The Winds of Oblivion

[AlphaLuke]

"Pitiful. Absolutely dreadful."

Dr. al-Aruni paces around the various mangled bodies and half-formed creatures lying about. "Such wanton waste and disrespect for life. I'll never -" he sees Zeph's wounds. "Goodness gracious! Stop! That paper's not sterile. I won't have my patient dying of infection." He begins to rummage around a leather satchel, pulling out various unguents and salves. Applying them to Zeph's wounds, the pungent lotions sting at first, then grow rather warm. Tingly.

Spoiler

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Zeph is healed for [roll]3d8+5 damage.[/roll]

[AlphaLuke]

Spoiler

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Let's try that again. (3d8+5)[17] damage.

[DeathbyFlossing]

Storms-As-He-Walks sighs as he surveys the results of the battle. ”Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I suggest we take our time heading back. At least until we come up with an explanation for what happened here, and why both of the village’s leaders are dead, that will convince the townsfolk not to form an angry mob and lynch us rather than give us our lumber.”

[AlphaLuke]

The good doctor nods appreciatively. Kalinda shakes her head regretfully. "I doubt we could take them all. Even at my best, I could only handle . . ." she does some mental calculation, "a dozen? Maybe?"

"We still need the lumber. That fact hasn't changed," al-Aruni clarifies.

"So. Team. What do we do?"

[DeathbyFlossing]

Storms ‘hmmfs’ in thought, then says, ”Could always explore those caves abit more. Weren’t there signs of some smugglers down there? Taking them out might win us some favor with the village if it turns out they’d been harassing them, and if not, it would at least do some good. And who knows, they might have some loot we bribe the village with.”

[Pent]

Zeph finishes copying the obelisk and stands up.

Zeph thinks of those large locked doors. So out of place in those caves! What are they keeping in?!

But the requirement to get lumber... to return Alana...

"We need to get back to town to return Alana and retrieve our lumber. But the fact is I'm in no rush to talk to those townspeople. And Alana can't get any more dead. We can explore a little to see what we skipped in the caves. We can't spend more than a day in the caves....maybe two."

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I kind of snuck it into my last post, but I had casted Identify on the amulet.

[AlphaLuke]

The amulet in Zeph's hands thrums with quiet energy. He can sense and understand the palpable energy to the item, but he also senses something else. Like a leviathan beneath the surface. For now, he accepts that the amulet has a subtly beneficial effect.

Spoiler

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The Amulet of the Seventh Pharaoh (acts as a Fortunate Charm)

Kalinda and Dr. al-Aruni nod in agreement with the decision to explore the cave system further.

Spoiler

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Let's set up a night to spend a couple hours in Roll20 to play through some more cave!

[Pent]

"Escort us."

Zeph, usually talkative and energetic, can barely mumble the words.

To who? the fishermen ask.

The monster splits Storms' skull apart.

Jayen is dead. Alana is dead. Who else did he know in this town? Quinn? Rolland?

"The lumberyard."

Zeph starts to walk towards where he remembers the lumberyard is. He's not giving these men a choice. If someone of leadership wants to question them, that's fine. He'll give a full answer. But Zeph can't recall who that might be.

But as pear shaped as this mission has gone, as bad as he had failed his new friend, he still had an obligation to the Apparition. Lumber.

[AlphaLuke]

The fishermen start to object but a quick look at the maimed doctor, the stone-faced Kalinda, and the haunted Zeph seems to stay their tongues. They nod curtly and begin walking toward the lumberyard.

On the way, they see men and women frantically whispering in the shadows. Some even hold small, dead creatures in their palms. Like . . . prawns.

"Doctor. You see it?" Kalinda says in a quiet but firm whisper.

"I do. Looks like they were linked to the single queen parasite. Similar to a Hive infestation. Interesting. In any case, we should tell the Captain. Stand down Gomorrah Protocol."

"Agreed." Kalinda shift the doctor's weight to Zeph to help the poor man limp along while she pulls out her notebook and begins scribbling quickly.

Zeph, even in his dazed and grieved stupor, is ruled by curiosity. "Gomorrah Protocol?"

Al-Arunni drops his voice even lower. "In a case of unchecked and uncontained influence from the Great Beyond, the Order initiates Gomorrah Protocol. We . . . burn out the infection."

"Burn out the infection?" Zeph thinks he knows what the doctor is talking about, but needs to hear him say it.

"We wipe it out. All of them. Like an amputation." He holds up the stump of arm that used to have a hand. "Not pretty. Not easy. But we save the patient; in this case, the world."

"Done." Kalinda closes her notebook. "Don't balk, Mr. Leornian. The Order's only needed to initiate Gomorrah a handful of times in the thousands of years it's been operating. It's not something we enjoy doing."

Al-Aruni shakes his head. "No, it is not."

Before long, they're passed the muddy streets of Boatswain's rest and to the lumberyard. They find their order, cut to spec, ready for loading and delivery. A small team of mules drags a sled through the muddy streets and hauls the lumber cack to the docks. All the while, people whisper and conspire, pointing to the three wounded strangers leaving their town. Leaving their town one man short and without their Mayor and High Priestess.

[Pent]

Zeph breathes a little easier. Not that the deaths of Alana or Storms were pleasant, but at least some good - no, whole town of good, innocent life, came out of their sacrifices.

"I don't like that I wasn't told. You don't have to defend yourself - I understand that such a call is above the scope of this mission, and my knowledge of the procedure before hand may have changed our outcome. but..."

Zeph grimaces.

"I just don't like it." he leaves it at that.

[AlphaLuke]

Kalinda nods understandingly. "I apologize. I sometimes forget that you aren't up-to-speed on the standard procedures of the Order. In the future, I'll make sure to inform you of the operational details of your missions."

The group moves to the docks with the cut lumber. At the docks, Kalinda grabs the notebook once more to write the listed items for agreed payment. "Two crates each of wine, candles, and salt. Rope, pitch, lamp oil, iron, and limes."

After hitching the lumber by long lines to the small, crystal-powered lifeboat, the three remaining crewmen of the Apparition shove off under the hard eyes of the townspeople of Boatswain's Rest.

[Pent]

Zeph stops short of the rowboat.

Spoiler: If Zeph has the technical skill to examine the crystal powering the boat...

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(1d20)[14]

Modifier TBD

Spoiler: if he doesn't

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He turns back to it to address the townspeople.

"I believe that Alana or Jayen had asked someone here to make sure that our boat was working properly? It's been a few busy, tragic days, and I don't remember exactly who it was. Could that someone be so kind as to verify that this boat is safe after their maintenance?"

[Pent]

Spoiler: Kn Spacecraft, 14+11 = 25

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rolled the d20 last time, adding modifier.

Zeph examines the crystal powerhouse of the boat, remembering that it was at least disabled, if not sabotaged.

[AlphaLuke]

Zeph is able to verify that, although moved slightly, the crystaline lattice that gives the boat thrust hasn't been sabotaged. The townspeople, it would seem, have been true to their nature and word. Without the corrupting influence of Jayen, they aren't driven to murder.

[Pent]

Zeph waves a hand to the town of thanks. He does feel that its insufficient with the loss of their main leadership, though corrupt they happened to be.

For a moment, he pauses to consider the void that their absence will cause, and who could fill it. And would he not make a capable candidate to lead the town?

He boards the boat, beckons the others to join to indicate that it is safe.

He imagines the App sailing at full mast, and smiles, and is eager to get aboard.

[AlphaLuke]

Waves slap the sides of the skiff. The crystalline engine hums atonally and produces soft bubbles from the stern as it propels the little craft forward. The crew remains silent. Kalinda, ever stoic, keeps her hand on the rudder and steers the little vessel nimbly through the break wall and towards the Apparition, carefully and adeptly towing the lumber along. Al-Aruni sits, huddled and shivering, clutching a bandage-wrapped stump where his right hand used to be. Zeph sits and broods upon their loss. Storms-as-he-Walks. A Shoanti warrior. A master of strange magics. A survivor. He . . . deserved better. The best Zeph can hope for is that the foul creatures that killed him remain locked in their subterranean prison. That Storms’ soul finds peace.

The waves die. The thoughts remain.

. . .

Five days earlier

. . .

Captain Domino "Ember-Eyes" Francisco de Espiritu Morales watches as two of his finer officers and his two newest officers punt away into the surf.

We have to know . . . she has to know. Maybe this is her test? Bloody bitch. Let them pass.

The sounds of men making repairs is cacophonous. So loud in fact that Domino closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Cap’n? Cap’n!”, Greggor’s baritone calls.

“Aye, Master Gent. I’m alright. Just tired ‘s all.”

“Well, beggin’ your pardon sir, with the good doctor headed ashore, I’m the ranking medical officer ‘ere and I says you’re in need of sleep, sir.”

How could the hulking bear of a man look so meek? So deferential. Even while giving an order, he seemed apologetic.

“Right you are, Master Gent. As Surgeon, you have the right to give that order. But I assure you that I’m fine. Just a little headache.”

Greggor waivers, wringing his apron just the tiniest amount. “N-no, sir. With the ship scuttled, we need you in top shape ‘case we come across any trouble. To . . .” he hesitates, “to bed with you . . . sir.”

Domino smiles. The cook and impromptu ship’s surgeon is trying. He’ll give him that.

“Aye . . . sir,” he says with a warm and exhausted smile. “Wake me if you need me. Let me know when Mr. Ironblood gets us limping.”

With a halfhearted salute, Domino heads back to his quarters. The blasted and wrecked ready room is naught but splinters, but he carefully picks his way to the blessedly closed door and his personal cabin. Inside, silence reigns.

He shuffles to his bed, draped in furs and swathes of soft, expensive cloth. He doesn’t even take off his bloody boots. He flops to the bed and is asleep almost before his head hits the goose down pillow.

Wings. Just the sound of them. The chorus. The beating of massive, feathered wings. Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands. And fire. The roar of countless burning bonfires.

“They are too many, brother! We cannot stand against this tide.”

A voice he knows. A voice he has forgotten.

“We will, Centurion! We will not lose the beach!”

“Domino! We need to pull back! Please, listen to -”

Explosions of sand and glass. Hot metal droplets. Domino shields his face with his hand. When he pulls it back, Longinus lies dead before him, his silver blood spilling into the lapping surf. His eyes are open. Frightened. A foreign expression. Around him, brothers and sisters take flight from behind their cover. Some fool is blowing a retreating call. It’s a trick. Too many are struck down by swift bolts of black fire to count. A hundred? Two? The fall and scream and writhe as they burn, their wings smoldering and blackening. Some, like him, remain. Huddled behind crumbling alabaster walls and the wreckage of gleaming chariots. He sees their fear. Feels their confusion. Their helplessness.

Domino stands, turning his burning gaze out to the sea. The horde rolls forward like a thunderhead. Hundreds burn, affronted by his gaze. Thousands. But they still come. What are a thousand flakes of ash to the roaring volcano? Nothing. He draws his sword and holds it aloft. Raising his voice to the sky, banishing the darkness with a clangorous tone, he roars and charges.

. . .

“Gomorrah Protocol? An’ you’re sure?”

“Aye. Just got the message from the shore party. Do we have the cannon to execute the order?”

Throki strokes his ruddy beard. “Maybe, Cap’n, but it’ll be hard to maneuver worth a damn and a damnable load on the lattice if’n we take any return fire. We’re little more than a stationary cannon at this point.”

The Captain thinks for a moment. “Can we stay buoyant and stable at long range? Altitude?”

Throki seems to mull the situation over as well. “Aye. If’n we were to roll ‘er to the starboard, less damage on that side, we could load ‘er heavy with guns. Then, at altitude, we could pour it on. S’not like buildings are able to get outta tha way, is it? We could stay high enough to be out o’ range o’ return fire, but let gravity extend our range far beyond that o’ tha shot.”

The Captain nods before turning to Mournholdt and Alessia. “Contingencies?”

Mournholdt stands stock-still, like he’s at the reading of a will. “Fire. The forest is the natural fallback point for anyone escaping the town. It provides cover, and the illusion of safety. They’ll hide there, sir. We wait until a good number of them have taken cover deep in the woods, then we drop oil and charges at the perimeter. It’ll burn in and finish the job.”

Alessia nods, stretching languidly while she looks at the crude map of the island laid out on the newly finished table. “And the boats. These are fishermen. Chance they’ll try to get into open water. Harder targets.” Pulling a long, thin dagger from her boot, she inspects the tip. “Drop in and sabotage. That way, we let Gozreh and Besmara take their toll.”

The Captain grimaces. “No. We can’t leave this to the gods. Mistress Silvana'sha'atai, you’ll drop in with a strike team to dispatch any who try to take to the sea. Lictor Mournholdt, ready the firebombs, then assist Mr. Ironblood with relocating the guns and redistributing the weight. We need to be ready if we get the call. Dismissed.”

The crew moves without another word.

Damn. Thrice damned. Gomorrah. Domino hopes that it won’t come to that. But, if it does, he is going to be ready.

. . .

Scar-eye roars in agony and anger, waking Domino from his half-sleep at the aftcastle. The giant lion lets forth a baleful roar before slumping to the deck. He takes three great heaving breaths before stopping still. Alessia rushes to the creature’s side before slowly lowering her head to his motionless flank. She whispers some soft prayer in the tongue of her people. Something the Captain only half-hears between her tears.

Something in him breaks. He looks to the sky and roars in anger, his eyes flashing brightly. The top of a nearby tree bursts into flames and burns like a giant’s torch before extinguishing itself.

In the rolling plains of the afterlife, a Lion appears in the tall grass. His mane is softly brushed by the calloused hand of his master.

. . .

“Stand down!” the Captain calls to the deck. “Stand down Gomorrah Protocol!”

The crew stops still for but a moment before a great eruption of whoops and shouts echoes into the morning mist. Men hug each other. Bottles are uncorked. Master Gent produces a concertina and begins to play a reel. The crew celebrates because they know how close they came to damnation.

In a few minutes, Domino will get Alessia to calm them and get them back to work, but for now he lets them celebrate. He sits in his chair on the aftcastle and lets the weight release from his shoulders.

Not this town. Not today.

. . .

When Zeph, Kalinda, and al-Aruni return to the Apparition in Time, they are greeted warmly. The Doctor is guided down to his infirmary. Kalinda immediately begins the debrief of the mission with the Captain. Alessia and Throki go to work unloading and assembling the gathered lumber. And Master Gent sets Zeph down with a thick, brown stew and a mug of cool ale.

The repairs that day go by in a haze. Zeph helps Throki with the calculations and calibrations, but keeps finding himself staring out into the middle distance.

Zeph learns that the crew burned Scar-Eye’s body, in the Cinderlands custom. He hears men talking about how well he did. He feel the pats on the back. But he moves as if in a dream. It’s the first time in his adventuring that a friend has died in front of him. He keeps seeing the Owb, shadowed and gaunt, every time he closes his eyes. Still, he does his best to move on.

The crew delivers the goods to Boatswain’s Rest as promised, and before Zeph can believe it, the Apparition is airborne once more, heading north to Almas. The wind feels good. Right. He lets it bear him aloft even as the ship sails the clouds across the open ocean.

Doctor al-Aruni emerges from his infirmary after two full days, a glass globe attached to the stub of his arm filled with a strange, green liquid. He assures everyone that he will, in a few short days, regain full use of his hand. Yes, it hurts. No, he will not grow extra limbs for anyone. No, he will not take out his baby hand before it’s grown to “see if it feels enormous when he . . .” The crew all has a good-natured laugh at how uncomfortable they can make the poor doctor.

Archelos works closely with Zephyr at the helm over the next several days, navigating the eddies and currents of the air, teaching and learning from the Shory Windlord. Before too long, the distant jagged skyline of land appears over the northern horizon. Almas. The capital of the free nation of Andoran stands like a shining beacon where the mouth of the Andoshen River meets the Inner Sea. Built on a series of hills, and connected by several bridges crossing the Tamuth, Kernite, and Moulton rivers, Almas is a city unlike Zeph’s native Absalom. It lacks the minarets and thin spires that comes from the Osiriani and Quadiran influence present in the City at the Center of the World. Instead, Almas is stocky, strong, and proud. Built by freedom-loving patriots and strong-willed knights, Almas stands strong against Cheliax and Taldor both as an egalitarian exemplar of hope and justice.

Zeph sees the wonder and joy on people’s faces as the Apparition dives into the city proper. Like in Absalom, airship sightings apparently aren’t common here. But a they get closer to their target, Zeph sees another ship already docked against a tower. This ship is distinctly different from the Apparition. First, it bears no mast and no sails. Like some of the Alkenstari vessels he’s seen, this ship is held aloft by a gigantic balloon of air. But unlike those ships, it seems to have no steam or coal-powered means of propulsion. Second, this ship bears no glowing Shory runes upon the hull. It seems almost mundane compared to the wonder of the Apparition in Time. Archie explains that the ship is a Typhoon Class, as opposed to the Apparition’s Thunderhead Class. Slower, but more heavily armored and armamented than the Apparition. Zeph helps Archie maneuver their ship into place beside the hulking vessel and cast the mooring lines. Painted on the other ship’s hull in gold, her name reads “Chivalrous”.

“Chivalrous is a beast, she is,” Archie muses. “Pound for pound, I’ve seen her take on way bigger targets than she has any right to engage.”

Zeph asks the obvious question. “But her balloon! Isn’t it a giant target?”

Archie smiles, “Aye, it is at that. But the balloon’s no simple thing. Woven from enchanted silk that patches itself and filled with more than just air. Anything strong enough to pierce it will have to deal with the air elementals inside it. Ruddy strong air elementals that are fearsome loyal to the Captain and can raise and lower, thrust or brake the ship on command. S’not as fast or maneuverable as the Apparition, but I still wouldn’t want to fight her.”

“Alright, you lot. I want these lines tied fast and these cases stowed or none of you will get a lick of shore leave!” Alessia barks from the deck.

Throki begins the manual process of dialing down the crystalline emitters into a docking setting. “Bleedin’ things. Took me a month ta get them tha way I wanted. Then wha’ happens? We get bloody blasted ou’ o’ tha sky’s what.”
Kalinda stands sentry from the aftcastle, watching the docking get underway. She gave the officers’ briefing that morning.

One week was the soonest Chief Engineer Ironblood estimated he could get the Apparition back to full capacity. The repairs done at Boatswain’s Rest may have gotten her flying again, but she still needs extensive work to be battle-worthy. So, after they unload cargo, the crew has one week to take shore leave, do odd jobs, and resupply in Almas. The Captain also informed everyone that they’ll be taking on a new crewman for the trip. An officer of the Order, transferring over from the Chivalrous: Marcellano Petronicus Ghalmont. Apparently, the Captain of the Chivalrous, a woman by the name of Pix, has given the crew of the Apparition blanket permission to board and enjoy the company of their fellow crewmen.

Spoiler

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Thank you for being patient. This took a little bit to write and re-write. Both of you can feel free to post at will. Also happy to answer any questions you have or adress anything Zeph wants to do in the 5 days it takes to get from Boatswain's rest to Almas.

[Pent]

5 days earlier, after the debrief of the mission by Kalinda to the Captain, Zeph asks the Captain for a moment of his time.

"Just one question, sir (to start with). Dr. Al Aruni is a wonderful healer, a credit to the team. I'm curious sir, for the position of a ship's medic, why use someone trained in alchemical sciences rather than someone proficient in Divine magic? Surely there is a more abundance of Clerics you could have chosen from?"

[AlphaLuke]

The Captain nods before beckoning Zeph to follow him to his quarters. There, in the isolation and quiet, Zeph sees the first glimmer of exhaustion and vulnerability he's ever witnessed from the Captain.

"Mr. Leornian, our missions sometimes take us . . . outside the scope of the gods. More to the point, sometimes the gods are not our allies. Let me ask you, do you think a god knows when it has become an abomination? Does a god admit when it has done wrong? Made a mistake? No. The beings we are fighting are worshipped as gods. No. Gods have their own agendas that don't always intersect with what must be done. So, because I, and others in our order don't trust the gods to always act in a manner that must be, we chose our own fates and use alchemical healing where possible."

[Pent]

The thought of a twisted, corrupted god perplexes Zeph.

It also seems like the Captain knows of a god or two who has been corrupted.

"Sir, it sounds like you've experienced a god who's been corrupted. Is-"

And the question bites off in his mouth. Because there's nothing Zeph can do about it. If Zeph were to learn that holy symbols throughout the land were actually turned. There's nothing that Zeph can teach to others, or write down, if he learned it.

But Zeph thinks of a better question.

"And the Oracle is immune from the same corruption, sir?"

[AlphaLuke]

As Zeph voices the first part of his inquiry, he sees a strange effect overtake the Captain. The ambient light in the room darkens, shadowing the man's face. The luminosity of his eyes stays constant. Piercing the darkness. Leaving two embers glowing in the gloom. Zeph also has the vague sensation of wings unfurling behind the man. Not a true image, but akin to catching a figment out of the corner of one's eye.

"You ask dangerous questions . . . Mr. Leornian. Questions that mortal and divine alike have fought wars over." He pauses, and Zeph feels the temperature in the room raise palpably. "But I am not in the business of keeping my officers in the dark." With that simple sentence, the light in the room returns to normal. The chill air of high altitude regains its tinny, frozen taste. "I have seen divines fall from grace. For that reason, I am very confident in my conviction to inherently mistrust those beings."

Captain Morales moves to a dark wood shelf and pulls a half-full bottle full of some golden liquid, uncorking it with a satisfying pop. Pulling two crystal tumblers from the same shelf, he pours two glasses and motions to a set of chairs by a small table.

"No one is immune to the corrupting influence of the Void. No one. It's what makes it so insidious and what makes our job so important. You aren't the first to question the Oracle's loyalty to the cause, but I can assure you with every fiber of my being that she is pure. If she weren't, we'd all have been lost to the void eons ago. If she were corrupted, then there would be no point in living. No point in getting out of bed. No point in enjoying the last existing bottle of Eir Mead." He sips the glass, closing his eyes as it passes his lips. "No, Mr. Leornian. I trust in my bones that the Oracle is untouched by the corruption. I have to. Once you meet her, you'll understand too."

[Pent]

Zeph curses himself and immediately starts backpedaling.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to imply - I was just curious, wanted to ask an innocent question - wait, meet her? When do you anticipate me meeting her, sir?....I might need coaching on what not to ask..."

[AlphaLuke]

A genuine smile breaks the Captain's face. "Don't be sorry, lad. You did no wrong. But it's important for you to remember that not everyone has the same attitude I do regarding the nature of truth. I'll never kill you for asking a question. I might not always answer in the way you like, but you're always free to ask me anything. Others . . . well other see questions as a path to forbidden knowledge. I see them as armor for when that knowledge eventually comes to us. Now drink. You'll feel better after, I assure you."

[Pent]

The smile helped. More than the words did, which says a lot. Zeph drinks. "Thank you sir, I needed this."

Zeph didn't clarify if he meant the conversation or the drink.

[AlphaLuke]

The sip touches Zeph's lips and immediately bursts sweetness and light onto his unprepared palate. This . . . this is no ordinary mead. It's heavenly. The greatest drink he's ever even heard of. The Captain smiles through Zeph's expression and watches closely as the man goes for his second sip.

As Zeph continues to drink, he notices something strange happening. He . . . feels the Captain in front of him. He feels the man's weariness. His resolve. His strength and his weakness. He feels the raw power and fire coursing through his veins. He feels deep, dull, agony in between his shoulder blades. The Captain raises his glass to Zeph and examines its clarity approvingly. Zeph almost hears the words he's about to say before he speaks them.

"Eir Mead. Brewed from the honey of celestial bees. Made lovingly by the once-matron goddess of healers, Eir, in Asgard. You might not have heard of Asgard, lad. Old tale. Still told by some of the better Skalds in the Lands of Linnorm Kings. Gods and Heroes drinking and fighting for eternity in the hereafter." The Captain takes another sip, and for a moment Zeph hears the songs, smells the sweat and blood, and roasted meat.

"There's a special bond, sharing a drink with someone you trust. Battle brothers. For those who share a glass of Eir Mead together, the bond is literal. For a short time, you can truly empathize with the person sharing your cup. See from their perspective. See where they come from. Many wars have been averted, treaties written, and bonds forged over a bottle of Eir Mead. Not all conflicts can be resolved, of course, but many. Alas, this is the last bottle."

Another sip.

Zeph sees a vision. A spired city, alabaster white. Rain clouds, still rumbling with the remnants of thunder pull back to reveal golden sunlight pouring in. Hundreds, no thousands of birds dancing around each other in the sky. Pairs and trios of them, diving and wheeling about each other. It's lovely.

Until one falls in a death spiral. Then another.

Zeph turns around in horror and looks up through the rafters of the building he's standing in; the scorched and burnt husk of something once grand. Women stare back at him. Five women with glowing golden eyes. Their rain-damp hair hangs over their perfect faces. Glistens on their silver armor. Dews on their white feathered wings.

Angels. The birds. Fighting, falling, dying in the sky. Hundreds and hundreds of Angels.

The woman nearest to Zeph speaks, and it sounds like a golden bell ringing in an abattoir.

"Domino. Where do you stand? With us, or with them?"

Zeph finds himself speaking, but with the voice of the Captain. The words flow from him without thought. Without hesitation.

"Sister, this is a false choice. I stand with the people. With creation. Please, see reason."

The woman looks like she has just scraped something unspeakable from her boot.

"I see weakness. A lack of devotion. A questioner."

"Please, sister . . . don't. I don't want to hurt you."

A sneer from the woman. Laugher from her chorus.

Somewhere close, a trumpet blasts. The women look towards the sound. Distracted. Zeph uses it.

Zeph is back in his chair, in the Captain's quarters, an empty glass of mead clutched in his hand. The Captain has a tear in his eye and likewise holds an empty glass. "You were so young. So small to see so much death. They saved you, and in so doing doomed themselves. You are so very loved, my boy. So loved."

Spoiler: Zeph's Vision

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[Pent]

Before Zeph can think, really think on what he saw, he first has to react to what he felt.

He's still feeling the Captain's guilt over his decision to fight against his brothers. It's not an easy burden.

Long after the phantom voice of his not-voice pleading, he still feels the heartache of the schism. He starts counting his breaths as a way to regain control over his thoughts. It took up to 173 breaths.

Zeph mouths the words soundlessly, but he has no doubt that with the effect of the drink, the Captain knows what he's saying.

"It wasn't just an abstract god that fell. It was your family. And you had to choose us over your brethren.

..

Thank you.

...


But...who was so young? You were of age..."

Zeph thinks he knows the answer, but denies it, pushes it away. It can't be.

[AlphaLuke]

The Captain nods and weeps silent tears. "I chose you. I chose all of you over my Lord. My gentle Lord." He whispers the name, "Dou-Bral." Zeph knows this name, and feels its horrifying pain simultaneously.

"As you saw my story. So too did I see yours, young sir. I saw your parents. You mother and father, wrapping you tightly with magic, and love, and simple linen. I saw your Shory home. I saw it fall before you stood still in time for all this while. You lived my pain. And I lived yours."

[Pent]

Zeph couldn't keep track of the time. But he knew it was a lot of it. And during that time the two of them shared confusion. A lot of confusion. Because doubt and mistrust brushed up against reason and faith. As trust started making its way over doubt, Zeph started feeling an anger that he found unreasonable. A profound sense of vengeance for a people he never knew. Why should he care? That didn't make any sense, but Zeph felt it just the same. It was only by the Captain's will that Zeph didn't bolt out of the room soaring into the sky.

But Zeph, always searching for truth, had finally settled on the best question.

"Why my people?"

Of course that question was the one that made its way from his head to his mouth. His head was still a storm full of:

Who were my parents? How did they die? What did they name me? What were their lives like? How did my pod survive? That dream the mouther showed me was real? Why didn't you save them? Are there any others like me? Why? If it corrupted a god how can it be stopped? how many soldiers does Zon-Kuthon have? Would my parents be proud of me? Can we kill a god? Can we kill a virus that can kill a god? Tell me how to kill it.

[DeathbyFlossing]

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That was FRACKING BEAUTIFUL. the Captain being a servant of Dou-Bral who witnessed his corruption into Zon-Kuthon explains the Order’s paranoia perfectly. It also gives me a sneaking suspicion as to the nature of the Oracle.

[Pent]

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Hear hear! To the best GM we could ask for!

[AlphaLuke]

Zeph is unable to get an answer from his Captain. Both men are shaken by their experience, and decide to let their questions sleep for now. At least until the mead wears off. Maybe much longer.

. . .

~The Present~

. . .

The Apparition docks beside the Chivalrous, casting lines to secure the floating vessel to the skydock.

Archelos invites Zeph ashore with him to visit his favorite watering hole in Almas, the Keel and Kestrel. Apparently, some of the officers of the Chivalrous have sent word that they're lodging there while in port. Together, the man and Syrinx walk down the spiraling docking tower in the Portside District, and make their way by foot to East Hill.

The two draw several stares as they walk. Unlike in Absalom, where a Cyclops walking down the road might go unnoticed, the majority of folk in Almas are human, with notable dwarf and halfling populations. A Syrinx is a novelty, and Archelos has good fun with the children attempting to get a look at him as he walks, occasionally stopping and spreading his wing in mock-stretches. Their giggles and awed exclamations make the pilot chuckle softly.

The city is clean, and from what Zeph can see, well-patrolled by courteous Eagle Knights in their distinctive pauldrons. Unique in the region, there is a noticable and not unwelcome lack of slaves crowding the streets. Slavery is illegal in Andoran, and even in Almas' most influential households, all servants are either employed or indentured.

Before too long, the men walk up to a modest but clean tavern and inn, the Keel and Kestrel. Inside, the tables are dark wood and the floor is strewn with clean sawdust. A long bar caters to several well-off merchants and a busy wait-staff brings trays of food and drink to several round tables. Archelos quickly makes his way to a back table where a severe looking woman with piercing blue eyes holds a pocket watch open. Looking up from her watch, she fixes an emotionless gaze upon Zeph and Archie. "You are seven minutes, thirty-two seconds late, Mr. Archelos."

Archie smiles, "Euphonia! A pleasure as always, love."

The severe woman pulls out a small notebook and begins quickly scribing notes in a symbolic language Zeph doesn't understand. "This is apparently the timeline where you and Mr. Leornian arrive at thirteen o'seven hours and thirty-two seconds." She does some more scribbling and Zeph could swear she's doing arithmetic. "You stopped to stretch your wings for the children. That would account for it." More scribbles. "It shouldn't deviate the stream for more than this conversation and the obvious subsequent questions from Mr. Leornian. Then it will snap back. This will do." She closes her book and looks up without follow-up.

Archie breaks the silence by swiping two brown bottles from the tray of a passing serving girl. "Keep 'em coming, miss, if you would. Zephyr, this is Euphonia. First Mate of the Chivalrous. Euphonia, you could at least let the poor boy get a drink before laying into us like that." He hands one of the bottles to Zeph.

Euphonia turns her unnerving gaze to Zeph. "I don't see why. He's initiated." Zeph catches the telltale eye engraved on the First Mate's pocket watch. "Why shouldn't he know that your actions irreparably altered the course of events? He's smart. At least he thinks he is. And he is, in a way." The woman takes a sip of some exceptionally pale white wine. "He knows what he doesn't know. That's true wisdom." She quickly opens her watch again. "Thirteen eleven and twenty-one seconds. This is the timeline where Mr. Ghalmont arrives in seven seconds, unless he stopped to play dice with the old man." She watches the door. Archie turns amusedly to the door. Zeph can't help himself. He turns too. In precisely seven seconds, a handsome Varisian man in a blue brocade jacket walks through the door.

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We're now all in the same room. Post at will.