The tents are large, supported by a heavy central stake, big enough to house fifty people or a dozen horses. Guards cluster around the entrances, half a dozen at each. These ones enjoy the normal human range of movement, you note.
You observe each of the tents carefully in turn, but no new oddities reveal themselves.
STEALTH: DIFFICULT
CHECK: SUCCESS
STEALTH: I can see a path down there, boss. There's a string of wagons all abandoned-like around the back of the middle one, if you get down there when the light dies you could cut through the back with nobody the wiser and have a look for yourself.
Wait, why does your Stealth talk like Fincher?
INTGRITY: DIFFICULT CHECK: FAILED
INTEGRITY: Fincher seems pretty stealthy, it's probably just something you picked up just now.
The sun has sunk under the horizon now, the formerly grey sky is painted with brilliant violet-indigo hues. Twilight fades by the moment. Consider your next move carefully, this will be your last chance to observe.
[ ] Look for any forces gathering that might be coming this way.
[ ] Examine the city for ways you might enter.
[ ] Look over the ships for anything you might make use of.
[ ] Survey the walls to assess the strength of the defenders.
[ ] Head back to Fincher's camp.
You check those horses you saw being mustered earlier. Looks like they are being led to the stables. Could they be preparing an infantry force instead?
AWARENESS: VERY DIFFICULT
CHECK: FAILED
A few minutes of scanning the camp proves fruitless.
AWARENESS: There are armed soldiers moving around, but it looks like changing and bolstering guard rather than any expeditionary effort.
WAR: Either they have decided not to pursue you at all, or have decided not to do it at night. Either way, it seems you are safe for the moment.
The last dregs of sunlight have drained away, leaving only a clouded, moonless darkness above.
NAVIGATE: You have completely failed to figure out a way into the city, your ostensible objective. We'll never get in there at this rate!
Hopefully you'll be able to wing it when the time comes.
WAR: We have learned about the enemy, and that is always valuable.
More fires are being lit around the Raigi camp, gleaming like red stars in the darkness. Time to decide your next move.
[ ] Sneak into the camp and try to discover more information.
[ ] Sneak into Ashglass alone.
[ ] Return to Fincher's camp.
It's too dangerous to enter the camp alone, and even if you could enter the city, what then? Best to get back to the legion for now, and figure out something else.
Darkness has enveloped you. It is time to depart.
Though the night is starless and moonless, some vague diffraction of ambient light allows your eyes to pick out an impression of the fields of white grasses around you, giving you orientation you would otherwise lack. You walk in silence, counting out the paces. One thousand steps should mark half a mile.
You walk for a few minutes without incident, except to note the tightness across the back of your hands and calves that indicates that you are probably starting to freeze.
The wind changes suddenly. The sea breeze shift its orientation from north to northwesterly in the space of a breath.
NAVIGATE: DIFFICULT CHECK: SUCCESS
NAVIGATE: Whatever memories you have lost, a lifetime of sensory experience with the weather tells you that this is not how it works. The shift was too rapid, too acute. This was not the shift of a displacing crosswind, it is as though one wind stopped at the instant another began. Winds do not change like this naturally.
You pause mid-step (eight hundred and twenty-nine paces) and strain to listen. All is silent. Aside from the change in wind orientation, everything continues as it was.
???: I wouldn't worry about it. That happens all the time.
"What? Who are you?"
???: Down here!
You look down to see the outline of the hawk-head pommel of your newly acquired sword looking back at you.
HAWK SWORD: Hello there! Like I said, that happens all the time, it's perfectly normal.
"It's not perfectly normal and neither is a talking sword!"
HAWK SWORD: Oh, I'm not actually talking, you are having a hallucinatory episode.
"Oh, I see, that's not so bad then."
HAWK SWORD: I was born on this island, so take my word for it; these wind changes happen several times a day. One of them probably happened while you were sleeping! They are the least of this island's mysteries.
"Wait, how did you know that I was sleeping? I only picked you up after that."
HAWK SWORD: Alas, I confess, it was I who wounded you in the field of battle. For my betrayal I swear I shall make amends to you, my new master.
"How would a sword hallucination know that?"
HAWK SWORD: Disparage my low birth if you will, lady, but take heed! This place is not what it seems. You will face many challenges, but I will help you as much as I can.
"As a sword, right?"
TULIP: "Uh, lady?"
You look up. Tulip and Wheeler are standing at a careful distance, shrouded in white sheets that serve as camouflage cloaks on the white grasses. They look nervous.
[ ] Explain that you were just having a hallucinatory episode.
[ ] Pointedly ask Wheeler's spear for his opinion on the matter.
[ ] Apologise for thinking out loud.
[ ] Apologise sarcastically for thinking out loud.
[ ] Greet them as though nothing happened.
WHEELER: "We're here to keep an eye on the road, lady. We can take you back to our camp."
CRAFT: NORMAL
CHECK: SUCCESS
CRAFT: They didn't have those cloaks before. They look like cotton bedsheets.
"I see you found somewhere with fresh laundry."
TULIP: "Uh, yes lady, we came across an abandoned farmhouse. Plenty of space. Some in the way of supplies."
"Well, lead on then. I appreciate the escort, it would have been tough finding anything in the dark."
WHEELER: "That's the truth." he spits on the ground. "Damn unseasonable out here. It's meant to be a half moon, but you wouldn't know it through these clouds."
TULIP: "They don't move right."
"Move right how?"
WHEELER: "Cloud cover is too low. Moves slow, even though there's a steady breeze. And have you ever known darkness to fall so fast, even in winter? I don't like it."
Tulip pats him on the shoulder.
TULIP: "We're all on edge here. Let's just get back to camp."
You elect not to ask them more about the breeze and your sword's opinions on it.
The scouts keep their distance from you and each other, which you judge to be a point of practical fieldcraft rather viewing you as being too unstable to stand next to safely. Nevertheless you are able to keep track of them as they lead you over the white grass plains by the creak of their boots and the occasional flash of grey cloak against the black expanse of the night sky.
You smell the farmhouse before you see it, fresh hay over the the musty, animalic scent that works its way into the ground over generations of husbandry. The moldering plastered walls don't loom into view until you are within a dozen paces of them.
Wheeler approaches the banded wooden door and knocks five times in an irregular rhythm. The door creaks open immediately. You see nothing within, but smell close-pressed bodies, dog and recently extinguished candles.
FINCHER: "You found her, good. Take a few minutes to warm up before you head back out. Relief will be out before midnight."
Tulip and Wheeler bow their heads in acknowledgement. You thank them for their time before they depart further into the house.
Your eyes adjust to the gloom a little. The farmhouse is larger than you thought. Broad, heavy beams support the plastered interior. Legionaires and auxilliaries have already bedded down in rows across the main room. Fincher stands on a rough-wood stairwell, leading up to a balcony with more rooms.
FINCHER: "Glad you're alright, boss. I half-thought you were going to do a runner."
You decide not to tell her you considered it.
"Quite a find, this place."
FINCHER: "Must be a dozen places like this in the valley. People forced out by the war. They took their food and animals with them, probably into Ashglass before the Raigi closed down the roads."
"They left nothing?"
FINCHER: "A little grain, for what it's worth when we can't start a cookfire. Fodder for the horses. And a well. Small blessings. Mostly it's good shelter. Hungry?"
You hadn't even thought about it. You have eaten nothing today. The pangs of your stomach have been lost against the constant low level ache that soaks your entire body.
"Yeah, I could do with something."
FINCHER: "I'll see what Turner can come up with. We'll get you a bed too, though you'll have to share a room."
[ ] I want a room alone. Just let me sleep.
[ ] That's fine. We'll talk in the morning.
[ ] Could we have that medical exam? I'm getting a bit worried about my health.
[ ] I should let you know that I did listen to the voices.
[ ] Okay, but we need to make a plan of attack on the camp.
[ ] Fincher, do you have any drugs? I feel like I need to reconnect with my sword.
"You said you could give me a checkup when we get to a safe camp, can I take you up on that? I have some concerns."
Fincher gives you a long look and takes a deep intake of breath through her teeth.
FINCHER: "Yeah. Yeah, okay, probably for the best." she turns and walks back up the stairs. "Come on. Brindle, go tell Turner to get some dinner ready."
The teenaged boy, too small for his legion breastplate, nods vigorously and scurries off to the hall under the stairs, where you assume can be found the kitchen.
You follow Fincher up onto the balcony. From here the landing branches off into three seperate rooms. Again, bigger than you expected. She opens one of the doors before knocking on it.
FINCHER: "Orison, I need the room."
She holds the door open. A few moments later, a burly, stubbled legionaire walks past her and gives you a sour look.
FINCHER: "Sleep later. Go check on the wounded for now." she pats him on the back. "Won't be more than an hour."
She ushers you in and closes the door behind you.
FINCHER: "Don't worry about him, all officers are used to being woken for any little thing." She lights a taper and sets some candles. First thing we did was coat the windows, so candlelight's okay."
"Alright, so how does this work?"
FINCHER: "Mostly I'm a sawbones, boss. I can give you a full look-over for injuries, tell you what's in working order an what isn't. First, you strip."
After a brief hesitation you remove your gauntlets and unbuckle your hauberk, then pull off the padded jacket. Underneath are the same blood-and-seawater-soaked rags you woke with this morning.
FINCHER: "Yeah, we all need clean clothes and a good bath hereabouts. We'll see what we can do."
You remove your tunic, revealing a chestwrap.
"Can I keep this on?"
FINCHER: "If you're feeling squeamish, sure." she looks you up and down. "Well, we've got some work to do."
AWARENESS: VERY DIFFICULT
CHECK: SUCCESS
AWARENESS: Jaw clenched, eyes focused away, fingers curling and uncurling. Her breathing looks normal, but it's too evenly regulated. She's using a breathing exercise to stop herself from panicking.
INTEGRITY: She's nervous. She saw something and she doesn't want you to know she saw it.
[ ] Ask her what she saw.
[ ] Examine yourself to try to figure out what she saw.
[ ] Ignore it.
That's it, I'm changing dice rollers. I'll save the images so we can keep a consistant look.
FINCHER: "Fuck. Sorry, boss." she her hand up to you. "I was going to give it back when I figured out what to say, I swear, I just... I panicked."
In her palm is a thin leather strap of the sort used to lace boots. You realize you removed it from around your neck with your tunic without even thinking about it.
Threaded on the strap is a ring. It's a heavy signet ring, of lustrous, white material.
CRAFT: That's white jade. Pure white jade.
The signet face is an oval of gold worked with tiny red and black gemstones in pieta dura, forming a mosaic figure. You stare at it. Its a bird. A parrot?
SAGACITY: NORMAL
CHECK: SUCCESS
SAGACITY: It's a scarlet crane. It marks the bearer as an imperial plenipotentiary, the voice of the Empress. Specifically, an imperial magistrate.
Oh.
HIDDEN OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: FIND THE IMPERIAL SEAL
You look to Fincher. She still has her eyes on the ground.
INTEGRITY: You remember her careless seditious words from earlier. Imagine her horror at realizing you are the penultimate legal authority of the Realm.
[ ] Our little secret.
[ ] Is this your parrot ring?
[ ] Okay, this makes things awkward.
"But no more hiding things from me, please. Things are confusing enough as they are."
FINCHER: "Yeah." She nods rapidly. "Okay. Um, right. Okay, there's nothing that big, but there are a couple of, uh, small things we should talk about."
"Go on..."
FINCHER: "Later? I promise it's nothing huge, just, you know, for the sake of a complete record. We can talk after we've had some food and sleep. Checkup first?"
[ ] Okay, let's do the checkup first. By imperial edict.
[ ] No, I want to know what's up. By imperial edict.
[ ] You know what, forget about it, I just want to go to bed. By imperial edict.
"No, I want to know the thing. Confess your crimes before the throne, or whatever."
FINCHER: "Okay, okay, fine! Alright, when I said we never actually met before, that wasn't quite true."
"Okay..."
FINCHER: "The fleet stopped off in Iora to pick you up, after about a month of sailing the southern coast. Like I said, I wasn't told who you were, only that we were supposed to escort you. But we did meet briefly."
"Uhuh..."
FINCHER: "There's not much to do in Iora, but there are a couple of drinking holes, and me and my friend Rooster, we were... okay, long story short, we met, and I didn't know who you were. I mean, obviously I didn't know who you were, but I mean, I didn't know you were who we were supposed to escort."
"Why not?"
FINCHER: "We were supposed to escort a dignitary." she shrugs. "You didn't look very dignified."
"And you didn't mention this because..."
FINCHER: "Ah, well, you see, we were a bit short on ready money, so I, uh... well, I picked your pocket. And you noticed, and you, uh, punched me in the face."
"That does sound like something I would do."
FINCHER: "And then when I ran away you threw that water bottle through a plate window and knocked me over again." She rubs the side of her head. "It was full. Anyway, I kept it. Didn't really think about it until I realized I'd handed it back to you by accident."
"Oh, so when you said it was my water bottle..."
FINCHER: "Yeah. I didn't even realize it was you we were escorting until I spotted you on the flagship weeks later."
"And that's everything?"
FINCHER: "I swear."
[ ] Okay, glad we cleared that up, sounds like we're even. On with the checkup.
[ ] You realize stealing from an imperial magistrate is pretty serious, right?
[ ] I'm sorry I hit you. I don't know what came over me.
[ ] I need to think about this. I'm going to get some sleep.
FINCHER: "Alright then. Off with the rest of it, and we'll have a look."
You comply and try to stare evenly at the wall as Fincher scoots around you in the small candlelit room and prods you with cold fingers and various medical implements.
"Hey, should we talk about my recent hallucinatory episodes?"
FINCHER: "I told you boss, I'm a sawbones. If you've got a knife in your brain I can take it out, but I don't know anything about how to deal with memory loss or hallucinations."
"Okay, let me know what you find."
You close your eyes as she probes around in your mouth. She smells of mint. She continues to examine you meticulously. After each round of tests she scribbles a note on a scrap of paper with a charcoal stylus. You attempt to ignore her swearing in amazement under her breath, but after a while it starts to wear on you.
"Fincher, can you please stop saying holy shit, it's unnerving."
FINCHER: "Sorry boss, sorry. Won't be long."
She takes your pulse, measures your breathing, checks and redresses your shoulder wound. She methodically taps you with a small ball-headed metal hammer on dozens of points on your body. She underlines something on her notes with an air of satisfaction.
FINCHER: "Okay, all done."
"Great. Am I healthy?"
FINCHER: "Oh, fuck no, boss. I'm amazed you're alive."
"Thanks Fincher. Anything more specific?"
FINCHER: "Where do you want to start?"
[ ] Am I injured?
[ ] Am I missing anything except my finger?
[ ] How functional am I?
[ ] How are my organs?
