POOHEAD189

City of Thieves

Galt hit the boat with an unsteady roll, jarred from the wriggling craft. He reformed into a crouch with the grace of an experienced thief, and he lifted up his left pants-leg to retrieve his collapsable short bow. Folded in half, the brace in the middle made it slightly weaker than your average composite bow, and it could barely be said to harm anyone wearing something thicker than a few layers of clothing. However the fold-bow was a useful weapon any good archer in the guild did well to buy. An arrow hitting any vitals was still potentially deadly. He reached into a small slide sequestered within the fold of his vest and retrieved an arrow.

With a deft movement, he loosed. His arrow caught one of the pursuers in the neck, and Galt fancied he could hear the gurgle from his bloodied throat from that distance. He wasn't used to killing, but somehow he felt less poor about it when he did it to someone who was looking to do the same to him. The man tumbled into the river as his compatriots decided to scramble for cover rather than chase them along the side of the canal, at least for the moment.

"Galt, row!" Kashvi snapped.

"Uh, right." Galt dropped the fold-bow and grabbed a paddle. He doubted the pilot cared, having leaped into the canal just after the dead man flopped into the drink.

The small craft slipped into another small canal, sliding under a bridge where the three found a couple of beggars to switch places with them with some hard looks and flashing a few coppers. It was barely half a minute before a different trio rowed out into the open again while Galt, Kashvi, and Joe huddled under the bridge next to a small iron grate that connected to the sewer. Galt held a hand out to keep his two companions there as he peered out, careful not to expose any of himself in the sunlight. At first glance all he saw were a gaggle of dandies and fops cajoling a handsome woman and a couple walking past for a day about town. He caught a glance at a few street toughs engaged in cards by another gondola, unaffiliated no doubt. But his keen gaze caught eyes looking his way just past them, a flash of red below them before they disappeared.

"We need to move," He said urgently. "We got Dogs of Disfavor on our tail now, too."

"Halleth," Kashvi sighed.

Galt groaned, dropping down next to the iron grate, guessing it couldn't be helped. He had spent months and months climbing out of debt and bartering for the best toys in the business, but here he was using it all up in one afternoon. He fished out a small vial from his pocket and plucked the top off, carefully bobbing his finger atop the bottle so two, clear liquid drops fell on the hinges of the iron. "So what trouble did you get me into?" Galt asked. Immediately the material began to sizzle and corrode, dissolving before his eyes. He firmly put the top back on and slid it into his pocket again.

"What did I do!?" Kashvi asked incredulously, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Someone is hitting our whole guild, you pennyweighter!"

Galt was up in a flash, a finger almost pressed into her nose. "That was one time!" He said, then realized they were still standing there. "Come on, help me pull this grate off. If we take the sewers we can at least get away from here before we're swarmed."

At The Edge of The World

Chapter 2

Dread in Darkwater

The bird calls and hoots from strange simians were ever present, even as we passed over the rickety rope bridges and sturdier, timber built ones crossing the small stretch of wetlands to reach sight of the city. On the last stretch of road, the trees were cleared away and there were only a handful of varying tufts of grass on a road that fed into towering, impressively ornate iron gates. The mosaic depicted on their front was the rising of a great, wingless dragon from the depths of the sea. They were set on huge hinges, connected to tall walls of dark swampstone. Posted at the gate and above were men in green surcoats and iron mail, with parma shields and winged spears.

Their stoic faces broke when they saw the ragged group stepping off the last bridge, passing through the ferns and wide leafed palms onto the open stretch. Nicodemus's arm was around my shoulder, and I helped Archimedes walk on the left side. The other two protostates used roughly fashioned canes to trudge their way. Emmaline was at the vanguard, and she gave a great walloping gasp of finality when the city walls came into sight, but the baroque nature of it gave her a thoughtful pause.

"It is like you said," She remarked carefully, placing a fingernail to her bottom lip. I could easily read her thoughts. It seemed a foreboding place, but the size and apparent wealth mean there were plenty of places to eat, rest, and bathe. Other than the distant sound of a crowd, music wafted through the open games. There was a guitar playing a tune almost conversational, with licks and lines playing over the beat of a variety of drums, and though not very regimented, the riffs were pleasant to the ear. I smiled tiredly, glad to be so close to the city after such a long time.

"Where do you hail from, and what is your business here?" The watchman on the left called, lowering his spear and approaching us. Emmaline stepped in front of the iron spearhead, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the man past her nose. It couldn't have been she was too frustrated or exhausted to care, no I felt it was bravery as usual. She sometimes bungled and tripped and she had a love of comforts, but gods she was dangerous when she wanted to be.

"Survival, if you must know. My companion and I came upon an outpost of men three days ago, and the jungle swallowed it up. These men, my lover, and myself barely survived. But let us in or run us through, but be done with it! A lady of my station has no patience for this." She remarked, one manicured hand resting on her sword hilt now. "Yes that's right," she sneered at their questioning looks. "I am Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, of Vysamirce nobility!"

"We've heard that one before, beggarwoman." The left said, "Fancy name, who'd you steal that from?" But as they approached they got a better look at her.

The two gatemen looked at one another quickly, and back at the buxom blonde. Her boots were caked and her traveling garb was cuffed and scratched, but it did have a distant aristocratic air to it, and even if her stately looks and outfit weren't enough, the gleaming jewel snuggled into her bosom was enough to convince them. The one on the right with a cauliflower ear spoke up. "Forgive us, Dame Morganstern. You can take these men to the magistrate, down the main drag. If you would like, we could also announce your presence to the Enclave."

She seemed less than enthused they had no offered to simply take the wounded, but the last bit gave her pause. "Enclave?" She echoed, but her words died on her lips as she saw me cutting my hand across my throat and shaking my head just over the guardsman's shoulder. "I mean, of course, the Enclave! Yes, do announce me. Us! I require a bath as well-"

I placed a palm on my face, sighing. It was my fault, she wasn't to blame. I had hoped to bring her to Darkwater without the attention. The city played politics like men played dice, and the Enclave was a collection of disgraced aristocrats, second sons, daughters who refused to marry, or landless gentry having traveled south to find more power where they could. It was a cutthroat ruling body all gathered in one place, and though the city was relatively well run, I would have rather paid for a quaint spot and find baths than be put under the scrutiny of sneering lords and ladies. I guessed it wasn't the worst in the world and other than a few questioning looks, we could leave to our devices. But I knew it would be seen as suspicious. Emmaline, on the other hand, likely would enjoy being pampered amongst socialites and comfortable accommodations.

"Bath and lodgings will be available for you, my lady. Just keep going down the way until you reach the counciler's office a quarter mile down past the gate."

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

The forest had been dark and cruel as of late, even at the cusp of winter. Only the birds still appeared, and they only appeared when the sun did, which was infrequent at best. In fact, this was likely the first sunlight Ali had seen in weeks. The winter had been harsh, and there had been talk of Wolves and Bears appearing in the Westwood. Wolves were rare, but he had not heard of a bear in seven winters, yet here they were, attacking livestock and men. Ali wouldn't easily forget having to fight off a small group of wolves after two sheep had been taken naught but a month ago.

The day was crisp, and the sun's warmth had barely begun to lessen the cold of night as Ali left Fulton's Ferry to head southward toward the town, taking one of the lesser known roads to make better time. Old folk would say it brought you dangerously close to the Mountains, and Gods know what sort of spirits haunted that dreaded area. But there was many miles of forest separating the road from the mountain, and the young adventurer had taken the road many times in youthful rebellion of going against his elder's advice. What was one more trip?

He whistled with the birds. The plump little creatures hanging in the trees above him as they sang, and though he whistled a tavern tune, they almost seemed to be singing with him. Ali wasn't one to be merry all the time. He took life for what it was. But it was a fine day, even with the chill. And he could hear the words in his head, from when he heard the song first all those years ago by his nan.

"The fields are sewn and the winter's done.
Celebrate the Raven and await the Sun.
Keep to your kin and love shall win.
Whistle this tune until the demons are gone."

He was just about to whistle the second verse, when something happened.

There was a terrific snarl, and the growling roar of a large canine. Ali turned, just in time to see a flash of fire and the visage of a fanged mouth. Ali was no stranger to combat, nor safety on the road. He ducked under snapping jaws, but the weight of the big animal bore him down. Be tucked his legs under him and kicked out, even as his back hit the road. The beast fell off him, but it scrabbled back onto its feet in an instant.

Ali rolled and reoriented himself, seeing his attacker plainly.

It was a Varghulf. A malevolent species of wolf, intelligent and huge. The grey furred thing leaped at him again, Ali grabbing his staff and shoving it into the thing's mouth to keep it from clamping on his throat. But he couldn't keep the claws busy. They raked against his body, tearing off bits of clothing and skin. Ali cried out in pain, but pushed back against the beast, shoving it off him as he tore out the knife at his belt. The Varghulf wriggled free and snapped at him, but Ali managed to stab the beast thrice, causing it to squeal in pain. Another stab, and it howled and ran back into the woods, limping and shrieking.

Ali stood there, panting, until the tall man collapsed to the ground, blood seeping out of the wounds on his leg and stomach.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

The light of the wyrm's tomb faded into nothingness, and save for the small ball of light Jocasta had conjured, the darkness was complete. It crept behind them and gave way before their feet just enough to cause a feeling of claustrophobia. The air was stale and old, and the small connection to the outside world from the chamber behind them was small comfort and too minuscule for any sort of change in the air. It was hard to gauge if any air was moving at all, actually. Beren knew that was a good indication of direction in the underworld, at least in the shallows.

Muragrim had checked the fissure in the path and had given it the all-clear, but they decided not to take that as a trail of yet. Otar trusted the 'Lowways' the dwarves had dug out millennia ago, even though their integrity had been breached. Otar was not only the elder, but a priest. He knew, even with the collapse of the system, that the dwarven pantheon watched over it from both above and below. Beren had never been further than a mile below the surface, but he knew of the pilgrimages dwarves still took into the heart of the world.

The group passed by numerous other rends and tears in the walls, and at one point the well crafted floor had grown grooved as water ran from the right to the left across their path. Every now and then they would find a fallen dwarf, but more common were the skeletons of gundarogs from skirmishes amongst themselves, and occasionally they would stumble upon human-like corpses belonging to dorcha. Once, we heard something living amongst rubble. The light never caught it, but it gave a disturbing 'hreeeeeeor' sound as it scrambled into a hole in the wall, what Beren imagined as a tail being the only part they could see slipping into the shadows.

Jocasta stuck close to Beren, who stood protectively beside her. The dwarves marched in a rough formation, shields always in the direction of the walls and eyes always open to the dangers. Eventually, the groups march was halted by an unfortunate but inevitable dead end. Rock and broken pillars had fallen and blocked the way as sure as any iron gate, but whatever had caused it, it seemed natural. They discovered no bodies at the scene.

"We might need to double back," Beren suggested, hands on his hips. The dwarves muttered to themselves, Gurin making the suggestion they could potentially dig out. Beren was glad no other humans were here, lest someone might suggest it was easy for Gunir to say when he wouldn't help with his shattered arm, but everyone present knew they would have to tie him down to keep him from helping. All dwarves were purpose built for labor, but a dwarf soldier had a sense of duty that put the andredian kingsguard to shame.

"Look here," Jocasta said, and as all of the males turned around, they noticed she was gone. Her head popped out of a small fissure, beaming brightly and waving them to follow. For some reason, the sudden appearance of her face was a memory Beren would never forget. He truly did admire this girl. The warrior monk followed suit, and the dwarves filed in behind them. Beren slipped into the small crevasse, and once through he found himself in a large, elongated chamber. The breathe was taken from him as he realized Jocasta no longer held her magical light. The walls were tinged with blue lights, giving the tunnel a look of serenity. Upon closer inspection, the lights moved gently amongst the rockface.

"They're worms." Beren said, scratching his chin.

"Good find, lass." Radsvir said.

"Haven't seen lightgrubs in years." Buri marveled.

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Name: Alidrin Baldyr
Age: 24
Physical description: With dark locks of wavy hair that neared his shoulders and an athletic body, he was not unused to the attentions of girls. To the passerby, his eyes were as dull brown as the earth, but in the sun or shining by firelight, it showed their true maroon hue of color. He wears a red vest over a tan linen shirt, and brown, loose fitting trousers, with a very dark brown belt and shoes. He's a tall man, and fit, with long legs and strong arms.

Bulletpoints for a background:

• Ali was born the only son, with two younger sisters and an older sister. His maroon eyes were gifted to him from neither parent. They were a curiosity, but none questioned his heritage.
• A plague swept through their town, and both Ali and one of his younger sisters became ill. His sister died, and Ali barely made it, but experienced terrible nightmares for many nights.
• When he was eleven, Ali found a wounded hawk in the woods and brought it home to take care of. Once it was good enough to fly again, he released it, and it would occasionally return to him for many years to come after.
• Having grown up tall, with a penchant for mischief and exploring the woods, he found he liked to travel. At age 15 he was granted a journey apprenticeship in the next town to a blacksmith, but found that though he did learn a thing or two of the trade, his favorite aspect was fetching tools from different towns for his master. Soon he dropped the apprenticeship and became a courier. Learning self defense by the captain of the local guard after Ali had done him a favor.
• Has spent the last five years of his life traveling and surviving encounters with bandits, transporting important parcels or escorting merchants or men who will pay handsomely.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The cliffs were so tall they nearly reached the sun from the vantage point of standing amid the lapping surf. North and south lay endless beach under the towering drop of the rise. The aircar lay smoking, buried into the sand by a foot and sinking a fraction every surge of the tide. Any evidence the three had experienced a crash landing was long since gone save for the transport and the black plume that gradually rose higher into the sky.

The mercs' omnivisors were shut off, the material over the visor giving a natural shade to the sun, much like old terran sunglasses. They moved with synchronized, silent steps as they descended the ancient stairway. Nessor and his men had been given strict orders from Vorn to locate the renegade Inquisitor Hadrian Drakos and extract him, and were given permission to end the life of Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern and anyone else with them. The DF had informed them they had landed just down the cliff, and after confirming it with a visual from above, they crept down in squad formation alpha. Small green lights of confirmation blinked in their visors when they spotted the aircar once more, on a more even elevation. Agripinaa Pattern Type III raised, Nessor took point as his team waited, creeping to a rock still nestled under the bosom of the cliffs. He turned his monoscope sixty degrees, the visual on the aircar multiplying by a factor of six.

He saw no signs of the occupants or any survivors. The doors were closed with glass shattered, and trailing his scope downwards, it was hard to gauge if the ubiquitous rolls of sand were made by footsteps or were merely a natural occurrence. He gingerly moved his rifle to the right, and then the left. It stopped on a small bag, torn open with local seagulls picking at its contents. Idly he pulled his eye back from the scope, glancing left and right and then returning to gaze down. A bird had a nutri-bar in its beak, desperately trying to gobble it up. A few seconds passed, and he turned on his vox unit.

"Aircar is clear."

What Nessor thought moments after, I do not know. My minuscule psychic powers provided me with only the briefest insight into his psyche and experiences. I could gather quite clearly he, along with his team, were not heretics. They were not necessarily law-abiding, being a paramilitary organization hailing from the planet Luxor of the Segmentum Obscurus. I saw brief visions of them fighting an underhive gang on some distant planet, and the assassination of a planetary governer that had heretical dealings with the accursed Xenos, the Tau. I even caught a glimpse of a small campaign on an Ork-infested jungle world, extracting the daughter of a magistrate from an overrun fort. However, they had been duped by Vorn into believing I was a dangerous rogue bent on the dismantling of the Imperium at large, and I had not the time nor means to convince them otherwise. Unfortunately for them, they were wrong. And unfortunately for their lives, Vorn had ordered them to kill Emmaline and they accepted that contract.

Nessor and the first four members of his team to step into the sand were dead in an instant, ripped to shreds by a remote detonation of a rigged hopper mine, a mere flip of the switch activating its bio-sensors. Sand lifted and rock fragments riddled the landscape like bullets, the sound accompanying it following immediately after with a single loud crack. The four survivors were stunned, shouting into their vox and desperately trying to reorient themselves. I sprang from behind a crag, sand falling off me like loose water. A frag grenade in my hand, I let it cook for the moment it took me to reach the opening to the stairs and I tossed it into their midst. A burst of gunfire hit the sand of where I had stood a moment before.

"Frag! Frag!"

Two of them hit the sand as the grenade detonated, shrapnel scraping the cliff face and eviscerating two of the remaining four survivors. The aforementioned ones that escaped death rolled deftly, raising their weapons my way without delay and firing, shells popping as they clapped against more crags. Emmaline cried out to the Emperor on their flank, suitably tired from her psychic battle but able to provided a distraction as she rose from where she had knelt, her arms before her face so the inevitable bullets that struck her hit only her ornate armor, taking the worst and keeping her relatively unharmed. The driver beside her let off a few shots from an auto-pistol he held, but he kept well out of their vision or he would have been dead immediately.

I leaped from cover once again, my powersword thrumming to life. The heat and sudden dull noise caused the closest trooper to roll again and rise to face me, but I was the quicker. As he raised his rifle my sword cut clean through the barrel, and even as they sprang back and grabbed for their combat knife, my sword removed his head from his shoulders. I completed the spin, bisecting the distracted one with an easy flourish of the blade.

As soon as it had begun, the fight was over. Even as I killed them, I received no pleasure in it.

Emmaline's head poked out from behind her bracers, three small areas on her polished armor still steaming from the shots aimed at her head. The driver, a man named Gydwyn, wiped some sweat from his brow as he cautiously stepped before the stairway that led to a winding path up the cliff to the Cardinal's manor.

"Cettin' et a wee bit close, aren't'ye?" He asked, looking down at the dead men incredulously. He glanced sideways at the battle-armor clad Emmaline. "Why no' git the girl tae fight?"

"The hefty bint couldn't move quick across the sand. Too slow and dangerous for her." I said, having picked up one of the Agrippa assault rifles. I placed the stock against my shoulder and aimed down the scope, then ejected the magazine and checked the ammunition.

"The next time someone calls me hefty-" She started, but I interrupted her with a tossed belt of extra ammunition. Her armor whirred as she went to catch it, letting out an 'Oop! shit' as it hit the sand. She blew a fringe out of her face as she bent over to grab it.

"Strip the bodies and grab a gun." I told them. "Take whatever you can find that's useful. They'll know in half an hour, maybe less, that their team wasn't successful. We need to be in by then."

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt did not want to admit it, but he felt a chill from the exposure of the rain. The ex-thief was certain he wasn't sick. He had lived on the streets in less shelter than the trees of the forest, he was sturdier than that. But it would definitely do to get out of the rain and if he tested his luck, he just might fall ill. Though Silke's health was his primary concern, as much as she would be loathe to know that. He dismounted his horse and happily gave the reins to the next stablehand, who's name he would find out eventually, he was sure.

Vincent's sudden appearance was not unwelcome, though it was very unexpected. Galt smiled when her brother came up and took charge, glad there would be two of them dealing with Silke's unwillingness to take care of herself. They might just make her comfortable, now. If we kept the pressure on her, Galt thought wryly. Galt inclined his head with thanks at the offer.

"I'll take you up on that. I think I'll take that bath first," Galt said, taking his jacket off as Vincent carried Silke away. Galt smiled like a fox, calling after them. "Silke, thank you for the lovely invitation, I accept most graciously!"

"My lord, if I might excort you this way." A servant said, wearing a sporting coat of the latest fashion, Galt was sure. He bade him lead on, and soon they arrived at a small washroom at the edge of the mansion where a porcelain tub had been filled with very warm, if not hot water. The steam felt nice, and he stripped and decided to take his time enjoying the bath for a couple of minutes before I really got to scrubbing himself with the lye.

After half an hour of washing and drying and getting thrown clothes through the door by the servants, Galt walked to dinner fresh, clean, and hungrier than he imagined he would be. The embroidered tapestries and carpeted floors were comfortable, giving the house a suitable aristocratic air whilst simultaneously being utilitarian. Galt passed more than a few offices and the layout of the manor was austere and pragmatically direct. He did not get the same feeling he had walking through the palace at the capital, where every keep or hall was built to expand organically over the centuries.

Once he arrived at the door to the dinner hall, Franz was awaiting him. The chamberlain gave a smile in greeting, and they exchanged a few words in casual conversation. He asked Galt if his bath was refreshing, to which Galt gave a simple 'yes' and a smile, feeling he could be very unlordly around the chamberlain. It was an odd feeling, considering this man expected the most from him, likely. With a bow, Franz turned and announced Galt's arrival.

"Lord Harrowmark," He declared simply, stepping aside and allowing Galt to enter. He wondered if Silke had arrived yet. It had grown dark outside, casting the windows in an inky color contrasting the pallor of the lamps within the hall.

Staring Back With Chrome Eyes

This seems cool, but idk if I have the time necessarily

At The Edge of The World

I looked around us, my senses honed as much as man's could be in the dense jungle. Birds chirped and small critters scuttled or stares with bright eyes amongst the trees and foliage, but otherwise there seemed to be no danger. My eyes then fell on Emmaline, her blonde hair like a beacon in the scant moonlight of the dark.

"Um," I said, pointing at the glorious jewel in her hand. "What is that, babe?"

"I don't know, I just found it." She said. We had only been together for perhaps close to a month, but we had also spent almost every waking hour together save for small trips to relieve ourselves, seeing as we had been in constant danger (or dates) since we met. And I felt I knew her fairly well, and for all my knowledge, even knowing she was a pretty capable actress, she wasn't lying.

"Oh... that is weird," I said, looking around to see if there was any trace or reason for her find. "Ok, just don't show anybody else at the campsite you found that ok? Did you find the source of the light, by the way?"

"Nope, but it looks like it's gone. Let's head back to camp!" She said, enthused. I laughed and shrugged.

"Sure, let's head back. We'll be in Darkwater tomorrow, I think. You'll like the city, I know. Plenty of places to take a bath." I turned to lead the way back, and she slipped the silver chained gem over her head to rest against her slim neck and bosom.

Amulet of Vanadessë

"Well Johnny, what do we have for the little lady, today?"

"Well I'll tell ya, Chuck! (Clears throat)"

Forged Ten Millennia ago beyond the barriers of the world, this amulet is granted to the most faithful elven servants of Vanadessë, elven goddess of beauty and light. The wearer gains an affinity for light and celestial magic, and grows more elven in form over time. Useful for blinding or searing opponents or causing things to get shinier, from dangerous to mundane. One might also enter the elven dream realm when asleep, as well as needing less sleep to function. More rarely, the elven goddess herself bestows great wisdom in times of need.

Side Effects Include: _{Longer lifespan, better eyesight, better hearing, random fey fits of rage or laughter or lust or sorrow, wounds made by iron are more grievous, able to piss off dwarves more easily, and you become very popular with small birds.}

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I stroked my chin, hiding my recognition behind a mask of surprise and contemplation. I did figure this 'Teritus Vorn' might try to impede on the election, but I could not have been certain. The string of possibilities on what his goal on Avignor was could have just as easily been to sow random calamity than to try and upend the election with any goal. It was still possible he was performing as an agent of chaos in the most basic sense of the word. How better to sow discord than to sabatouge the election after killing the prime candidate for succession? But no, he was entrenched too deep in these politics. He had a specific goal, I simply did not know exactly what at the time.

"Primate Fulstes, the Inquisition arriving at this exact time during the upheaval of the greatest Cardinal World after Holy Terra is very convenient, wouldn't you say?" I asked, hiding the irony in my voice. Emmaline kept her face neutral, though I saw in her eyes she wanted to laugh. Clara turned away as if patrolling the perimeter.

"The Emperor works in wondrous ways, my child. Had I not been ensconced in his holy light all my life, I would be suspicious too." The Primate said, bowing humbly. I glanced to my left and saw Emmaline bite her lip as if she considered something, but I knew she was almost too close to laughter. I half imagined I heard a snicker from behind me in Clara's direction, but the Primate did not notice. Thankfully Lazarus was able to internalize his mirth through his processes.

"Still, your holiness, even if this is true, why not still vote? Why not call your fellow cardinals and tell them this horrible truth? Surely locking yourself away is not the Emperor's will?"

"I was advised by our most holy inquisition to keep myself safe and to lengthen the election. It seems he is weeding out the heretics and requires more time. I pray for his success daily." He said, and for a moment I had an urge to reveal myself there and then. To show the Primate Fulstes the error of his judgement. But I realized that if I did so, this Teritus Vorn would likely elude us yet again. The greater good needed to be the primary objective.

"This is troubling news, your holiness." I said. "Sister Eudoxa, your thoughts?"

"I shall wait for the Emperor to reveal the truth to me, but we should tread lightly in these troubled times. Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens." She intoned, almost singing the words as she spread her hands. I almost sighed. A small part of me was endeared by her dedication to theatrics, but throne...

"I agree. Primate Fulstes, have you been in contact with any other Primate or Cardinal regarding this revelation?"

"Only one Cardinal, but he did not seem so convinced. Inquisitor Vorn has gone to convince him." The Primate said, flourishing his coat sleeve away to grab a pitcher of wine. The fat holy man looked as if he was in a near-constant state of drunkenness in one form or fashion.

"Where?" I asked, and to my surprise I used some of my will in the question.

Minutes later...

"Emmaline, you're with me. Clara, Lazarus, you both need to go back to Primate Osten Von Mandelbrot and replay the conversation we had just performed." I said, stepping down the long stairs under the towering arch of the Cathedral of Pentecostal Remembrance. Birds fluttered away from our approach, the only true fauna left on the planet.

"Replay?" Clara echoed, but Lazarus gave confirmation in binary. He had recorded the entirety of it and could easily regurgitate it with perfect voice modification. "Wait, where are you two going? You need me there!"

"No, you need to protect Lazarus. It is paramount he makes it to the Primate to warn him. After that, get Urien and get his men to follow us." I stepped off the bottom step and marched to the aircars, our drivers opening the doors as we were nearly in earshot. "Emmaline and I will intercept and catch the traitor, but if we can't finish him you'll surround him and purge him from existence. We'll be fine, but you have to hurry."