“Oh, it’s mostly what you would expect,” Orup replied, bustling around as he set up his alchemy station over the fire. “The thing’s like its own little village with acolytes running the whole thing. Every evening are the animal sacrifices, which are a little strange, but for the most part they’re pretty quiet. ‘Course, Charon doesn’t much care for outsiders. Bess and I stopped in to sell some potions and buy some herbs. Next thing I knew, they had her in irons and Charon was cackling like a maniac. Barely made it out, myself. I’ll tell you this much, though—don’t trust the acolytes. I don’t care if they’re women or ruddy children, they’ll put you on altar before you can ask ‘em their name.”

---

“This facility features a technical repair station as well as access routes to Acera, the Core, and Hades. However, the primary function of this facility is to distribute assets to the Great Wall, in the event of a breach.”

John shifted, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there anymore, a dangerous glint in his eyes now. “What?”

“The Great Wall. The towns are set to defend the wall, but interference can cause them to fail. My systems will dispose of hostiles in the area and rebuild the wall and town within one cycle.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. That was it? All those people who had just died—it was just a blip? An anomaly? His mind was racing now, trying to connect the dots. “And these assets you distribute. Was I one of them?”

“Of course not. I am acquainted with your mission log, Gaidin, but your presence here was your prerogative. I held your equipment as you requested. Do you have any additional relevant questions, or shall we proceed?”

John looked back to Atalanta again, if she had anything else to add. So far, she seemed to be tracking with this better than he was.

---

Aleina considered the token for a little while, flipping it over in her fingers while she thought about this. At any given point, he could easily put her in cuffs for something, but that had always been a risk of this mission. After a minute, she nodded and gave herself over to it all. She was in it, now.

“How long do we need to keep them distracted?”

---

The market was flooded with people, but one of them in particular was in a special hurry. He knew it’d been a mistake to leave his ship, even just for an hour to go carouse some shops; sure enough, one of the patrols had spotted his face, and now they had something to do. Swallowing hard, he tried not to glance around too much or step his pace up past a quick walk. He’d lost them between a pair of stalls, but they had all the exits covered. For now, he needed to stay hidden in plain sight until a gap opened up.

Stepping out, the crowds in front of him shifted a little quicker than he had thought, and from across the way he could see a patrol just immerging. Without thinking, he spun on his foot so his back could face them and took a step forward to the first person he could see. He needed more time.

The woman was of middling height, and her hair was buzzed short, brown and matching her eyes. Strapped to her hip was a particularly mean looking weapon that dried his mouth a bit. This was a mistake, but everything today had been a mistake. “Nice gun, Tex,” he said conversationally, hoping she didn’t use it on strangers. Come to think of it, she looked like the type who might just do it. Well, too late now. “You buy it here?”

---

Terrel glanced around warily as the vehicle’s engine died, not able to get a good look at the rest of the convoy. Someone spoke to her quickly, though, and she turned to face them, hoping she didn’t look too nervous around all these men who could chain her up at any moment if they found out who she was. “Zailleon? Yeah, that was the plan. Everything all right?”

"... sounds like a charming place," Rua commented as he took it all in. So, a village full of fanatical acolytes? In a way, that sounded easier to deal with than what he had thought it would be: a large temple with numerous chambers that plumbed deep underground, likely with the lich in question waiting at its innermost chamber. But the simplicity of a village would only offer its own complications. "That's going to make things tricky if we have to storm the place. An area like a village, that's going to let them coordinate and act together against us," he continued. "We'll probably have to sneak in and hope we don't get spotted."

Atalanta hesitated when John looked at her with a questioning look that almost seemed pleading. Clearly this AI was a bit more advanced than what she was expecting, and that this facility was for something a bit more than she really understood; it almost felt like this thing's failsafe was something the developers would've implemented. But she had heard some controversial rumors concerning just how much of a hand they had had in matters, when it came to creating this world.

In truth, the hunter had at least three more important questions to ask, and each of them could lead to more answers--but as it had clearly demonstrated with John's new sword, IORA had a very clear limit to its patience. It was not an AI designed for queries, but to carry out its specific purpose.

And it could very well be that simply allowing IORA to carry out its current intended operation would answer at least one of them. Which should she ask? Would it be willing to answer other questions later? How much was it even permitted to reveal?

There was a definite mystery going on here.

In the end, Atalanta decided it would be best to start at her own beginning to the unraveling story--she would puzzle the rest out from there. "Does this facility contain any information on any of the Arcanum Relics?" she asked, knowing John likely wouldn't have a clue as to what she was after.

"Well," Orup said after a moment, scratching the back of his head before he went on reluctantly. "It might not even be so simple as that. The village is set up within the outer walls of the temple, but the primary structure itself is near the middle. That's where Charon comes out of, and I'll wager that's where they're keeping Bess. I think I can get us to the center, but once we're in the hallways and things are cramped, I reckon you'll have to take it from there. Truth be told, though, I've never actually seen the inside, so I have no idea how big it is below the surface."

---

"My knowledge on the Arcanum relics is limited to Alpha Level clearance. The Gaidin authorized the release of them on his last visit. If you require them to be re-issued, please re-enter your seventeen digit PIN into my console, Gaidin."

His what? The pieces were coming together slowly, but he felt like he was missing a big portion of context to make it all match. For now, though, it seemed like this IORA figured him to be someone he was not--or at least, was not anymore. But maybe it was only cooperating because it believed everything was normal, and he didn't want to give it any more opportunities to doubt.

"That won't be necessary. Release my equipment, IORA," he commanded the machine. Maybe that would help him sort things out. What kind of equipment would he leave here anyway?

"Very good, Gaidin. Please find your belongings in the door immediately to your left. Additionally: I have scanned your partner's equipment and have detected several critical errors. The technical repair station at this facility is capable of completely servicing all components in the span of approximately four minutes. I will unlock the station for you as well."

As soon as the cool voice finished, two doors opened up on the left side--one directly to John's side, and a second a little further down. At least it was still cooperating.

Rua brought his hand up to his pursed lips, considering. He should've known he couldn't have ruled out the traditional dungeon setup. Still, he wasn't inexperienced in handling such matters. In some ways he might even prefer it. Still... "Might be wise if we could lure him out instead," he contemplated. "It's never easy confronting a mage type on his home turf."

Hell, some saw it as tactical suicide. A mage's domain housed all of their secrets, all of their research, and all of their advantages. It tended to make them fierce, vicious defenders. Rua shook his head in irritation. "I'll need time to think of a good strategy. Won't know for sure until I see the temple myself."

Atalanta approached the opened workstation cautiously, mostly out of habit. She was out of her depth here, if this place was connected to the developers like she suspected. It vexed her that the AI, this imperious IORA, had the information she'd been sent here to find, but was only going to give it to an amnesiac who didn't remember the PIN to do so. She--

The hunter blinked when she took in the workstation. This was quality reparation gear here--the kind of thing she'd find in Tsuminar, or maybe Kallagulia. But out here in the middle of nowhere? What was this place...?

She shook her head and grimaced. "Get it together, girl," she muttered under her breath as she opened up her game menu and unequipped her armor. Her suit dematerialized in a muted glow of light and reappeared draped across her arms, leaving her clad in only skintight shorts and tank top of a featureless blue-gray color. The woman was startlingly pale beneath the suit, and shivered violently as the cold air of the cavern touched her skin, forcing a shuddering breath out of her.

"I don't suppose you have a heater in here, do you?" she asked of IORA, half-serious, as she placed the armored suit on the workstation and opened up the diagnostic readout to find the full level of damage.

Tsuminar

Tsuminar Proper



Something seemed to have clicked, Larent nodded once. "Twenty-five minutes. thirty-five if things go bad. Past forty--the ladies and gentlemen we'll be distracting are going to get extra suspicious." Now he grabbed a pair of clipboards from behind one of the computers bolted to the desk. "On a secondary note, if things get violent. How are you at combat?" He withdrew the relatively simple looking clipboards, attaching a few pieces of paper to them as he spoke. Adorning them with the care a warrior might give to his prized sword.


____


Tsuminar

Coastal city of Novaya Heian



She knew it was ridiculous. She hated that she did it. But even though she'd spotted him on the way towards her, absentmindedly deciding if he was dangerous enough to watch closer. It took ten extra seconds to realize he was talking to her. And then . . . Who the hell was Tex? was that gamer talker? nerd--slang? Yet another annoying piece of minutia that Lace had somehow neglected to tell her because she thought Syn was uptight?

Finally though. She nodded her head, giving the man more of her attention. Her hands staying low. Not exactly on the butt of the gun. But close enough that if she needed to draw it quickly, she could. "Second floor." She nodded, focusing more on him. He seemed, antsy. Or perhaps just a jittery personality? Lace was saying she always assumed the worst of people.

Her gaze swept over him again, brown eyes taking in everything she could. She didn't see any guns on his person. Knives were harder to pin down, considering they came in so many extra sizes and could fit more easily under clothing without the need for something as obvious as a holster. "Do you use guns? or one of those . . magicians?" She hazarded carefully, trying to choose words that wouldn't make her sound a total fool.


____


Cher Plek

Stamarian Compound



The trooper shook his head. "No problem." he said simply, the others filing out of the vehicle onto the dirt below. He extended a hand to her, beckoning to her and offering to help her down out of the truck. Outside the vehicles of the convoy, or rather, the troop transports and trucks, had pulled into a massive walled yard. Hulking gun emplacements atop the walls, constantly turning and scanning the distance for signs of Korin activity.

Soldiers moved off in squads, some heading out of the yard on duties unknown. Glimpses of more buildings, more walled compounds, could be seen through the open gates of their current compound. "We should get you to the airship pads. We have a supply ship that comes in every few days, then heads back to the homeland. If we're lucky, we can get you on it."

Orup nodded, methodically making the concoction as he thought about other things. “If we leave early tomorrow, I’ll reckon we can have most of the day to scope out the place. You might have a hard time luring him out, though—they’re a pretty insular bunch. Regardless, the sooner the better. If Bess is still alive, it won’t be for much longer. Just let me know what you need, and I’ll see what I can do. Flame Auras, Invisibility Potions, Draughts of Transmogrification… I’ve got a score to settle on this one.”

---

In the technical repair room, a heater kicked in a moment later, though IORA apparently did not find it necessary to say anything to Atalanta.

John entered the first room and the lights turned themselves on. In front of him, a metal frame roughly shaped like a human body with multiple pieces of equipment resting on it sat. At first glance he almost jumped, thinking the thing was actually another person for how covered it was from top to bottom. Truthfully, it was unlike anything he had every really seen. It was platemail, but the intricate detail spoke of an artisanship leaps and bounds beyond anything produced near the wall. If it was true he had been here before and simply couldn’t remember, at least he could understand why he would have the foresight to leave this behind. People who lived in a place like Thimbelatch would never see anything besides an outsider if they were outfitted in this.

Carefully, John stripped himself of his battered plate, resting it gently on the cold ground in a small pile. Neatly folded next to the armor stand was a fresh under-suit, so he bared himself completely and began by putting that on first. Piece by piece he equipped the armor, each section strapping in as if it were made perfectly for him. For all he knew, it had been. The armor wasn’t like Atalanta’s—not really, anyway. Her armor seemed to have a life of its own, a power living in it that wasn’t human. That’d probably explain why she had been looking for a “tech shop” instead of just a blacksmith for repairs.

This, though, was both the same and yet completely different from what he had worn before. At first glance it looked ordinary enough: the plates overlapped each other easily, the cuirass a sleek blend between protection and mobility, and the shoulder plates raised themselves a little higher as they reached his neck, offering additional protection. And yet, as he put each piece, he felt lighter, not heavier. By the time all of it was on, he felt as if his strength and tripled and his weight was now half what it’d be unarmored. Two pieces remained.

The right gauntlet had been on its own stand, separate from the rest of it, and it looked significantly different than the left. The grip was different under the fingers, and a screen ran across upper portion of the wrist. Carefully, he slid it on, and the screen illuminated at once, causing the whole thing to glow faintly, not unlike Atalanta’s weapon had. A number of buttons had appeared on the screen, and he experimented by pressing the one that looked like a lock. The image changed—now unlocked, and something in his muscle memory stirred slowly. What? He clenched his hand into a fist, and a weapon materialized before he could flinch. It was a sword, made of what seemed like coursing, yellow light, it looked immaterial but still seemed to have substance. It had weight still, and he transferred it to his left hand. When he pressed the button on his gauntlet again, the image changed again and the sword vanished. Not entirely able to wrap his head around it, John lowered his hand and looked up at the last item on the stand.

There was no helmet, only a mantle made from an animal skin he had never seen before. It was a simple brown, though the hood was embroidered in dark green near the edges. It was little more than a head and shoulder covering, the sides draping over his shoulders and only slightly down the sides of his arms, the back extending to the middle of his shoulder blades. When he pulled the hood up over his head, though, everything changed.

Images popped up in front of his eyes, words scrolling by in one corner with other boxes scattered throughout his vision. Squinting, he flinched at all the information, his eyes trying to adjust and causing an almost instant headache. In the top corner of his vision was a line that fluctuated every time his heart beat, located adjacent to what looked like an outline of his body, a pale green in areas that would be cool and gradually redder as they reached high-heat portions. In the other top corner were numbers of other images, most of which he had no idea what they could be, though there was one that looked like a sealed enveloped—next to that one was a small number “! 6,343 !”. Confused and now with a throbbing headache, he pulled the hood off quickly and the images vanished. How could anyone ever get used to that?

With a doleful glance at his old belongings on the floor, he decided to leave them there, only picking up the satchel that had survival materials and the ‘prophecy’ that Shemram had given him. Exiting the room, he hoped that Atalanta had actually found what she was looking for.

---

Aleina shrugged. She wasn’t hired for that usually, but she could manage; she’d have been dead a long time ago if she couldn’t. “I can fight,” she responded simply. “Can we carry a weapon, or is that going to piss someone off?”

---

He grinned at the woman with the closely cut hair. She was new, he could tell, but he couldn’t decide if that was going to help him or not. Inwardly his mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. Casually, he glanced at his watch, the two hands not telling the time but rather indicating the field that his pursuers were in—nifty little device. As it was, the hands were growing wider and wider, which meant that they hadn’t narrowed in on him yet, and that was good.

“Second floor, huh? I know that guy. Those things are oldschool, though—if you want to survive out here in Kouchi, you’re going to have to step past bullets and magazines, but those are all illegal to sell in a market like this. I’ve got some on my ship, if you’re interested?”

---

“That’d be incredible,” Terrel responded, giving the man a beaming smile as she stepped out of the truck into the compound. So. Many. Stamarians. She tried not to look around too much, but the desire to sick up wasn’t going away yet. In what universe had she thought this would be a good idea? Breath. “D’you know when it’s due, next?” A few days in this place… She might not last that long.

Tsuminar

Tsuminar Proper



Larent handed her one of the clipboards. Carefully weighted in their construction. "What they think of as weapons won't be allowed in the facility. But it's dangerous to go in unarmed. Take this." The barest hint of a smile flickered across his face. "Specially weighted. You'll notice the actual clip is coated and good for gripping. Quite handy if you need to slice someone's throat."

He tossed her a pen a moment later. "Or jot down notes. Equally good, and as inspectors, clipboards are expected."

Their vehicle rumbled and wobbled for several seconds as it transferred to silken smooth roadways, entering a higher-class area of town.

____



Tsuminar

Coastal city of Novaya Heian



"What, the "I have candy, get in the van" line wasn't working out for you today?" Syn replied, her demeanor changing as her eyes narrowed. "What's your game?" Now her hand settled on the butt of her pistol, her eyes scanning the rest of the area for signs of secondary threats.

____


Cher Plek

Stamarian Compound



The trooper shrugged, "Generally mid-day. If she's on schedule, it should be leaving in half an hour or so, if not less." He started off at a brisk walk down between rows of parked trucks. "I guess--how motivated are you to get home? We might want to jog. Or hell, even run."

Edited by Ajax on May 13, 2015 at 4:40:49

"Flame Aura and Invisibility potions would be good, yeah," Rua agreed, looking thoughtful. "Maybe something I can douse my sword with, too... we'll probably need something that'd make us resistant to magic. Did you see Charon-Ur use any kind of spells? Any particular element he favors?"

The bounty hunter blinked as slowly she felt warm return to the room, little by terribly little. She still shivered from the air--she was almost naked and it was nothing but permafrost outside--but with a little luck, she'd be warm by the time she got finished repairing her combat suit.

Speaking of which, she noted with some displeasure, her gear had taken more damage than she had thought in the crash. Her fix of its thermal regulation wouldn't have lasted too long, she knew, but there were a number of other issues that had been much worse than she expected, resulting in the loss of protective integrity and faulty systems. She could believe it, though--she had originally come with much more than just her suit and blaster, but that gear had been destroyed completely in the resulting crash.

Despite it, IORA's provided equipment was working at a phenomenal pace. Piece by piece she repaired her equipment, fusing together cracked plates of armor, soldering damaged wires, reactivating disabled power cores. Bit by bit her armor was being brought back to optimal performance.

Her helmet she brought out next. Unlike her suit, the helmet she had crafted for it was almost entirely armored. However, a large fissure ran down the left side of the two smooth metal plates that made up its up-armored forehead, down through the blue plexiglass visor, and down through the otherwise-featureless faceplate. The two rebreathers set on either side along the jawline had survived the damage, but the power cell mounted in the back of the skullcap had not--even now it sputtered and sparked, trying and failing to activate.

But IORA's workstation showed no more trouble with either the helmet or the weapon she set down beside it than it had with her armored suit. Within minutes the whole ensemble had been completely repaired. Atalanta was quick to don the suit, sighing in relief as the thermal regulating activated instantly.

Turning from the workstation as it closed up and sweeping the tattered brown cloak she had refurbished on the mountain around her shoulders, Atalanta examined the new armor her companion now wore with growing interest. Curiously, she could not tell where its design philosophy began and where it ended. It clearly held true to the classic medieval look of full plate mail, yet its craftmanship was too perfect to have been made by human hands. She could see modern influences in it, see even what looked like technological improvements grafted seamlessly into it, yet something told her that it was not truly technological in nature. Even the hood he now wore seemed to be out of place with the gear, yet fitting to it at the same time--oddly she couldn't place what creature the leather had produced it. Just what on earth had this man been before he lost his memory?

Her gaze drifted from the warrior down to the floor, where the sword he had taken from his slain companion now lay. Slinging her helmet over her shoulder, she made the few steps and picked up the now-cold blade from the ground, grunting with the heft--it was heavier than it looked. Atalanta examined the blade for a brief moment before letting its weight swing the blade back down towards the ground, then held it out to John. "You shouldn't leave this behind, whatever IORA says about it," she told him.

Orup shook his head regretfully as he hoisted a small cauldron over the fire, "Can't help you much there. Besides this hex he put on me, I never saw him do a whole lot. Those acolytes were scary enough to begin with, I don't suspect he needs to raise a finger too often. Think it'll make a difference?"

---

John paused, considering her. He'd left it there for the same reason he'd left the village. To stay sentimental out here was worse than pointless, and the thought of it all being some sort of gruesome gimmick made him want to forget that much more. And yet... Shemram had meant something to him. Maybe if he had all of his memories back it would seem insignificant, but he didn't, and it wasn't insignificant. He accepted the sword.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, putting the thing across his back and strapping it in. He wouldn't carry it forever, but this was no resting place for the only memory he had left. He turned to face the console, even though he suspected it wouldn't make a different which way he talked to the thing.

"All right, IORA. Do you have anything else for me?" Maybe it was a long-shot, but he would rather come across as demanding than clueless. The longer he stayed here, the less he trusted this thing for some reason.

"I do. Per your previous request, I dispatched multiple probes to track the entity recently pressing against the Great Wall. It appears to be of similar, if not identical, structure to a Dreadlord from Hades. You encountered it in Thimbelatch."

With a sour grunt, John glanced at Atalanta for only a moment. Hades--land of the dead? He knew stories but not much else. "And your strategic suggestion, IORA?"

"My conclusion from before is further solidified. Find the thief, retrieve what was stolen, and kneel before the machine. Shall I open the way? My access routes will bypass much of the waste, and my probes have narrowed the target vector down substantially in the last month."

"Do it," he replied without hesitation. Kneel before the machine? He still didn't know what that meant, but he had a debt to repay, and now he had a path. At once, one of the far doors opened for him, and he turned to his companion. "Will you come?"

---

"Hopefully we won't need them," Aleina replied, accepting the make-shift weapon. It might work against one or two of them, but then getting out would be a bear. "Well, I'm ready as I'll ever be. How far are we out?"

---

"This is my game," he replied with a wry smile, making a subtle gesture to the whole market. "How long have you been in it, anyway? You don't look exactly comfortable." Glancing at his watch again, he grimaced a little bit. The hands had stopped expanding, so the guards had likely formed a grid and were beginning their sweep. He needed a way out, and stalling wasn't going to work for forever.

"Nevermind, listen. You've got an eye for weapons, and I've got them, only I don't need money, I need a hand. You in the market?" It was worth a try, anyway. Normally he'd have Yaire bail him out, but that wasn't going to work. He hated trying to buddy up with strangers, but he wasn't going back to the marshal's office today if he could help it.

---

"Yeah, think I might," Terrel said, biting her lip and glancing around the compound. "Which... which way is it?" she asked, not wanting to go sprinting off in the wrong direction. Hopefully it wouldn't draw too much attention, but what choice did she have at this point?

"... honestly? I won't truly know until I face off against Charon. Without any way of bolstering my resistances, I'll have to get creative."

He briefly pondered it. On the whole, mages tended to be easily felled in battle if a warrior could get up close. True, they could have melee-ranged and short-ranged spells, nasty ones that could easily ruin that warrior's day, but they tended to panic if anyone could get close to them through their magical onslaught. But Rua considered what he knew of liches, and knew it wouldn't be nearly as easy. Liches didn't have the same weaknesses, and in general, swords weren't much use against skeletal bodies. And furthermore...

"The real problem will be finding his phylactery," Rua told the alchemist. "If we can threaten that, then Charon-Ur will be willing to bargain with us. But it'll be the most heavily defended object in his territory. I'm certain I can destroy it with that potion I have, but I don't think I can do that and hold off the lich at the same time. This'll be tricky."

Atalanta nodded an affirmative to John. "I feel responsible for what happened to Thimbelatch. I think I owe it to you to settle things with whoever destroyed the town."

She glanced back, out of the room and towards the entrance they arrived from, then turned back to John with a shrug. "Besides, if your memory extends only as far back as a month, you're gonna need someone with you who knows how to get through the rest of the world."

Orup nearly told him Bess could probably handle the lich on her own, but he thought better of it. That almost certainly would lead to a conversation he wasn't ready to have yet. Instead, he simply nodded, beginning to pour ingredients into his pot. "Well, we'll do the best we can to help you once we get there. I suspect one of us will need to keep him distracted while the other hunts down the phylactery. I don't intend to make you do all the work once we're in there." Truth be told, he doubted the young swordsman could. Orup suspected he had made a rather lucky find in running into Rua, but that didn't make him invincible.

---

He'd been hoping she would say as much. Nodding, John gave one last look at IORA's terminal before walking past it, headed wordlessly for the tunnel it had opened for them. He kept his mouth shut for a while, not sure how deep IORA's ears ran. After a little while, though, he supposed they were probably safe enough. Even if the thing could do something to them, he hoped they were beyond its immediate grasp.

"I need answers," he said at last, finally deciding which question to ask first. "This mantle... When I put it on and raised the hood, I saw things. Information about my health, icons, boxes, and images covering my vision. I..." He paused, not entirely sure how to phrase it. "How is that possible?" he finally asked, deciding to be direct. Would she know? He had a feeling there was a good deal more going on that would stretch his mind far more than a machine in the waste.

"I'll see what kind of strategies I can come up with tonight," Rua concluded, settling back against the grassy hill to rest further. If Charon-Ur was known to his mysterious benefactor, then he could possibly glean some more information off of EP and devise a proper plan. All he had to do now was wait until Mepple had settled down for the night and await EP's inevitable contact.

Atalanta gave the man a sidelong glance at his question, briefly reexamining the hood he wore as he asked his question. "Sounds like you've got a HUD interface," she told him. "It's pretty handy to have. I have one myself in my helmet, but I haven't heard of one that isn't technology-based. But I suppose anything's possible with magic."

She handed over the aforementioned helmet to him to hold onto, then tied back her hair into a bun before taking it back. The bounty hunter unclasped the sides of the helmet and slipped it on, securing it again and making sure its systems and power cell were connected to the rest of her armor in the back. Her vision was suddenly tinted in blue, and she could barely discern the hexagonal pattern set into the plexiglass. Briefly light flickered in the edges of her vision as her own holographic HUD began to activate, an operating system notification appearing in the center of her vision for a moment and running a post-repairs diagnostic set-up.

"You usually need an interface to use your HUD properly," she began to explain, her voice now distorted by the helmet, giving it a tinny reverberation, like the sound a voice gets over an intercom. As the armor's system booted up, piece by piece her HUD was rebuilt. "Mine's linked to my armor, and I can interact with it like this."

She held out her left arm, the back of her hand facing upwards, and let the circular LED on the armor paneling light up, projecting a holographic screen in the air in front of her--in truth it was her game menu, only routed through her armor's systems, a trick that Victor had shown her. The light of it spread out into a panoramic semi-circle around her, and she twitched the fingers of her left hand to move through the displayed options. "If that hood's tied to your armor, like I suspect it is, then it probably has a similar function to it. Might want to see what you can do while we're still in here."

Orup nodded and lost himself in his work, bothering only to make small talk once a while. By the time the sun was gone, the brew was complete and loaded into two small vials. Before long, he had cooked and eaten a modest meal and was rolling his bedroll out with a lookout over the view. Even though he knew the world wasn't real, it could still be pretty sometimes. Before long, his view on the stars blurred and he passed into sleep.

A message appeared in Rua's inbox.

"Well?"

---

HUD? He'd ask her later what that was. Hawkishly, he watched the symbols that projected themselves, looking for ones that he recognized from his own display. Before she put the thing down, he pointed to one--the symbol was similar to the letter he had seen. "That one. I have that too, only mine has a number next to it. Yours runs on a technology, but mine on magic--why are they similar, then?" He'd seen magic beyond the wall before, but Atalanta and IORA were his first contacts with this technology. And yet, despite how different they seemed, it was as if there was something in common between all of it, but he couldn't seem to fathom why or how.

Right on time, Rua noted, opening up one eye as he heard the message notification from the tree he was leaning up against. He quickly opened up the message and typed in his response.

The lich he's after is called Charon-Ur. We're a little ways away from his temple, but we have something we can use to shorten the distance. He says the location has a village of sorts within the outer walls of the temple, and that it's full of acolytes. The temple proper is in the center, and that's where Charon-Ur has made his lair.

- Rua Dragonheart

He sent the response on its way, hoping that maybe EP will have some advice on where to go from there.

"This one? This is a mail icon. You have access to a private messaging system then?" she remarked, curious. Wasn't he an NPC? She didn't recall NPCs having any integrated system like players did...

"Well, it's all ergonomics, I guess," she explained, twitching her fingers until it highlighted her private messaging system and opened it, bringing up a list of messages and a blank window beside it. "Made similar or the same because it's useful for us. Using magic or technology for your gear has their own pros and cons, but either way you want the system to control it to be easy to use, you know? Anyways, if your message symbol has a number next to it, then you've got unread mail in your inbox. What's the number at?"

Unlike before, the response to Rua's message took almost an entire minute. When it did arrive, though, it read:

"I've referenced everything I can access regarding Charon-Ur. He appears to be one of three notable liches in this region of Cher Plek, closely related to Kasdim-Ur and Varakon-Ur. They have been referred to by some as the godhead due to their individual roles they have laid claim to, namely the Prophet, the Prince, and the King. There is more information being held on a proprietary server, but it will take me several hours to break through its firewall.

The temple layout you have described to me is inconsistent with the map I have created of my own domain. There is no village where I reside. You cannot hope to defeat one of these liches without my help, so you should bypass this temple and continue searching for the others. Do not waste your time here."

---

John raised the hood up over his head again to check, wincing immediately as information assaulted his vision. This time, though, he tried to press through it, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden shift in perspective. "Six thousand, three hundred and forty-four," he grunted. That was one more since he had put the thing on the last time only a few minutes ago. "Hold on, I wonder if..." She had been able to touch the images, even though they seemed suspended in mid-air. Lifting the tech gauntlet on his right hand, he put it in front of him, trying not to think of how foolish he looked.

At once, the image in front of his eyes seemed to draw out further, no longer mercilessly near but now at about the same distance as his hand was. Tentatively, he moved his hand across his vision and watched as some of the boxes highlighted as he passed over them. He made a jabbing motion at the message box, but he missed and hit the one next to it, which looked like a scroll.

An image popped up in front of him, only it was moving, and the image was him. Blinking, he tried to get the thing to go away but hit something else instead. Two small gems on his shoulder plates glowed suddenly, and a hologram like Atalanta's projected itself in front of both of them, causing him to stop, sound coming from his gauntlet in line with the image.

"This is devlog one-twenty-eight, Gaidin acknowledging arrival at one of IORA's terminals. I've tracked the creature known as Dryn to the lands beyond the Great Wall, where it seems to have stopped. IORA's sensors have picked up one of the signatures to an Arcanum Relic, which would confirm our previous fears that it may have stolen one of them before it fled Hades. I'm planning to go down to one of the defending villages, now, to see if they've noticed anything. The Project Theta patch hits in about an hour, though, so I'll be logging out briefly when it lands on the public client. Hopefully we can get this resolved by the end of the week."

The image blinked off and the lights died quickly, leaving a cold and eerie silence in the tunnel. It was hard for him to know even what to ask.

"What did he--I--mean, Project Theta patch? Public client? Do you know?"

He was surprised at the duration of his weight. EP usually responded instantly; far too quickly for any human, player or NPC. He had to be an AI of sorts. But soon enough, Rua had his response, and frowned at the results. Three liches, each of them in a position of shared power? He might find out more in the books he and Terrel had stolen in Minervum's great library. Somehow, he got the feeling that he definitely needed to learn all he could about the Prophet, the Prince, and the King.

He started composing his response.

Bypassing it might not be possible. Mepple's proven himself more useful than I initially thought, and we need to retrieve someone from Charon's temple if I'm to keep on his good side. You're right that we don't have a chance in a direct confrontation, though. I'll have to judge our chances once we arrive, because it's on the way to the old village that I'm seeking.

If what you're saying about Kasdim-Ur is correct, I'll need all the help I can get, and it's too late to turn back to Rogueport and hire some help. I doubt I could trust any help I'd find in Rogueport anyway.

- Rua Dragonheart

The bounty hunter had to repress a laugh at the sheer number of messages that John had apparently received. After witnessing the visual devlog that his armor had produced... she was no longer laughing. Her eyes were barely discernible through the blue visor of his helmet, but they had locked onto the man now ahead of her, her mind racing at the implications of what she had just heard.

There was one undeniable fact though, and it had just made everything here infinitely more complicated.

"... it means you're a Player," Atalanta stated. Her voice, distorted as it was by her helmet, lacked any noticeable trace of emotion.

"You're of no use to me or anyone else dead, Mr. Dragonheart. Orup Mepple may be useful, but he will be of little ultimate consequence in the long run. I will contact you when I have cracked the other server, if it provides anything useful."

But, for all its assertions, it would be the last message that EP would send to Rua that evening.

---

John gave her a sidelong glance, shifting uncomfortably. He was so far beyond knowing what to think, at this point, that it all just seemed to wash over him. "I don't understand," he replied, "a player of what, exactly?"

Rua sighed at the parting message, running a hand through his hair. He and EP just couldn't seem to see completely eye to eye. "I know the risks," he muttered to himself. "But we have to take the risks sometimes."

He shook his head irritably. Well, he had another long night ahead of him--that was what, three days of no sleep now? It didn't matter now, he thought as he opened up his inventory to retrieve one of the stolen texts. At least he had something to keep him occupied during tonight's watch...

"Of this game world, John," Atalanta told him, her voice still neutral, devoid of feeling. "You're from the same world as I am."

The recording was only moments before the game world had been patched to utilize the Theta headsets. She should've realized it sooner, dammit. John had said they had found him a month ago. A month ago, right around the same time the Theta headset disaster had made itself known, when thousands of players had attempted to log out of Ymaggion and found that they couldn't. She remembered itself, how she had pressed the button and felt the air distort around her, twist and roil before righting itself, leaving her stranded. She should've made the connection sooner. "If my guess is right, you're just like me, your mind trapped in this artificial body while the real one is stuck in a hospital bed with that damn helmet strapped to you, unable to be removed."

Edited by RisingDragon on May 14, 2015 at 19:03:53

Tsuminar

Tsuminar Proper



"A few minutes out." He replied simply, slipping a pair of thickrimmed plastic glasses onto his nose, giving him a distinctly nerdy look as he adopted a preening sneer. Seeming to test it out. "Would you prefer the sneer? Or the quiet, studious aide?" He asked, his expression changing to a close-lipped, tense look. Eyes seemingly lost in thought.

____


Tsuminar

Coastal city of Novaya Heian



Syn knew this talk. She'd been through it plenty, in the physical world. Her voice was simple, terse and to the point as she uttered her next words. Feeling more sure of herself in this game than she had ever before. "What sort of help do you need? Be specific. And quick." She said softly, taking two measured steps closer to him, looking around the area again. "Dance around the questions and I walk away and leave you to whatever fate awaits you. Tell me what you need and what you can offer and this newb might be able to help you."

She half-marveled at the term. "Newb". It was---demeaning, yet amusing. And a small part of her wanted to do a dance and stick her tongue out at Lace. She'd used the term right. She just knew it.

____


Cher Plek

Stamarian Compound



"Well." The soldier said, turning around and walking backwards with an awkward gait. "Maybe the direction I'm going? I'm leading you to it." He said with a wry smile.

Edited by Ajax on May 14, 2015 at 6:43:50

All was quiet in the captain's chambers of the Wolfram. The lighting had been turned off, and the only illumination that came within the surprisingly spartan room came from a multitude of holographic windows spread out through the air in a semi-sphere, painting the hovering chair and the rest of the chamber surrounding it in a soft teal glow. Lines upon lines of data filled the floating screens, broken only by a few sparse images referenced in the information. A sorting algorithm worked tirelessly to break it all down piece by piece, arranging and rearranging the text and images, separating facts from hypotheses, categorizing legend and myth and rumor.

The data had stacked upon itself, separating itself into seven distinct groups. Each of the seven sets had been labeled in the angular Stamarian script, detailing the name of the subject each set had been about. Each of them were linked together in the unifying theme of the Arcanum Relics.

One of the information groups he had simply skimmed over, taking in only the possible and potential applications of its usage. With the Svalinn within his possession, the data on its legend and the possible locations to find and acquire it could be relegated to background reading. While the other support artifacts were no doubt powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands, Jordan DuValle’s current concern were on the three weapons that had been created by the Heaven’s Forge: the crossbow that destroyed from within, Orion. The staff that rent apart time, the Chronoscepter. The blade that embodies unstoppable force, Lumiya.

It was this last one that currently held the White Devil’s attention.

A sword that was unparalleled was undoubtedly the dream of any swordsman in the game realm. One that could weather countless blows untarnished, and cut through even the strongest of barriers would undoubtedly send all of the warrior Thetas running for it, eager to be the first to acquire it. Indeed, even the regular players would; he himself would not mind owning such a blade, even though he had two weapons of amazing caliber to his name already.

But he alone realized just how difficult that task would be. The data granted to him by Kallagulia showed Lumiya to have one of the few clear images of the Arcanum Relics. The White Devil sighed and leaned back in his chair, bringing one hand up to his chin in contemplation.

It had to be this one, hadn’t it?

To think, before he had carved his name into the world as the strongest player in the game, the one others rallied behind, calling him the Paragon of Stamaria, and be granted one of the Arcanum Relics, he had seen one before…

The memory of that otherworldly blade was still vivid in his mind… as was the visage of the thing that had wielded it. A towering figure of burning energy encased within primal, bestial-looking armor, its searing golden eyes boring into him. He had been weak then, and terrified of the killing intent emanating from it, like a crushing wave. It had sought out the strongest opponents in the game, and had slaughtered them. Nothing had been able to stand against that power. He hadn’t even bothered trying. He had mentally measured his own capabilities against Lumiya’s wielder, and discovered that his came up significantly short.

It had spared him. Wordlessly, it had turned away from him and disappeared into the fog of war.

The being in the image was unmistakable for DuValle. He had not been the only one to see this being. The information he had showed that it had been spotted by many, but few had truly realized what it was, or what it had carried. They had seen it in several places, continents apart, constantly wandering, and constantly killing. How had it acquired one of the Arcanum Relics? Where was it now? What was it that it sought?

All this time he had wondered if he would ever achieve the strength needed to stand against the baleful might of this entity called Kasra. Would he be able to finally find out?

Orup rose early the next morning, wasting no time in bustling around campsite as he finished making preparations for the day. On the ground, he had scratched out a walkway for them to exit along, indicating at which point they should jump from the ground. If his calculations were correct, it should send them exactly where they needed to go, turning a trip that would normally last several days into one that would take hours at most.

Before long, all his equipment was strapped to his back again, and he was handing his companion one of the flasks. “Now remember, boy, jump too hard and you’ll end up somewhere over the rainbow. You’ll want to get about nine inches of the ground, but I’d take it at full running speed. The more momentum you can get before jumping, the faster you’ll go once you’re airborne. I’ll go first, and you can match my speed so we’ll hit around the same time. Ready?”

---

Somewhere, something deep down inside him had been almost expecting her to say that. John found the feeling perhaps even more troubling than the news itself. So, this place wasn’t real after all? The reality he knew was no reality at all? For as much as he didn’t want to believe it, he felt as if the answer he had been blindly fumbling for had finally shown itself, only it didn’t solve any of his problems. In fact, it seemed to make them that much more confounding.

“Would this explain why I can’t remember anything? Does it mean I’m wasting my time, up here?” he decided to ask. She said she was in the same position, only she seemed to have no problem remembering who she was or what her purpose should be. Maybe some of those messages would have answers, but it would take time to sift through all of it.

---

Aleina resumed her smirk, leaning back in the van and shrugging her shoulders at Larent. “Whichever is more humiliating for you sounds good to me. At least if this all goes sour, I can get a kick out of it. Speaking of which, what’s our exit strategy? Are we hoping they never notice, or are we hoping to be near the door when they do?”

---

The man grinned a bit at that, fishing into his pockets for something. To anyone else, he would look like a relaxed man in his mid to late twenties, brown hair spiked up in the front with the sides of his head closely buzzed. Fair skinned with gray eyes, his mouth had a seemingly permanent hitch to its edge from his constant grinning. He stood with an easy stance, favoring one foot or the other casually and seemingly only moderately interested in those around him. He was, strictly speaking, quite ordinary, though he looked a bit of a scoundrel with his seemingly self-interested demeanor.

On the inside, though, he was sweating.

He pulled out a device that extended a hologram directly above his hand, revealing an image of a weapon’s case with firearms of varying sizes. “Valtheran make—you won’t find half a dozen vendors on this continent with these things. They’re strictly military order down there. Don’t want them falling into the wrong hands, and for good reason. Find me a weapon more lethal than one of these, and I’ll trade you my ship for it.”

He paused, checking his watch. Any moment now. “There’re three exits to this market, on this floor. Something tells me you knew that already. Problem is, there’re guards at all of them, looking for me. I need to get through without them realizing I have, which means I need someone to distract the guard. You game?”

---

Terrel grimaced a bit. Right. Well, better to run with a Stamarian than in front of one. “I’m right behind you,” she said honestly. She’d give one of her kidneys to be on that shuttle right now, and she wasn’t about to end up stranded in a Stamarian compound for three days if there was any way to help it.

For his part, Rua looked a little under the weather, having been up again for most of the night on watch, reading through the stolen tomes to find more information, more lore and knowledge, on the three connected liches. To his good fortune, he actually had found more information on the so-called godhead. To his chagrin, none of that information had been terribly comforting, leaving him only troubled and ill at ease at the coming trials.

Still, he could hold off the mental exhaustion a little longer. For all the hell it had caused thousands of people in the last month, the Theta headset had its perks. Despite the tired appearance he had, Rua was alert and understood the alchemist's instructions as he accepted the potion of gliding. "Ready when you are," he confirmed for Mepple.

"It's... possible," Atalanta admitted to John, giving a slight shake of her head. "I haven't heard of anything like this, but I'm a Theta victim. I can't exactly log out of this world and see what's going on in the forums. And the other Thetas keep to themselves. But wasting your time? That's up to you to decide, I think. I think you can decide that if we can figure out what's going on here."

She turned to look down the length of the tunnel, frowning within her helmet. "For now, let's just get through here. Once we stop for the night on... whatever trip we're on, we can figure out your situation. Sound good?"

Tsuminar

Tsuminar Proper



Larent shrugged. If he was offended by her words, he didn't show. Returning to the measured sneer and haughty expression as though flipping a switch. Playing the part with a disturbing degree of enthusiasm.

He kept the face for several seconds, seeming to memorize it before his expression returned to something more studious and quiet, eyes glinting. Back to his old self once more.

"Exit strategy." He spoke carefully, making sure to enunciate his words with extra care. "If you sense a problem, ask me what time your next stop is. If you see an actual problem or think we should get out. Say you've seen enough. For me, I'll remind you of your next appointment or suggest that we've seen all we can see. In that case, the other two will activate a fail-safe and blow the lights to the compound. A ground car will be waiting at the south gate." He brought up a layout of the building on the computer next to him, turning the monitor to allow her a view.

"In emergency protocol, three extra guards are sent to that gate. But they're plainclothes. So we'll be able to fake it until we get close enough to disable them and get out. The light-show should also take care of any cameras on site. Limiting the risk of our exposure." He rattled off the final bits of information politely, as though relaying the weather forecast.

The momentum of their vehicle changed, the van slowing its pace and finally stopping. The sounds of a few men and women outside. Their vehicle had apparently reached some sort of gate. "First check-point." Larent supplied. "We show "our" ID's at the second one." Giving her a few more moments to compose herself or ask anything else before they made it to their target.

____


Tsuminar

Coastal City of Novaya Heian



Syn's eyes lit up when she saw the weapons displayed. She knew those guns intimately. Had handled each and every one of them with loving care in the physical world. . . how the hell were they in a game?

But then. A stray memory hit her like a brick. That's why Bekka had been in the game. The whole---company integration angle. Take the guns made out in the physical world, stick 'em in a game. Make the connection for kids as they grew up. Syn had thought it all sorts of creepy. But on the other hand, if it behaved like the physical-world original. She desperately wanted that equipment. Her eyes gazing longingly towards the compact battle-rifle shown on his holo.

She raised her arm, trying to remember the pathetically complicated gesture Lace had taught her for taking a--screenshoot. Screenshot? Screen thing. Picture. That was the word. A freeze frame. She didn't angle it towards him, though. But the holo he held. Snapping the picture and sending a message off to Lace, reading only "Found someone with JA guns. Helping him out. North exit, five minutes. Te amo."

And then she nodded once. "Alright. North exit, follow twenty paces behind. Does that work for you?"

____


Cher Plek

Stamarian Compound



The Stamarian soldier took off at a run, half-stumbling as he remembered his long legs propelled him faster than hers. He slowed his pace to somewhere between a jog and a run, the motion more jarring for him, but easier to follow for her.

His gear rattled and thumped along his form as he pounded along the packed dirt past idling trucks and armored vehicles. Out under a concrete gate, guns sitting atop it's walls. Now out in the open, they had a wide view of a series of walled structures. All of them enclosed by an even larger wall seen barely in the distance. Fortresses within fortresses.

armored tanks and gargantuan warmachines rumbled by, moving in and out of the smaller complexes. The biggest of the vehicles sitting just outside the concrete structures, unable to fit within their gates.

The man made a beeline for a structure in the near distance. The bulbous form of an airship barely seen over it's walls.

With a grin, Orup downed his potion, positioned himself, and broke into a labored run. As he hit his own marker, the heavyset man sprang from the ground with surprising agility, and his now all but weightless body broke over the edge of the cliff smoothly. It was an odd feeling but not the first time he had experienced it, and with a grin he noted that his takeoff had been nearly perfect. Spinning in the air, his body continued its momentum even as he faced Rua, who seemed to have done quite well for himself as well. At this point, there wasn’t much to be done but stay relaxed and enjoy the view.

Some time later, the trees grew nearer and the ground closer, and Orup was pleased to find that his trajectory had been as accurate as he might have hoped. He could feel the weightlessness just beginning to wear off, and he waited for an opportune tree branch to grab as he broke through the forest’s ceiling. A minute later, his feet were firmly on the ground and, by the view just before he descended, they would not be far from the decline to the temple, now.

---

John thought on her words, wondering just how capable he would be to decide much of anything. His world had been limited before, but now it was as if he had just started over again, only everything was infinitely larger than he could have imagined. After a moment, though, he shook his head, replying firmly but not unkindly.

“Almost. I think you still owe me an explanation who you are and what you’re doing out here too.” He’d meant to get to the bottom of that in Thimbelatch, but then everything had gone to Hell, and now here they were.

---

Aleina nodded, cracking her neck and adjusting her hair as she adopted her best impression of a sneering Stamarian. “You do the talking until we’re in the building, if you can help it. I’ll take it from there.”

---

The man grinned, nodding at her, a touch uncomfortable by the fact that she recognized the weapons. Those were rare, and she looked green. JA weapons? Whatever, he would figure it out later. For now, he had a motivated helper, which meant a potential way out. “Right behind you, girl,” he said, melding into the crowd shortly thereafter. Hopefully he could hold his breath in here for just a little longer.

---

Terrel broke into a run behind the man, intent on keeping up. While not as big as him, she could be surprisingly quick, though she had noticed a loss in her speed when that ring of hers got taken a way. That put a sour look back on her face, just thinking about it. If Rua would’ve given her what bloody belonged to her, this would be a whole lot different. Not for the first time, she considered doubling back into the jungle to find it, but it was no use. Even if she wanted to, she was too deep to turn back. Besides, she had to have some closure. Hopefully even if the Stamarians sniffed her out, it wouldn’t be the end of the story.

Rua didn't have nearly as pleasant a mind about the trip, though it had proven uneventful. He didn't like the idea of gliding through the air so openly, and worried about predators that might find the two of them an easy enough meal, helpless as they were in the air.

He followed Mepple's lead and used a tree branch to break his flight, killing a good deal of his momentum and altering his trajectory. He hit the ground on his feet with an "omph", and moments later felt the light impact of Relayia hitting his back on all six of her limbs. She climbed up his back and onto his shoulder as he stood up and dusted himself off from the landing.

"... so that's it, huh?" Rua asked, gazing ahead. Off in the distance, just barely sticking out above the canopy of the rainforest was what appeared to be the summit of a pyramidal temple.

She sighed and planted her free hand on her hip, shaking her head a bit. "Well, if you're sure you don't want to wait until we get out of here..."

She stepped aside and set her back against the wall to lean against before she began her explanation. "Three days ago a contact of mine told me that someone was going to start something down in Allondell, at Minervum, and that the Arcanum Relics were gonna be at the heart of it," she told him, looking back over at the amnesiac player. "He got me a lead on one of those Relics, to give me a head start. Gave me a piece of junk aircraft and the name of your village as a lead."

She pulled her gaze away from John, looking at the wall and not really seeing it as she gestured with her free hand. "Whatever that event in Minervum was should've happened today. Victor said whatever it was, it was going to be big. And today I get here to find Thimbelatch destroyed, some prophecy supposedly talking about me, and you, someone who was searching for an Arcanum Relic, if that recording of yours was any indication. You ever hear of the Arcanum Relics before today, John?"

Tsuminar

Tsuminar Proper



Larent inclined his head as their vehicle rumbled forward. Moments later there was a thump on the door as someone wrapped their knuckles against it. He popped it open to reveal a pair of men in civilian clothing, their eyes peering into the van. "Good day, gentlemen." He said primly, faintly pointing his nose up at them as he almost, but not quite, shoved his way out of the van. Just shy of being a physical attack.

"I am adjutant Trinidad. If you are to laugh. Do it now." He continued with a sneer as he produced the coin from his pocket. "Behind me is Officer Hoch. This is a surprise inspection. Obviously."

The men gawked at him, their hands halfway to obvious weapons concealed beneath their jackets. In the grey, overcast light that seemed to hang over them, they appeared pale, confused ghosts. "We we--"

"I did say Surprise." Larent rolled his eyes as he interrupted them. "Now then," he spun on his heels, glancing around as he waited for Aleina to exit. Taking in the facility with a glance. In a city where space was at a premium, this particular Stamarian hub was oddly spread out. A large open grounds, surrounded by a double-wall and checkpoint system. And a fat, squat building smack dab in the middle that looked like it had been built to be nothing more than a concrete, soulless brick.

There were few people out, inside the walls, and fewer vehicles parked in front of the building. Though a keen eye might take note of the sloping ramp that led downwards to a presumed underground garage. "Full inspection. Gentlemen. We're not going to tell you if you pass or fail. Though if you're half as good as you're supposed to be. . . well, you should figure it out pretty quick." He ended with a patronizing smile.

Clearly confused and more than a little off-kilter, one of the guards had enough sense to continue with his routine. The short, brown-haired man seemed to be all muscle, under his loose-hanging workman's coat and jeans. He nodded up at Aleina and extended a hand. "Ident, ma'am?" He finally questioned.

____


Tsuminar

Coastal City of Novaya Heian



Syn glided through the crowd, a predator's grace in her steps. This she knew. The game---not really. But this was a job. Get the man out of the building. Preferably without a fight. But primarily with him alive and unseen.

With a goal such as this, her mind focused. Taking in the guards at the entrances. Local thugs.. . NPC's. whatever they were called. Perhaps intelligent. But she'd survived gunbattles and not one, but two dinners with her ex-husband. She could handle a few local market guards.

As she moved forward, however, she began to notice that she wasn't the only one in the building moving with purpose. They weren't just at the doors. More guards prowled the market, at least six that she could spot easily, probably another five or six out of sight. Moving in a grid-like pattern with truly annoying efficiency.

She pushed forward, keeping her pace even, though instincts told her to fight. Kill them all. Raging gunbattles were her trade. Precision strikes and quick movements. But here, in this game, she didn't want to start a fight in the city if she could help it. Lace had said something about angels. And that didn't exactly sound like a fair fight if those things got called in because she shot up a market.

So she kept moving, slower than she liked, yet as fast as was possible without raising too much suspicion. Slowing every few steps to admire something on a table, and to get a glance back to the man she needed to keep safe. Ensuring he hadn't slowed or been caught. Every step bringing them closer to the north exit and the three guards surrounding it.

____


Cher Plek

Stamarian Compound



Even as he ran, the soldier could hear the tell-tale rumble of the airship's engines warming up. It was preparing to leave. He swore and clicked on his walkie, madly scrambling to get the mic pointed right. "Alpha Tango Charlie, this is Sergeant Jenner, I have a civilian in route to the airship. How soon is she taking off?" He shouted as a truck rumbled past, kicking up a cloud of oily dust.

A female voice responded back. "Sergeant, airship is due to leave in five. Word is the Korin have a new anti-air battery, operatives were sent to disable it. But the Warlord wants the ship launched just in case."

He almost swore, but the reminder that there was a teenage girl behind him curbed his tongue. Years of catching his tongue before he spoke like that in front of his daughter came to his aid as he gave a choked "Fudgebiscuit!!"

"--Please repeat last, Sergeant?" Oh god. She was laughing. He could hear the chuckle in the comm operator's voice.

He coughed, reddening even though the woman couldn't see him, clearing his airways. "Uh--Nothing. Thanks, Tower." He muttered before turning his head. "It'll be tight, if you want out today." He shouted back to Terrel as another truck rumbled past them, kicking up more dirt. "She's leaving in four minutes, or so. They might hold on a bit, but the Warlord wants it gone. You okay to go faster?" Even as he said it, he was almost sure she was. The girl seemed adamant to be gone from here.

So with a grunt, he summoned what reserves he had left after a grueling trip back to the base and pushed forward faster, boots pounding into the dirt and scrub as he ran for the walled fortress that held the airship.

Orup handed Rua another vial as he drank one of his own. “Counter-agent,” he explained, grimacing a little at the texture. It felt like swallowing a brick of lead, for some reason. Even so, he felt his feet become a little more firmly planted; if he fell off a cliff now, he’d go plummeting down just like he should. “Well, I reckon we can probably get down there before too long. Their rituals are before sundown, and then most of the acolytes will slip away. That’d be our time to slip in, in my opinion. Unless, of course, they pull out Bess tonight. Then you’ll find me in the ruddy middle of it.”

---

John shook his head, though he was a little relieved at her response. If it was true, then this was almost as strange for her as it was for him. “Never,” he answered plainly. “What are they supposed to be? You said you’re stuck here like me. Is it a way home?” Home. It was only a thought, now, a word he knew the meaning to. If he wasn’t increasingly sure his survival depended on learning more about this world, he would have liked to forget it all and just vanish, but that wasn’t an option.

---

Aleina sniffed reproachfully, handing the man her token while refusing to make eye contact with him. Instead, she kept her eyes on the grounds, noting how lavish it was even with space so sparse in a city like this. Leave it to the Stamarians to whore up all the real estate and kick all the businesses down a few levels. She let her face show as much disdain.

---

Once he had a direction, it was easier to avoid the guards. His watch was a useful indicator of when he was drawing too close, and so he casually wove a pattern through the men and women, all carousing through stalls and stores, completely oblivious to what was going on. The way that gal had taken off, though, made him shiver a bit. If things kept up at this rate, he was going to reconsider running into her a lucky thing. Ah well, menacing or not, new players could only be so dangerous. Keeping an eye on the back of her head, he made his way toward the north exit.

---

Korin air battery? Great. “Wha—no, let’s go. Right behind you, I mean,” Terrel replied, her feet itching to break into a full run as it was. Did this make her luck extraordinarily bad, or ridiculously good? Guess there was only one way to find out. Hopefully the Korin wouldn’t actually be a threat, but who could say. Just the fact that the Stamarians had managed to plant an entire compound this deep into Cher Plek amazed her, but it totally seemed like something they would do. It was weird hoping the Stamarians would win for once, though.

Rua fought the concoction down as he drank it, wiping his lips with a grimace afterwards. "Fair enough. Looks like we have little less than half the day when we get there," he said, glancing skywards for a moment or two. "I'll probably get some rest before then."

God knows he shouldn't raid a bloody lich's temple on three days of no sleep. The Theta headset had its benefits, but it wasn't foolproof.

"For now, let's just get there and hope Charon-Ur doesn't have his allies on speed-dial," Rua said, handing the vial back to Mepple and proceeding forward into the rainforest.

"Beats me," Atalanta said with a shrug of her shoulders. "All I know is that they're supposed to be the most powerful artifacts in the game.

"One of them was a forge unlike any other, and someone used it to create the other six. Three of them are bonafide weapons, and the other three are support gear that's pretty much beyond anything you can find here," she went further in-depth. "If there's more to these Relics and why I was sent here, Victor would know by tomorrow, maybe tonight at the earliest. I'll send him a message once we're out of here."

Orup nodded complacently. A nap sounded good to him too, right about now. Curious how flying could take so much out of you in a single leap. Stowing the empty vials again, he adjusted his pack and made to set off again, pushing through the brush toward an animal trail visible from here. Provided they didn't run into some monstrous snake, spider, or other fiend, he expected a relatively peaceful descent toward this temple.

"Well, let me know if you fancy something in the preparation. We may not have time to build a master plan of sorts, so I'll just brew the works and let you take your pick, unless you have some specific request. I reckon with your sword and my potions, we can be near invincible for a time."

---

If John felt disappointed at the lack of an answer, he didn't much show it, turning back to face the long stretch of the tunnel ahead of them. "If that's the best we've got, then so be it," he said neutrally. "Maybe ask him about these dreadlords too, while you're at it. I've never heard of such creatures, even with all the monsters that roam this blight, but if that's what killed Shemram, we'll have our work cut out for us."

Marginally satisfied, he began to walk again, leading the way down the tunnel. He had no idea if it would last for an hour or a week, but he would take it to the end. In the mean time, he would try and figure out how to use this... thing that invaded his vision now. Maybe those messages would have some answers in them.

"Let's hope so," was Rua's reply. "Because what we're gonna do isn't gonna be fun at all.

"We'll just go with what you listed before," Rua told Mepple. "Flame aura potions, invisibility, healing. Maybe that one potion that let you stampede through the forest when we met. Should be enough to cover our ground, I think."

Atalanta made a mental note to do as John requested--she hadn't heard of dreadlords before either, and it never hurt to go into a mission prepared. All too often she had had to deal with the reverse, and that often left her with a crashed ship and damaged goods.

But John was on the move again now, seemingly satisfied with what she had to say, for the moment, and she pushed off the wall and followed him down the length of the tunnel. The hunter repressed a sigh. Why, why did Victor's tip-offs always have to be so complicated...?