found in old historical forts and military settlements. She took note of the craftsmanship, but there wasn't much for her to note. It was an interesting place to explore nonetheless. She did take the opportunity to talk to Lonstray as the man walked a few steps away from her. "....So, you didn't say anything about us Platine abandoning the fleet, Dr. Lonstray... I take you don't care much about that?" she asked, with a slight smile until they reached what seemed to be a cell block. "...Huh, cells?" And suddenly, a haunting voice emerged from the cells ahead. Dos Santos looked at Lonstray, and then took a few steps forward before stopping for a moment. "...Okay, look... We should check but remain cautious. We don't know what could be out here." With that said, they slowly approached where the voice was last heard. "I uh... h-hello? Who's there?"

 

[joshuadim]

"What is there for me to say Dr. Dos Santos?" Lonstray replied rather bluntly, "I'm a man of science, not of inter-ship politics and relations. Such things are not my... how should I say it?
Raison d'être? As they say in Jaille." As the pair went further into the fortress and found themselves in what appeared to be the fortress' dungeon. Originally, it was rather quiet until the voice called out.

Lonstray was rather surprised, as well as shocked, to have heard a voice in the dark calling out to both him and Dos Santos as they explored the fortress. Was someone being held captive here unbeknownst to anyone? Lonstray pondered the idea of the elders hiding something insidious secrets, and it didn't help that Dos Santos was rather haphazardly going in without weighting the potential danger. He cursed to himself under his breath as Dos Santos made the call out as the two then awaited a response.

---

As Urna decided to help Dobbs, he was relieved to have had her blessing for this venture. Although if the elders intended to place consequences upon her for helping, he would have to... need to defend her should such a situation ever arise. In the meantime, Dobbs gathered Lieutenant Reid and four of his best men to come along with him while the remainder of the Albionian group was to remain ashore by the coast to maintain the Prophet's presence while they were gone. They were tasked with when asked where Dobbs was, they were to say he was on an 'expedition'. Obviously, it would be a half-truth but hopefully convincing enough to fool people.

As Dobbs, Reid, and the men accompanying them with them got settled in their skiff with some minor provisions of water and food they would start to follow Urna as she began to make her way out of the harbor. But that was when Reid spoke up: "Captain, where exactly are we going?" he asked with a tone of concern, "Should we really be following this... stranger?"

"She is not a stranger, Leftenant. She's our guide for such occasions." Dobbs replied. He knew full well that the Leftenant would have doubts as to this sort of thing, but the potential to learn more than from what seemed to be the city ruled by those afraid of knowledge outweighed the risks in his mind. Although, he considered the possibility of facing danger out there with just the 6 of them and thus would need to tread carefully. "However, should the need arise we will fall back to the city." Dobbs spoke, trying to reassure his second in command for this outing. Reid was quiet for a moment before giving a slow nod. "Aye aye, captain."

 

[Radley]

As Ardekkan assured Flint of his commitment to keeping the order and the fact that many others in the guard could be found to put an end to destructive magic once and for all, he felt quite content. Although he did currently possess magical abilities, it was not something he had wanted. Rather, Nathaniel Flint was rather annoyed with his gift and the underlying reason for having received such powers. After all, following the harrowing experience in the ossuary islands and the necropolis that had left one of his men dead and another crippled, all he wanted to do was go home and leave all this behind him. But it seemed the ancient powers that still resided over these waters had other plans for him an his compatriots. Undoubtedly, events had now been set in motion that would not come to a halt before a decisive conclusion had been reached. For now, he needed to focus on the city and their benefactors. Ardekkan was a good card to have in his hand, but Flint suspected that others in the fleet also possessed valuable assets. He had no doubt in his mind that Kortova was furthering some political intrigue as time elapsed. He would just need to predict her move and forward a cancelling counter-play.

While Flint mulled over these transpiring events, Ardekkan introduced Sveket more properly. Impressed by her deeds and service record, an idea began to form. If they were to continue their strange quest of ridding the meridian of its magic nuisance, Sveket and soldiers like her would be quite valuable. Of course there was the problem of the language barrier, but such things had been overcome in the outside world. When there was a common goal, cooperation was never far out of reach.

As the night fell on the garrison, and Flint and his men sat down with Ardekkan and his own officers, they were surprised to find that the food was not that far removed from their own cooking back in Alleghenia. As one of the sailors had noted earlier, the taste of a freshly cooked meal put them all in a jovial mood. Although, after a while, a uncomfortable silence fell on the gathering. Sveket, true to her brave and curious personality was the one to break it with a question.

What will you and your crew do if you cannot find a way home?

Flint slowed his chewing of the meat to a almost unnoticeable movement. God damn it! How have I let myself get caught up in this?! Putting his fork down and wiping his lips he turned to both the Bulwark and his attendant. "I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. I don't know." he replied with a serious tone. The silence grew even thicker, his own men now realizing the unnerving peculiarities of their situation. "Our return home should have been secured with the knowledge of the Commodore. But now, circumstances have certainly become more challenging than we had anticipated."
There was a brief pause as he mulled over their predicament. Flint then looked back to Ardekkan with a grave expression, "I fear we might have to utilize the knowledge that your people have kept in the dark for so long."

 

[K0mori]

It was now evening, and the buildings in the old city now cast long shadows that completely shrouded the brick and cobble streets, although the sky was still a lovely shade of mauve as the sun clung onto its kingdom for the remainder of the hour. Silara and Meinhardt arrived at the plaza where the former had promised he'd see the Forbidden Pillar, and there it was- standing at roughly 20 feet, six feet in diameter, and intricately carved across its entire smooth surface, it took the Commodore's breath away. Around the plaza, there were dozens of the demonblood villagers going about their business, sweeping floors, wiping windows clean, and collecting goods and bringing them inside for the night. Some stopped and looked at the strangely-dressed foreigner in their midst, but they carried on soon after. There was no fervent commotion like there had been at the harbor that morning.

"Does this help you with your quest?" Silara asked Meinhardt.

Meinhardt stepped up and cautiously touched the dark corsite surface, which possessed a sort of otherworldly property that was difficult to describe, as if the stone had come from space or some other plane of existence. It gave him an unpleasant chill and a sense of dread. His fingers traced the innumerable, perfectly etched characters in neat rows across the circular patterns of the polished rock and tried to fathom what could have been the possible motive of constructing such a thing. Finally, he replied. "I... I don't know, Silara. Why do the demonblood people live close to this monument?"

Silara stepped up beside him and placed her hand against the surface, breathing a long sigh and looking skyward in the process. A strange smile appeared on her face for the first time since the two had met. "...It affects different people in different ways, Commodore. You may feel discomfort in its presence, but to us, it feels reassuring. As if I've just took hold of my mother's hand," she explained.

Meinhard stopped touching the pillar. "I see," he said. "Then, despite the laws, it must be true that this object is enchanted. Or... it may be some sort of casing. Has anyone ever tried to-"

"-see if there's anything inside?" Silara replied. "Yes, many times. Come here," she said, and the two walked around the outside of the pillar to the opposite side, where a large pink granite slab, three feet in height, had been placed up against the base of the pillar, with one side cut into a semicircular indentation so that it would rest flush against the column. All across the surface were what appeared to be small metal nails hammered into the granite, and due to the lack of corrosion or rust, the Commodore concluded that it was silver. "Long before I was born," Silara said, "there were laws against damaging the pillar, but there were not followed. People would come in the night, and they used pickaxes to hack away at it. They broke away the surface, and whatever was underneath caused what you felt before, but tenfold. They say that the demonbloods went into a frenzy, attacking the pillar with any tool they could find, trying to get deeper within. The city had to send the guard to clear the plaza so that they could install this... repair, if you can call it as such."

"And when the surface was torn away," Meinhardy asked, "that dreadful feeling?"

Silara shook her head. "I don't know what those without the blood felt. Maybe the feeling stayed the same. All I know is that they came and placed this other stone, and everything went back to normal. We have all agreed to preserve the pillar from now on, to avoid toying with forces we don't understand."

---​

Quictus looked quizzically between Slater and Warren for a moment, and then appeared to relax. Perhaps he accepted the Commander's silence as a simple cultural difference. After all, Alleghenia was a faraway land, whose culture was a total enigma to the people of Rika. From that point forward, he simply spoke with Slater through Malkon, knowing that Warren would understand him as well. "Very good, then," he said with a smile. "I think you will find us to be generous hosts, because there is much we can provide, and little that we have any interest in acquiring. It is possible that you have encountered things or collected objects from throughout these seas which cannot legally be brought into this land, so say the elders. But... even they know that there are things we keep within our vaults which are beyond their knowledge and control. I will not say we are in the market to know what you know about the forbidden arts, or have whatever plunder you have gathered, but I want to make it clear: unlike anyone else in our city, you may speak of any subject freely and without fear of transgression.

"Moreover," Quictus added, "we are far more interested in your technology. From what little we have heard about the great vessels in the city harbor, we are greatly intrigued."

---
​

Vostar was annoyed by Walkenhorst's eavesdropping, but when Kortova offered her perspective, he realized that the fleet's inner strife was probably the result of poor leadership on the Commodore's part. Walkenhorst had slipped in his conduct out of desperation and fear over the lack of direction. How could these people possibly sail home together? And if they stay, their cohesion couldn't possibly last another week. Kortova's suggestion of a combined effort to influence the fleet, coming from the Commodore's allies, was probably a safe bet as long as it didn't rise to the level of a mutiny. He couldn't deny his own need for such leadership, to prevent disaster from befalling his city due to the haphazard introduction of futuristic technology, or worse.

Then, Kortova overplayed her hand, suggesting that the fleet, or even just the Archangel, could play a role in removing threats to the city's leadership. Although the elders had always been challenged by military and aristocratic influences, it was only with the addition of this volatile ingredient - the foreign fleet with all of its fixtures - that these threats rose to such a level of concern.

"Don't suggest such a thing, not yet," Vostar lamented, although it came off sounding more like a complaint than a warning. "I am not in search of a decisive battle that would rip this land apart- exactly what these factions threaten to do if we stand by and do nothing. To the best of my ability, I must try to maintain the balance we have now. In the event that a portion of the guard, say, Ardekken's faction, attacks the Molichans, it would be a serious crime. The rest of the guard would be united in opposition, but powerless if they cannot match Ardekkan's firepower. We must ensure that whatever technology each commander receives from your fleet's fateful visit will be the same as any other commander.

"Second," he continued, "we must ensure that if the Molichans receive military technology, that they cannot use their immense wealth to control the workshops that fill our armories. The guard has a war purse paid for by the city, but it pales in comparison to the wealth of the banks. It would do us no good to have the blueprints, but be unable to pay the workers enough to outbid our rivals. ...I have money, as does my family, but... it's not enough," he explained, sadly.

Walkenhorst crossed his arms. "Can't the elders just outlaw the sale of military weapons to civilians? You've already outlawed magic, here."

"Our task is to maintain tradition," Vostar replied. "Rarely do we alter the laws, and there is always resistance. Imagine the outcry from the citizens when they learn of the huge contracts they could be getting from the aristocrats to build these new weapons, but the government has deigned to leave them without work instead? And for what cause but to enhance our own power?" The young man seemed to be growing more and more alarmed at the scope of his problems.

Kuromaki, having been silent for a while, suddenly seemed more attentive, her blood-red eyes sharpening as she spoke. "...and what if the bankers simply stopped lending money? They would doubtlessly see such a law as an attack on them, personally. Honestly, if they have so much control over the economy, they are already only a hair's breadth away from owning the entire city."

Vostar went pale and silent as the quartet continued its walk into the city. "You're right... there really isn't any way around it, is there?" he said. "We cannot possibly control every part of this machine without it coming to an armed conflict. Perhaps, then, it's time to start planning, so that when things reach a boiling point we will be prepared to win quickly and decisively... and save as many lives as we can." They soon emerged into the same plaza where Meinhardt was inspecting the Forbidden Pillar with Silara, and the two groups spotted each other. But rather than focusing on the fleet's commander, Kortova and Kuromaki were utterly captivated by the pillar itself. It was as if a powerful, unseen magnetic force was pulling on their mind or soul, beckoning them toward the ancient monument.

---
​

Dos Santos called out to the unseen occupant of the dungeon, unsure of who or what could be lurking in the shadows. A moment later, the voice spoke up again. "You're... you're outsiders!? How long...? How long...? I cannot remember. They keep me here, sight unseen, a prisoner for all time. I have lived since the time of Svyvul and Nemero, unforgiven... Forever... I thought you were my captors, here to torture me again."

The Platine continued creeping forward until the light finally reached the creature. They looked like any of the demonbloods they had seen down at the harbor, and even though time had weathered their clothing into rags, and rags into nothingness, the way the creature was hunched over, weighed down by a mound of chains and iron balls made it impossible to determine whether the demon was male or female, or something else entirely. The voice was fully androgynous and brimming with misery.

"Where do you come from? What are your names?" the creature asked. "I am Nagask, offspring of Kalan and Rhik, mother of Tresska... and father of Vulskar. Would you... please... release me? Please, I have not seen them - I do not know if they are alive. It's been so, so long..."

---
​

Down at the harbor, the skiff carrying Dobbs and five others puttered out, following Urna's tiny fishing vessel. It was a small wonder that she managed to make a living, considering how small her catches must be to not overload her sailboat. They rounded the tip of the island and sailed toward the inlet she had described earlier. It took some time, and in fact, it was nearly dusk when they finally entered the shallow, clear water where Urna often fished. Almost immediately, however, Urna began frantically changing the rigging of her sails, and motioning urgently at the Captain in his skiff. Dobbs pulled up alongside her to find out what was amiss.

"Don't you see it!?" Urna said, pointing at the shore in the distance. Dobbs squinted at the trees along the shoreline, trying to make out whatever it was she was gesturing at, and then, all at once, he realized: what he thought were tree trunks along the shoreline were in fact tan-colored sails- dozens of them. Whoever these "outcasts" were, there were more of them assembled in this place than Urna had ever seen before. Looking through a set of binoculars, one of Dobbs' men reported that the owners of the catamarans were now scrambling to their boats and gesturing in the direction of the two boats in the bay.

"We need to leave," Urna declared. "I don't know what they want, but there's too many, it isn't safe, Captain!"

At that moment, the evening wind caught Urna's redirected sail, and she shot out ahead of Dobbs, cutting hard into a tight turn that caused her to loop back. Bright lights started to appear in the air above the hostile boats, materializing into fire of all different colors and raining down on the area round the skiff!

---
​

Ardekkan nodded at Flint's response, although he didn't seem very sympathetic. "If that's true, then your answers lay outside of Rika; we've fought too hard to keep sorcery out of this city for us to allow any pocket of it to remain here, no matter how benign. But you ought to be careful. There's real savagery out there. You don't know what they're capable of."

Attendant Sveket spoke up again. Ardekkan turned to her. "Yes, I suppose that's true. And it's our responsibility, isn't it?" He then explained to Captain Flint. "The Attendant feels that it would be appropriate, given our familiarity with the territory in our immediate surroundings, and of the sorts of lawless types who live out there, that we send a team with you to help you search for a method to return home- that is, if you wish to do so. But, and I want to be clear," he said, speaking to everyone at once, "no secret from the outside enters our lands. If you become a practitioner of the forbidden arts, you do not return. Sveket, I am counting on you to enforce your sacred oath."

Sveket nodded and gave a salute.

 

[joshuadim]

Lonstray was rather suspicious of whatever in the hell was going on here now, as the creature asked for their names. Could he really trust to give out such information as of yet? Or perhaps it was trying to escape. First, intent needed to be learned and so Lonstray spoke up rather quickly: "Why are you imprisoned here? Who did this to you?" he asked, hoping to get an answer as soon as possible.

---

"We're heading back! Follow Urna as best as you can!" Dobbs directed those on his skiff who were moving the oars, who began to frantically redirect the boat and move as quickly as they could. Dobbs meanwhile drew a pistol and Reid aiming his rifle towards where the catmarans were. Although it probably wouldn't stop the fire, he hoped to at least spook their assailants away with gunfire and bullets. With a nod to his Leftenant, the two of them began firing back at the catamarans.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Kortova listened quietly to Vostar as he went on, still evidently not ready for that great big push into action, though she couldn't fault him for his tenuous position. This was all unfounded ground for him. For the entire city, by extension. For the moment she had no idea what the others could be up to in this place and that greatly bothered her. Every minute not spent doing what needed to be done meant someone else was spending it at their leisure. What if the Alleghenians or the Platine were already funneling weapons into the city? A harrowing thought that was.

She considered saying more when they reached the plaza with the pillar and she stopped immediately, jolting slightly, and then starting forwards again for a few more steps. It felt like she suddenly had the momentum of one standing at the top of the hill, just at the cusp of the incline, ready to go running - or rolling - down without any control or direction. Simply forwards, as fast as possible.

She took another step, and had to force herself to stop again. "What... what is that thing? Its like a whirlpool, I can barely keep away." Vaguely, she noticed some other people by the pillar, but she wasn't paying attention to them.

 

[K0mori]

Lonstray asked his question, and the demon took its time to answer. "Do you not know... about the war? What about Svyvul's Empire? Do you..."

The silence of the two scientists as they exchanged looks gave the demon its answer, and it cried out in anguish.

"It has been centuries! Gods forgive me! The mortals know nothing of my struggle... Whoever you are, I hope you have the compassion to understand my plight, and that you do not condemn me to be forgotten in this cell for all of time. ...Svyvul, daughter of Loken... and Wulfera... she led us through the Great Tear into the world of aether to avenge the Queen of Queens. We waged war against the Usurper, Astrius, and dethroned him, but he took the secret of the Tear into the All-Abyss with him, and left Nemuro to wage endless war upon us in his stead. The war was never so destructive as Merphrau's Insurrection, but it endured so much longer. Generations of humans and demons were lost to the endless fighting, and demons were born into the world of aether totally estranged from the Ashes from whence they rose..."

Nagask went quiet for a moment. "My children were among them... the ones who turned on us. They hated war more than they loved the Empress, more than they loved the Queen of Queens. Our Empire in this land faltered, and we were cornered. We fell back to the Tear and defended it with all of our might, fearful that Nemuro would bring his legions into the Ashes and crush us entirely. But in the midst of that final battle, the Tear closed behind us; I don't know why. Svyvul, and the few of us left in her service, threw down our weapons and Naetherite and surrendered, as there was no more threat to the Ashes. But they wanted revenge. Nemuro and his army carted us away, prisoners forever more, incarcerated eternally in separate prisons. I have been left here all this time, unable to die. When visitors come, they speak not a word, they only beat me and leave me to suffer. If they even know why they do what they do, I am not sure..."

---
​

Shots rang out as the marines aboard Dobbs' skiff fired at the enemy sorcerers. From such a great distance, they were unable to hit a living target, especially due to the choppy waters generated by the skiff's engine and turning, and while it appeared the outlaws were noticing the gunfire, they weren't particularly deterred. The engine on the skiff chugged along, delivering as much power as it could to bring them up to speed, and they quickly caught up to Urna. The fireballs mainly landed in their wake, but one came down directly onto Urna's sails, lighting them ablaze. "Oh shit!" she screamed, hesitating only a moment before pulling out a knife and setting to work cutting loose the burning canvas. "Oh, no, no no!"

Her fishing boat quickly fell behind Dobbs' skiff, and would soon be taken by the bandits. The Captain knew his options were limited: he could safely outrun the pirates if he wanted, but it would mean leaving Urna to whatever fate was in store for her. If he circled back around, he might be able to pick the all-talker up in his skiff and escape, but it would be close. Otherwise, he could stand and fight; he was an able swordsman and his men were well-armed. The closer the enemy came to Dobbs, the more the fight would tip in the Albionian's favor, but would it be enough to carry the day?

---
​

"What...?" Vostar replied, genuinely confused at Kortova's reaction, compounded again when he looked to Kuromaki and saw the same fixation in her fierce gaze. Walkenhorst on the other hand, seemed just as befuddled as he was. "That's the Forbidden Pillar; it's an ancient landmark that's decorated this square since the time before our records begin. Is it affecting you strongly?"

Meanwhile, Meinhardt had noticed that Walkenhorst had met up with Kortova's group, and knowing what Silara had said about his Captain's hidden resentment, felt a tad suspicious. He suppressed these thoughts as he walked over to greet them. "Ah, hello again, Grand Captain, Ensign. Mr. Walkenhorst, I see you've made acquaintance with the elders' young cousin here..."

Walkenhorst put on a fake smile. He did not want the Commodore to know of the seditious offers Kortova had made to Vostar earlier, and Vostar himself did not wish to seem an alarmist. Both of them began speaking to Meinhardt about the mission in Rika and how the fleet should interact with its people, slowly informing him of their concerns about advanced weaponry and other technology disrupting the balance of power in the city. Since it would be a long and complicated conversation, Kortova and Kuromaki had the chance to slip away gracefully and inspect the pillar uninterrupted.

Silara, however, remained attentive, and watched them as they went. Kortova could feel the all-talker's suspicion with her sixth sense, but as long as she didn't do anything too strange, then there was nothing to be worried about. As they grew closer to the ancient column, the force drawing them in grew maddening. Their surroundings seemed to sink away into shadow, putting them into a dreamlike trance as their minds were bombarded with pleasant, reassuring thoughts. And then, suddenly, their hands met the cold stone and reality set in: whatever was pulling at them was not the pillar itself, but something hidden within. Something tragically, painfully beyond their grasp.

"We have to take rubbings," Kuromaki said almost manically. "We- we have to translate this, somehow! I- We- we have to know what it is...!"

Kortova's mind was spinnning. It took a supreme act of willpower to back away from the pillar as she sized it up almost hatefully. She couldn't help but wonder whether it would be best just to dynamite her way through the surface, translations be damned. Then, Silara approached and gently placed her hands on their shoulders, finally bringing the two fully back to reality, although the pillar's radiant power threatened to pull them back in. "Are you okay?" she asked them, quickly letting go.

 

[joshuadim]

"Turn the skiff about! We must go back for our guide!" Dobbs yelled out, much to the dismay of Reid who stopped firing his rifle for a moment to look at his captain. "But Captain, we could get out of here safely-" he started to speak before another fireball landed near the skiff, splashing the water and interrupting the Leftenant. "I will NOT abandon an innocent to die in our stead." Dobbs yelled back before reiterating his order once again. The skiff was then maneuvered to head back to where Urna was stranded now, moving ever so closely. Dobbs fired a few more shots at the ships, but was concerned that their firepower was doing nothing to dissuade the enemy.

Then an idea arose in his head, although it was uncertain that he could get it to work. He then quickly turned to read to speak: "Once we get near Urna's boat, you get her aboard. I'll try to ward the enemy off." he said, facing to where the catamarans were. Reid's eyed widened in confusion and fear as he didn't exactly understand what Dobbs meant by this. "Captain, what are you talking about!?" he asked, before receiving a glare from Dobbs. "Just do it!" the man would reply as he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate as he did back in his cabin. Perhaps what gift he had obtained from Astrius would be put to use here, and he hoped to summon the same lightning he had conjured before in defense of both his men and their all-talker guide.