Mare Internum: An Exalted Quest

[Crumplepunch]

[X] How are my organs?

Click to shrink...

"How are my organs?"

FINCHER: "Fucked."

"Again, could you be more specific?"

She checks her notes as she speaks.

FINCHER: "As far as I can tell, all of your major organs have been perforated mutliple times. Your heart has been pulverized and reconstructed, partially using metallic wire. Your liver is cirrhotic, which is normally impossible. I have only seen it once in an Exalt, from a massive overdose of autumn crocus. Your lungs have smoke inhalation damage, the right one has a hole burned directly through it, like someone impaled you with a red hot poker. You've been slashed in both kidneys by what looks like a great cat."

"Did you say metallic wire?"

FINCHER: "Yeah. Probably moonsilver. I've heard about the process, but never seen it done."

"Wow. What about my brain?"

FINCHER: "I don't have any instruments to get a good look inside without surgery, but from the damage to your skull I'm willing to bet someone has stabbed you in the head a few times as well."

"So... I'm invincible?"

FINCHER: "You've definitely had an incredible surgeon looking out for you. I'm good, but I'm not that good. My firm medical advice is to not get stabbed in the brain. I will not be able to help you. Except to take the knife out, like I said."

[ ] So... how bad are my other injuries?
[ ] Am I missing anything?
[ ] Does any of this impair my functioning?

 

[Crumplepunch]

[x] Am I missing anything?

Click to shrink...

"Am I missing anything?"

FINCHER: "Amazingly little, given the level of injury we are talking about. You've already spotted the finger. Maybe you missed that the lobe of your right ear is missing."

Your hand involuntarily raises to touch the rough edge where your ear terminates, a fingersbreadth above where it naturally should.

FINCHER: "Looks like a blade. Old injury. Anyway, what you almost certainly missed is that you are also missing several bones." she takes up her notes again. "Three ribs, including both floating ribs, most of your left humerus, your right kneecap and four vertebras. Aside from that, you're fine. You've even got all your teeth."

"My bones feel fine. How can I possibly be missing four vertebrae?"

FINCHER: "They've been replaced, boss. It's called Naygen's Process, inserting a jade-ceramic prosthesis to replace destroyed bones and encourage healing of the flesh around it. Incredible work. Not many can manage it, fewer can afford it. I've never even heard of it being done on a spine."

"So... you're saying I have invincible jade armoured bones?"

FINCHER: "No. The ceramics are a bit more durable than regular bones, but they're designed for the integration and, whatya call it, sensory feedback, to mimic natural bone and marrow. Between this and the heart reconstruction, someone spent enough to feed a legion for a year to bring you back to something like normal health after you were amazingly fucked up."

[ ] How am I still alive?
[ ] Am I going to die?
[ ] How old am I?
[ ] I don't want to talk about this any more, let's get dinner.

 

[Crumplepunch]

[X] How old am I?

Click to shrink...

"How old am I?"

Fincher shakes her head.

FINCHER: "Can't tell you, boss. It's never easy to tell with an Exalt, and most of the markers are unreliable in your case. I can't give you a medical opinion on that."

"Can you give me a non-medical opinion, then?"

FINCHER: "Well..." she cocks her head to one side. "I'd guess mid seventies, mid eighties. If your, uh, what's it... your anagathics are as expensive as the rest of your medical treatments, you might be a hundred. With sorcery, who knows. I've seen two hundred year veterans with less scarring than you. However old you are, I'd thank this mystery surgical genius of yours that you made it this far."

"Yeah... I'll have a think about that."

THOUGHT GAINED: Maker, Builder, Breaker

FINCHER: "Well, I think we're done here. I mean, there's a lot more." she leafs through her notes. "But I think you get the idea."

"Yeah, I get it."

FINCHER: "Uh, actually, one more thing. I've been keeping the memory loss thing to myself, but I think word is probably going to get out that you're a little... off."

You think back to your conversation with your sword. "Yes, that seems possible."

FINCHER: "Do you want people to know about the memory loss? Or the magistrate thing? I don't know what kind of effect it will have. If I let anyone know, they'll all know."

[ ] Let everyone know I am the voice of the Empress. Keep the memory loss thing between us.
[ ] I want to be open. Tell everyone I am a magistrate with retrograde amnesia and I'm here to help.
[ ] No harm in letting everyone know I'm compromised, but I'd rather keep the magistrate thing under wraps.
[ ] Don't tell nobody nothing, I swear you to secrecy by imperial edict.

 

[Crumplepunch]

[X] No harm in letting everyone know I'm compromised, but I'd rather keep the magistrate thing under wraps.

Click to shrink...

"Word about the memory loss is probably going to get around anyway, but let's keep the ring between us."

FINCHER: "Alright, that makes things easier. Here, put this on."

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a rumpled tunic in scarlet linen. It's light, sleeveless and knee-length, clearly a garment intended for warmer climes.

FINCHER: "My spare. It'll be on the small size, but you'll be more comfortable with something clean and dry."

You pull it on and tie the cord belt. It fits surprisingly well, if a bit close around the shoulders and chest.

FINCHER: "Can't do nothing about your shoes. I already gave out my spares, and you're not the worst off anyway."

"Still, thanks."

FINCHER: "Yeah yeah, try not to get stabbed through it. Get your stuff, I'll send your dinner up to the landing, then you should get some sleep. That's medical advice."

Without another word, she takes up her bag and leaves. You can hear the murmur of voices on the landing, and the creak of the stairs.

You gather your belongings in a bundle, handling the bared hatchet carefully in one hand, and depart. The hulking scalelord, Orison, is waiting outside.

ORISON: "All done then, lady?"

"All done."

ORISON: "Hope it went well." He glances at your borrowed tunic with an amused look in his eye.

[ ] It was fantastic, you should have been there.
[ ] It was pretty intense, let me tell you.
[ ] Well, I enjoyed it, at least.
[ ] I learned things about myself.
[ ] I've got jade bones.
[ ] My heart is broken, literally and possibly figuratively.
[ ] We both hated it.
[ ] I'll let you get back to sleep.
[ ] I want to be absolutely clear that no sex happened in this room.

 

[Crumplepunch]

[X] It was pretty intense, let me tell you.

Click to shrink...

"It was pretty intense, let me tell you."

ORISON: "Oh yeah?" the amused look in his eyes spreads to his mouth, which smirks.

"I mean, I can tell you about it if you want, but I'm pretty sure these things are meant to be confidential."

ORISON: "Well, say no more then, you should keep such things to yourself, for the honour of all involved." He chuckles. "You're a good sport, lady. You rest well, now."

"Yeah, you too."

Orison returns to his bed, and you make yourself comfortable on a threadbare cushion sat by the landing, overlooking the stairs and the busy hall below.

Exhaustion washes over you. You take a deep breath and feel a pang in your side.

the right one has a hole burned directly through it

You try not to think about that. You try not to think about who would do something like that to you.

You did.

BRINDLE: "Lady?"

You open your eyes, now fully adjusted to the gloom. You pick out the face of the young legionary, pale face and sandy hair gleaming silver in the half-light.

"Hey."

BRINDLE: "I brought your supper, lady."

He holds out a rustically carved wooden bowl, which you accept. It's cold. You see something red and lumpy within. Your stomach growls audibly. There's a pain there, sharper than hunger.

all your major organs have been perforated mutliple times

BRINDLE: "Sorry it's cold, we can't start a real fire in here. Smoke."

smoke inhalation damage

"It's ok. Thanks. Brindle, was it?"

You see the blush raise in his cheeks. It makes him look younger. He can't be more than fifteen.

BRINDLE: "That's me, lady. I... thank you for your help, today. I think they would have been dead out there without you. We all owe you."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Brindle. I'm glad it's working out for you, though."

BRINDLE: "Yeah, we heard you were having some... trouble. But you've got a good heart, that's what matters."

your heart has been pulverized and reconstructed

You don't say anything. What can you say?

BRINDLE: "I... well, let me know if there's anything you need." he points to the door behind you. "Your bed is made up through there. Gannet and Dunland are sleeping there now before their scout shift, so go quiet."

"Will do. Goodnight, Brindle."

He bows his head and hurries off down the stairs.

Lacking eating implements, you do what you assume is intended and eat with your fingers. You feel the cold, slimy texture of the food and dread the taste, but it is surprisingly pleasant. Shredded meat, beans and pulped root vegetables, flavoured with generous doses of cinnamon, pepper and ground cloves.

CRAFT: Spices like that are beyond the means of most legion meals. Likely they had a little set aside and gave it to you specially.

It's not the finest meal, but you treasure the spirit in which it was made. And besides which, you are starved. You eat it to the last morsel and lick your fingers clean.

You drain the last of your water flask an leave the rest of your possessions where they lie, except the sword, which you carry with you as you go to your bed.

This is still a warzone. Best keep a weapon in reach.

I'm amazed you're alive

You don't even remember falling down on the bed. Sleep overtakes you instantly.

You are nothing and nowhere. Your world is blessedly silent. You wrap yourself in the endless darkness for some unknown time, and do not think of the waking world.

Is anyone there?

(XI) EXALTATION: Embrace power.

Oh, it's you. Do you say anything else?

(XI) EXALTATION: It is all I need say. There is nothing else. You have nothing else. The world teems with untapped potential, inchoate, incipient, inexorable. You can ride this power, like a ship cresting a storm.

Why do you want me to do that?

(XI) EXALTATION: I do not care for why, or how, or should, or maybe. There is no question, no opposition. There is only the answer. There is only one path. Embrace power.

[ ] Embrace power.
[ ] Embrace power.
[ ] Embrace power.

 

[Crumplepunch]

[X] Embrace power.

Click to shrink...

[X] Embrace power!!!!!

Click to shrink...

[X] Embrace power.
[X] Embrace power.
[X] Embrace power.

Click to shrink...

The instant you accept the inevitable, you are drowned. The world buries you beneath its liquid flow and draws you deep into the lightless depths, drawing the final, paltry dregs of air from your lungs. Your skin is deadened by the benthic chill even as your core feels the crushing pressure of oceans. You are a speck in the void, dead and adrift.

Do not fear the darkness of the depths. It is yours.

The sea rises around you, hadal blackness giving way to the murky teal of the dysphotic sea and the glorious cerulean of the sunlit waves. You stand on the surface of the water, and bask in the sun.

Schools of fish flit beneath your feet. Seabirds circle overhead. There are sharks here too, and whales, and greater beasts still.

But you are a dragon, and beyond all of them.

River your father and ocean your mother,

You rise above waves, into the black clouds of a gathering storm. You were born here, laughing as the lightning crashed around you, sailing into a hurricane, a fool in love. The world bends to you, sovereign of the storms and the seas. Indescribable euphoria restores your tired muscles, beats in your heart. The glory, the pride and the power.

Then the dark waters swallow you into a world full of grasping corpses, in aching decades that pass in seconds. The glory and pride are forgotten. Only the power remains.

clear your eyes, and see the nature of things.

You drag yourself to the shore with grey skies and grey sands, having forgotten everything, a fly that curls up and dies before the window of truth. You scream in rage and frustration, you ball the sand in your hands, and fall into darkness again.

Blessed water runs in your veins now that you are pure.

It will never end. You chose this.

This is the nature of the Five-Part World, boss.

What? What did you say?

I said wake up!

Air crashes back into your lungs. You cough, strangled, blurred eyes snapping open, marred by the unreality of the dream.

As your sight slowly resolves, you recognize the face before you.

"Fincher," you croak. "I was busy having a spiritual revelation."

FINCHER: "Well you'll have to finish it later. We've got trouble."

[ ] You don't understand. I embraced power.
[ ] I think I'm a water dragon.
[ ] What is the nature of the five-part world?
[ ] Can you give me five more minutes? I feel like I was getting to the important part.
[ ] What's wrong?
[ ] Say nothing, get up and gather your gear.

 

[Crumplepunch]

[X] What's wrong?

Click to shrink...

"What's wrong?"

As her face comes into focus, you see that Fincher looks even more nervous and drawn than she was previously. She stands up from looming over you and paces the room impatiently.

FINCHER: "Two of my scouts are gone. I want everyone on alert."

You wipe your brow of the night sweat that built up on it. "Tulip and Wheeler?"

FINCHER: "No, they made it back."

She looks over her shoulder to make sure you are alone. The beds of the legionaries you must have shared the room with, who you were too tired to even register last night, are empty, rumpled and unmade.

FINCHER: "Third shift went out and found what was left of Nost and Collier. It's... bad."

"I didn't know them." You don't know what else to say.

FINCHER: "I did."

She holds your gaze for a few seconds. She looks like she's going to say something else, and thinks better of it.

FINCHER: "Get your gear, boss. I'll need you."

She walks out. You hear her barking orders from the landing. After a moment of getting your bearings, you follow, carrying your sheathed sword. The farmhouse hall below bustles with the activity of legionaries an auxilliaries preparing their gear.

Your possessions are left heaped where you left them. You pull on your padded jacket and start the process strapping your hauberk in place.

Fincher is already headed downstairs.

[ ] Follow her, carrying the rest of your gear in your arms.
[ ] Ask for more details on what is going on.
[ ] Leave her, she's busy.

Spoiler

I feel like I'm leaving a lot of descriptions scanty in the interests of moving scenes along, so I'm going to introduce the free option to "Look at X" or "Think about X" in addition to regular selections so readers can generate in-character flavour text on directed subjects. Please use this responsibly.

 

[Crumplepunch]

[X] Review your inventory.

Click to shrink...

You rummage through your belongings on your way down the stairs. Is everything here?

Spoiler: Inventory

APPAREL
Officer's Tunic (Apparel, Chest) - A light summer-cut tunic in scarlet linen, legion officer issue. It's too small for you, but it fills you with a warm, patriotic glow.
Brazen Gauntlets (Apparel, Gloves) - A fine pair of brass-plated steel gauntlets. Surprisingly cosy, if a little tight across the knuckles.
Floral Jacket (Apparel, Coat) - A yellow jacket of quilted cotton, wax-printed with white flowers. It smells unsavoury, but it could save you a nasty injury, and helps distribute the weight of heavier armour.
Looted Hauberk (Apparel, Armour) - A fine fish-scaled steel hauberk. An elite, finely worked item that exudes an aura of wealth and privilege. Its previous owner is stupid and dead, and you are smart and well protected.
Ragged Tunic (Apparel, Chest) - It's damp and it has holes in it. At some point it has been soaked in grain alohol and vomited on. It's like your life in tunic form.
Ruined Boots (Apparel, Shoes) - Once-fine leather footwear ruined by hard use and a lengthy soaking in the sea. If these boots could tell stories they would probably be very long and tedious with occasional bouts of kicking things.
Sturdy Breeches (Apparel, Legs) - A hard-wearing sheepskin garment, covering the legs down to mid-calf. Uncomfortable and damp, but endued with admirable structural probity.

WEAPONS:
Hawk Sword (Weapon) - A curved, heavy-pommeled cavalry sabre used by elite Raigi cavalry. It has some strange insights about the weather. ([ ] Interact with Hawk Sword)
Traitor Hatchet (Weapon - It's a beautiful hatchet with a carved ivory haft and a silvered head. It tried to kill you, and now it's yours.
Brazen Buckler (Weapon) - A brass-plated buckler made to match your gauntlets. Skillfully used it could deflect all but the heaviest attacks.

OTHER:
Imperial Seal - This heavy jade signet ring marks its bearer as an imperial magistrate acting under the plenipotentiary authority of the Scarlet Empress. Who in their right mind would give you such a thing? ([ ] Interact with Imperial Seal)
Etched Flask - An unremarkable copper water flask that someone has scratched an Immaculate mantra into. It's dented, as though it was used as a projectile at some point.
Borrowed Spyglass - A brass spyglass capable of magnifying distant objects. An unadorned, non-folding model, but still well beyond the means of most. Faint notes of mint and pipe smoke.
Fingers - These are your fingers. One of them is missing. It's a mystery. ([ ] Interact with fingers.)
Reflection - This is a face that you are in and you hate it. ([ ] Interact with reflection.)

[X] Follow her, carrying the rest of your gear in your arms.

Click to shrink...

Fincher glances back at you as you stumble down the stairs barefoot, wearing an unbuckled hauberk and your arms laden with your possessions. You see some amused glances from other legionaries while they are making their own preparations. Toothsome gives you two thumbs up. Is that sarcasm? You're not sure. Fincher sighs.

FINCHER: "Brindle, help the lady get dressed."

Brindle gives a quick salute and hurries to assist you.

FINCHER: "Alright everyone, we're in a hurry, so I'll keep it short. Nost and Collier are dead, and we have to assume we've been discovered. We're too close to the enemy camp to take any risks. Loot what you can, linen, firewood, nails, whatever. Fill up on fresh water and get the horses saddled, we need to find a new camp, preferably before sunrise."

ORISON: "Marching orders?"

FINCHER: "Keep it tight, triple rank, scouts at a quarter mile. We don't want to lose anyone else. I'll talk to the Paleans and keep them with me." she glances to you. "You too, boss. We'll take a bit to get ready, finish whatever you need and then come find me."

She leaves to move through the crowd.

Orison looks lost in thought, and Toothsome looks like he's trying to get your attention. Brindle finishes buckling your hauberk.

BRINDLE: "All done, lady. Can I help you with anything else?"

[ ] Talk to Toothsome.
[ ] Talk to Orison.
[ ] Talk to Brindle.
[ ] Avoid all of them.

Spoiler

Pardon the delay, should be good to go now.

Here's the new quest image featuring the MC, and a bonus Fincher as well.

 

[Crumplepunch]

[X] Talk to Toothsome.

Click to shrink...

You thank Brindle and send him on his way. You return Toothsome's gaze and gesture that he should approach.

TOOTHSOME: "Hey lady, how's things?"

"I have had a wide range of experiences."

TOOTHSOME: "Hah, yeah, right."

An awkward pause.

TOOTHSOME: "Okay, so... you look a bit twitchy. I was wondering if you, you know, need anything. Something you can't get anywhere else, you know? Something to help get through the day." He winks, ostentatiously.

[ ] Are you talking about sex?
[ ] Are you talking about drugs?
[ ] Are you talking about booze?
[ ] Are you talking about fighting?
[ ] Are you talking about subversive political pamphlets?
[ ] Are you talking about arcane lore?

 

[Crumplepunch]

[x] Are you talking about subversive political pamphlets?

Click to shrink...

"Are you talking about subversive political pamphlets?"

TOOTHSOME: "Hey hey, don't try to get me involved in that stuff. I mean, if that's what you need, I can see about getting my hands on something like that later. But this is a good honest drug deal! I can hook you up. I have all sorts, just say the word."

"What if I don't want drugs?"

INTEGRITY: You do though, you desperately want drugs. The thought of a hit of opium melting your sensory cortex into wisps of smoke fills you with longing, with need. The bitter red of rosetree honey lifting up your mind to new and glorious heights, a sample of ergot rye setting afire your nerves, a pinch of dreamfish meal filling the world with those peerless colours you long to see again.

INTEGRITY: The poisons cannot kill you, but they will make you feel alive.

Toothsome looks expectantly at you, correctly ascertaining that your question was rhetorical.

[ ] No, I don't want any of this. I like my brain how it is.
[ ] Maybe something small for later.
[ ] Show me everything.