Traces of Veils [Fallen London/Arknights]

Harlan was indeed a very lucky find.

Not only has he provided a wealth of information on the local environment, and provided you with an interesting puzzle that you will have to solve- that being the nature of the "infection" that plagues this land- he also did it all without alerting anyone important.

The wolf is an outcast, and a diseased husk. He is essentially waiting to die, supplies dwindling slowly, abandoned by his fellows.

He is, as far as you know, an utterly perfect testing ground.

You could tell him essentially anything, and it would not matter, because it would not leave this house. Even if it did, would the villagers even believe him? Would he care enough to inform them? If you revealed your thefts- the pelts and tools inside your bag, the book inside your suit- would he even bother telling anyone?

When he spoke of the village, there was some very visible resentment in his eyes. It is unlikely that he would.

But again...

A frown forms in your face. He wants to know what you're doing here, hm?

You suppose there's no real harm in letting him know, and it would check for his reaction. You're still miffed about the local Judgement- it really is... too permissive. Far too permissive. It allows very obvious signs of the remained presence of the Dead- in the crystals, and in you. By all reasonable metric, you are dead, and not only that- you are of Parabolan origin.

And yet, you are not dead. The light did not annihilate you on contact, the Law did not find you abominable enough to vanquish.

There's something very, very wrong here. The rulers of the skies do not allow the Dead to remain. If they do, they do not remain in their thrones for very long. Despite their frequent and loud proclamations on their righteousness and morality, you know full well that the Judgements' talk about not killing each other is just that. Talk.

What, exactly, is "normal," here?

What are the rules ordained by the heavens? What Law has the Judgement that shines of Kjerag enacted?

Are you in the domain of a rogue? Some doomed lord with dangerous ideas? Are you trapped in an experiment? Many questions, and no easy answers. It is unlikely that Harlan has any idea of what can be found up there in the High Wilderness.

But you think you can ask some enlightening questions.

"To be sincere to you," you say, certainly not sincerely. You do not think you have ever said anything that was not an attempt at concealment or manipulation in your rather short existance as Veils the Intriguer. "I woke up in the snow, a few miles away from here."

Harlan does not blink. He tilts his head oddly, instead, but it conveys the same emotion.

"You woke up..."

"Yes. After a murder attempt."

"...uh?"

"...it sounds rather absurd, no?" you say, with a chuckle, almost as if you don't believe in yourself- before returning to a more serious and unsure tone of voice. "I lost a finger in the attack, and they almost put me down for good. I thought I was done for... and then I woke up here."

Harlan clenches his hands, and takes a deep breath.

"Who was trying to kill you, then?"

"A number of... extremists, you see. They had issues with the way I conducted my business, alongside some other matters." you answer. It's an ambiguous thing to say, but what will be Harlan's reaction to this new information?

The answer is sympathy. For a second, his features soften. A mere instant, gone shortly after, but still.

"The council…"

You didn't get all the answers you needed, obviously, but one critical matter is that the presence of death is likely undisturbed. Neath-folk tend to react to murder attempts with a detachment, a nonchalance- after all, it is not a thing that matters much there to them. If one dies in the Neath and their body is reasonably intact, a few games of chess and the surrendering of a few weasels is all that it takes for them to return.

This nonchalance is not here. When you spoke, Harlan perked up. He took it seriously.

So death is as it should normally be, at the very least.

You'll have to test that more definitely later, on someone who will not be missed and who is not as useful as the man before you.

Now that you think about this, it is a little bit amusing that this blind crystal-leper is so indispensable to you right now, when they are, at least based on the information you currently have, the sort of outcast that absolutely no one in this community would miss.

You take another sip from your coffee. Well, their loss is your gain-

Harlan slams his fist on the table, anger evident in his fanged sneer. You notice the indentations on the table, the lines and marks, like someone dragged a knife- not a particularly sharp one, mind you- through them, regularly. They're only on his side of the table. Peculiar.

"The council?" you ask. You do not recall any such organizations- possibly thank to the language barrier. Harlan mutters again, incomprehensibly, and turns his eyes at you.

There's an inquisitive air about him.

"Yes. The council. Strangling this land, they are. They're certainly behind this, they always are. But are you well, then? Harmed?" he asks. What to say...

"I am not. I lost a finger, in the altercation, but it is dealt with, now."

Technically true, obviously. The loss of your finger was cemented and made... likely permanent, or at least certain, when the Chorister's Bomb detonated, but you lost the actual finger a bit before that, in the accident with the mirror.

That was embarrassing. Mirrors would laugh at you, if it ever came across evidence of this. Thankfully, Mirrors is dead, so that wasn't ever a concern.

And well, good riddance to bad rubbish.

Harlan sniffs the air.

"Would your... would-be killers..." he asks. You almost snort. Would be. "Possibly persue you, here? Could they have thrown you here themselves?"

"If they would do so, I have not noticed. No signs of any persuit, and they had many opportunities to resume their assault since I awoke. None were taken."

Harlan does not seem to be worried for his own well-being, no. What is evident in his voice is curiosity, not fear, or accusation. He is not attempting to strike at the flaws in your words, but rather prod for more information, much like you yourself are doing.

He pauses, seemingly realizing something. You tense.

"...I... I didn't ask for your name, did I? My... my apologies. My head's not as clear as it used to be. These days, I can barely keep track of what's happening inside of it." he says, saddened.

...your name, hm?

[ ] "Veils."
That is your name, is it not?

[ ] "Jervaise."
It is a fitting sort of mockery to use it as a disposable identity, but you would rather chop off your own head then call yourself Wines. This is the next best option.

[ ] "Griz."
You've always thought that it was a shame Pages got to her first.

[ ] "April."
One could say the Revolutionary made you, didn't she? And that work of hers truly was magnificent. An entertaining thought, in the very least.

[ ] "Aurora."
Your Hunter's name. She knows yours, she has worn your skin. Why should you not do the same?

[ ] An unremarkable name.
Irrelevant and soon to be forgotten. Much like Harlan himself, no?

[ ] Write-in.
...well, there's many options.

Harlan nods.

"A nice name. It sounds well-worn." he says, before stopping himself. "...what a strange thing to say. My apologies."

You two simply... sit there, for a few minutes, immersed in thought.

"Not to... poke around where I shouldn't, but... are you involved with the railway?"

You tilt your head.

"No."

The truth. If you said otherwise and couldn't provide any real details on it, you'd obviously end up looking suspicious.

"...ah. I imagined otherwise. They wanted to... connect, you know. Pass by the village, in the way to the... well, to the rest of Paleroche territory. The council didn't let them. Thought you had to do something with them. If they changed their minds, maybe..."

Maybe...?

"Maybe I could get out of here."

Then, he slams his fists on the table yet again, this time grinding his claws- his dull claws- through the wood.

Ah, so that's where those marks come from.

"Damn them!" he hisses, more to himself than to you. It does not even take a second before the anger melts off his expression, replaced with a morose frown- and then, he slumps over on his chair. "I go off to the middle of nowhere, grinding my legs on the rocks. I almost die, I get- I get this inside of me. And what do I get for it? What do I… what do I get? This…"

He is holding back a sob. That… was interesting.

You've gained three Cryptic Clues! With you now having a combined Information value of 7, you've managed to assemble a conclusion on Kjerag.

Harlan is simply staring at the table for now, so you stop to think.

With the information you have… you can make some educated guesses.

First of all, Kjerag is a theocratic state, with an oligarchic and dynastic… parliament? Seems like a parliament, though what precise powers it has are as of yet undefined.

It sustains itself on divine right, and is fiercely resistant to modernization, to the actions of outside actors who threaten its norms.

A hypothesis forms. The "Originium" mineral, seemingly imbued with the dreams of the Dead, could possibly have negative significance in their culture, for obvious reasons.

This would lead to a conflict, as the mineral seems to have some sort of potent usage, involving the "Arts of Origin." The pragmatic and ambitious, especially in a modernizing country, would conflict with the traditions and rules of the country as they exploit this mysterious material for what seems to be military or economic gain.

As such, the "Infected" are not only possibly victims of religious hatred, but also hated for being clear signs of modern or industrial influence within the country…?

Possible. You need more evidence.

A split in the families seems to be taking place. The Silverash group making moves to support the Infected could be a sign of anti-traditionalism? A family aligning itself with the outsiders and seeking to modernize the country? Not an unseen occurrence, and you have yourself made use of such groups in the past.

…you've made use of the other side just as often, so that isn't saying much.

That said, it's unlikely the Silverashes are indeed playing black in the Chessboard. Extremely unlikely. If you had any inroads into Parabola, you could do a little scouting- checking in with the Beleaguered King, or whatever equivalent it has in this region…

…could you?

The Judgements don't look very kindly on roads to Parabola within their domain, but the rules seem to be strangely loose, here, and they've tolerated you already. Something to consider.

Thinking about the Silverashes, it's likely the Paleroches are opposed, or at least not allied with them, given as to how Harlan suggested they were tricked into letting go of valuable treasures. Traditionalists? You are in Paleroche territory, most likely. Yet another thing to keep in mind.

You lightly scratch the table. The wood gives way to your claws quite easily. Harlan doesn't react- he seems immersed in memories.

Erratic mood swings. Crystal growths in his limbs, and now that you look at it, small, burgeoning shards erupting behind his ears, through the fur of his neck. The cataracts don't seem to be connected, likely from old age. Coincidental. His breath is ragged, slightly suffocated- are the crystals obstructing airflow, growing inside?

Very likely, with the vicious coughing.

The mental instability you have just evidenced, if it isn't simply a trait unique to Harlan, could possibly be caused due to the dreams of the Dead infiltrating the host's mind.

Or it could be simply a consequence of crystal growths damaging the brain. That would be plausible, indeed.

How does the crystal replicate?

There must be medical literature you can consult later.

As observed earlier, the Infected don't seem immediately contagious. The parallels to lepers, or the Tomb-Colonies, are obvious.

Direct skin or body fluid contact most likely causes person-to-person contamination. "Originium vein" might be directly and immediately infectious due to fragments or particles in the air. Harlan "breathed in the air," even.

Better come back to that later, you think, as Harlan suddenly jolts back to life with a hiss.

"Eh. You're… you're still here?" he mumbles, again to himself. What a peculiar habit.

The wolf was remarkably well-adjusted at first, but… fell apart, as the conversation progressed. Old age, combined with whatever effects "Oripathy" had on his brain?

He seems more calm now, at least.

"...excuse me for anything I've might have said. My head isn't… really clear, those days." Harlan says, apologetically. You react with a shrug.

"It was no issue."

"Hah. It… sun's not going to be down for much longer, I'll tell you. Would you care to take a breather here? Wouldn't do for me to leave you out in the cold…"

…well…

"...I do not see a guest bedroom."

"The only bedroom in this house is the guest one. I… sleep in the chair, nowadays. Close to the fire. My room's empty. Cleaned out by now. Sold most of my things. There's just a bed. It's cold, but it's better than staying outside."

It's not an offer you would take normally, but you don't believe Harlan poses any real physical threat to you, at least. If he is saying the truth about his physical state, and not simply presenting an elaborate facade.

Your horned-beast is outside. Its fur is quite thick- you take a look at the window. It doesn't mind the cold all that much.

"...very well." you say, taking deep breath. This all sounds suspicious, but sleeping outside in the cold is a very bad idea, especially in your current state.

---

Things went quite naturally after that.

Harlan is apologetic about the dinner he has to offer- it's barely anything at all. Some boiled roots, what seems to be ground up leaves of some sort of bush, and a few strips of salted meat.

You ate it without complaint- if push came to shove, you had supplies in your bag.

And then, you witnessed another impressive, if brief, series of mood swings- where he seemed to go from apoplectic at the scarcity of supplies in his shelves, to morose and lethargic, barely touching his food. A blink, and his face held a nostalgic smile. Another, and yet again he was moved to fury. And at last, you saw him driven to the verge of tears.

It is a fascinating thing to see, and entertaining as well.

The intervals between his instabilities are large, in the very least- you have seen no signs of yet another one since you finished dinner.

For now, Harlan is… simply there, in his rocking chair. Staring at the fire.

You recognize that look, yes. You've seen it before, many, many times. In the defeated eyes of crippled, vanquished Vake-hunters. You felt it in the breath of the innumerable failures fed to you by your servant.

It was in the trembling hands of the controller of the Russian network, the Jeweller, who left Alice's sister seduced, disgraced and entombed. In your Hunter's memories, as a hurled knife dripping Cantigaster venom ended their life-

You pause.

Alice?

…Alice. The Cheesemonger.

You do not care about her. She had long since ceased to be useful, by the time of her death. You appreciated her impulse to make her own death into a blazing pyre, but not much more than that. But your Hunter did care, she cared about her, deeply and profoundly, enough to embroil herself in the Great Game beyond any hope of escaping. Enough to… have a tattoo of her.

…you've changed, haven't you. You've changed much.

Oh well.

Nevertheless, you know what this is. For all of his anger and rage, there's no fight left in this wolf. The fire is gone.

For now, at least.

Silently carrying your possessions, you retire to the empty, dry bedroom, your head whirling with thoughts.

Harlan does not disturb you for the night.

---

The sun falls. You will spend the night in the cabin of a decrepit hunter. The snow falls outside, and your beast watches through the window, shivering under a tree. Too cowed to leave. It barely knows you, but it knows fear.

Tomorrow is another day. What is your next goal?

(Spend one action here.)

[ ] Deeper, deeper into the forest.
The maps warned you of the most unruly and dangerous parts of the forest. Seek those. Perhaps there will be some predators, yes, but it is nothing you can't deal with. Worst case scenario, you'll find yourself with some scratches and bruises.

This is an average Hearts challenge (Threshold 4). You are not guaranteed to succeed, though it is likely. Succeeding will give a random reward, likely something of animal or vegetal origin. Failure will yield Wounds.

[ ] Enough of this forest. Abgesehen awaits.
This place has not been of… some use. But you've had enough of trekking through muddy paths. You've had enough of this environment. It's best if you head out to the city, where your talents can be put to use much more efficiently then here.

It's a long way from here, unfortunately, but you believe you can get there in less than a day.

Travel to Abgesehen. You will not have any need for any challenges. As your path goes through the forest, you might find an opportunity or two…

[ ] Stay around the cabin for a little longer.
Harlan seems very lonely. He would not be opposed to you staying longer, if you can sidestep the scarcity of supplies. But do you really want to stay… here, when you have all those interesting places to visit?

You'll have to earn your keep with your own supplies- you will not be sullying yourself by hunting, and he has very little. And it's not like you'll be unable to visit him later.

Remain in Harlan's cabin and explore the calmer parts of the forest around it. You will consume two Supplies, increase your Acquaintance with Harlan, but you will not be able to stay another turn with him after this. It would be stretching it too far.

Even if you do not select this option, you will be able to return here, later, if you desire to.

[ ] Go beyond the forest. Seek the Originium vein.
Based on what Harlan said, you believe you could narrow it down to a particular location on the other side of the valley. You think the existence of this vein- and its control by the Silverashes- would be something to investigate.

Harlan didn't say it directly, but you guess there is a mine there by now, or at least the beginning of one. Likely defended against intrusions, but you can get around that.

Seek the Originium vein on the other side of the valley, in the Silverashes' territory. Narrowing its location down is simple, evading capture or detection? Not so much. This is an average Veils challenge (Threshold 6). You are not guaranteed to succeed, though it is likely. You do not know what it will yield. Failure will yield Suspicion.

---

The sun has set, the moon shines through the glass window, its cold gleam touching your fur. Harlan has fallen asleep, but you… you simply await. You have a little bit of time.

Your beast awaits. It is still awake.

It spent most of the afternoon resting, after all.

Might as well get some use out of it, while you get something else done.

(Your Throughly Cowed Beast has one action per turn. It has been added to a special Pawns and Identities section of your Assets tab.)

[ ] Order the beast to collect supplies for you.
It's smart. Tell it to scrounge up whatever seems edible and haul it next to the window.

This is a Luck check (Threshold 3). The chance of succeeding is the same as the chance of failing. Success yields a Supply for Travel. Failure yields you nothing.

[ ] Delight in its terror.
It's cowed.

That is not enough.

You will terrify the beast further for your own amusement. This will not yield anything material, but will provide a Sense of Satisfaction, a Mood that will give you +1 on Wines checks for the next turn.

[ ] Tell it to scout the region.
It is not smart enough to provide reports, obviously. It's an animal. But it can provide vague intelligence on whether or not a place is dangerous. It's something.

This will provide a Cryptic Clue relating to the forest.

---

Now, for your own affairs. You cannot sit idly, now. Thankfully, there are no more worries about remaining utterly unseen.

(You have two actions for the night.)

[ ] Study the book a bit longer.
You have no idea of what you are meant to be searching for, nevermind finding. But having a place to rest makes the task a bit simpler.

This is a difficult Mirrors challenge (Threshold 6). You are certainly not guaranteed to succeed, though it is not impossible. You do not know what it will yield.

[ ] Study the map for anything you missed.
There are some details in the local language that you couldn't translate at first.

This will discover new regions in the vicinity that you might have previously missed- at least one important location. Afterwards, the map will not yield any new findings.

[ ] Investigate the catalyst. [Requires taking the Whispering Catalyst]
The dreams of the dead are recognizable and familiar. Investigate Originium. Listen to the voices and to its song.

This is an average Mirrors challenge (Threshold 5). You are not guaranteed to succeed, though it is likely. You do not know what it will yield.
-[ ] Break it open.
Enough speculation on Originium- find out what it is through more direct means. Do not touch it. You are not stupid.

This will not cost an additional action. It will reduce the check difficulty by 1 and give you a Strange Mineral Shard in addition to anything else you might gain. It will also destroy the Whispering Catalyst.

[ ] Finish your disguise.
Order your beast to bring you raw materials. From carcasses, from whatever it can scrounge up. Flesh, bones, teeth. It's all that you need.

This will consume your Thoroughly Cowed Hornbeast's action, and might wound it.

This is an extremely basic Silkweaving challenge (Threshold 1). You are guaranteed to succeed. It will complete your Kindly Disguise.

[ ] Stew on what the Stone of Kjeragandr taught you.
You've understood the presence within the stone- but what do you know of the without? What is Kjeragandr, where did she come from? Why is it that she ordained the laws of Kjerag to be as they are? Who is the silent protector of this snowbound realm?

This will give you another Mystery of the Snow.

[ ] Stew on hatred.
You are indignant, and furious. At those indiginities. At your own weakness, at your own failure. Focus on that. Sharpen your mind and your claws. Spite, hate and bitterness can push you forward.

This will give you a Hateful Gaze. A Hateful Gaze is a Mood will give you +1 on Iron checks, for the duration of the next turn.

[ ] Think of your name. Remember.
Mr Veils is not the only name you have worn. Before, there was another, and before that, yet another. And long, long ago, you received your very first name.

You were once something greater.

This will give you progress on regaining something. It might be considered a good thing. Or not.

[ ] Think of the holes in your head. Forget.
It is cold inside your mind. When you were torn apart, many things failed to survive. Those things are gone, and they will be gone forever. You were Mr Veils- you will not be again.

There's something that isn't here.

This will give you progress on losing something. It might be considered a good thing. Or not.

---

…you suppose you should rest, as well. Just for a little bit.

(Choose one at most. This will not consume an action.)

[ ] Rest, without dreams.
…sleep. Just… take some time to sleep. Keep an eye open, but sleep all the same. Know sweet, dreamless sleep.

This will give you a Restful Breath, a Mood which will give you +1 on Hearts checks, for the duration of the next turn.

[ ] Rest, with dreams of black wings.
Sleep, and remember old days. Taste blood in your tongue. Taste flesh parting in your teeth. The walls swell and explode into oily black fragments.

Tumble howling into the abyss.

This will give you an unknown reward.

[ ] Rest, with dreams of your Hunter.
Take a look at your silver mirror. Think of the Chessboard, of your battle, of your long-running hunt. Dream of a place she visited, a place you visited, perhaps.

A connection has been forged, of blood, knives and absinthe. It is gone, now, but it existed at some point. Touch it.

This will give you an unknown reward.

[ ] Rest, and dream of snow.
You will fall into slumber.

It will be a calm night. Through the snow will envelop you, through the frost will seep into your bones, there will be no pain. She is here. All shall be well…

This will consume your Mystery of the Snow for a special reward. If you had more then one, it will not consume both.

[ ] Rest, and dream in viric.
Fall asleep.

Vines envelop your vision. Shadows pass by. Pine trees rise from the ground, digging through the stones, through each other, through themselves. You hear the slithering of serpents…

This will give you a small amount of progress in a special skill.

Your room is remarkably empty.

A bed, an empty desk. A closet, full of remarkably worn out clothing. Worn out by battle, you notice- by claws and teeth. You feel the familiar scent of dried blood and faded sweat, remaining even after the hunter's clothes were confined to their prison.

That, a blanket, and a pillow. Both ade from pelts, but too damaged to be of any use. Straw stuffing.

You take a look outside, at the snow-covered forest. At the furred creature awaiting below the window of the bedroom, staring intently at the cracked glass separating you from it. It watches like it is about to crack at any moment, like you could, at any second, leap out and wring its neck.

It is a meek thing, but it will be useful. And so, you lay out your commands- and the beast obeys.

"FETCH ME MATERIALS." you say. "INTACT REMAINS. AS MANY AS YOU CAN FIND. BURIED IN THE ICE, TOO WEAK TO RESIST YOU, TOO WOUNDED TO SURVIVE MUCH LONGER- IT DOES NOT MATTER. BRING THEM TO ME."

Teeth, claws, skin, muscle, bones. It is necessary to complete the identity- to give it substance. You could have it be weaker, more fragile. You could have it be fashioned out of those things. But you will not allow that.

The beast's head rises, and it nods, once. Then, it scurries into the darkness and out of your field of vision, trembling. It gives you a peculiar look as it leaves.

It will return soon.

But for now, you have time, and things to do. Your spindly fingers take the half-formed disguise, still smiling, and pull. It loosens just a bit- ready to take in what it needs. You scrutinize it for any flaws, for ruptures, for tears in the fabric- and find none.

You put the incomplete skin aside.

Now, for other matters.

---

Stew on what the Stone of Kjeragandr taught you

You place the stone in your pillow, and tap it lightly.

The power of Kjeragandr remains in there, unresponsive. It immerses the entirety of this land, seeping into the ground and bleeding into the snow, but here- in this stone- it is remarkably potent.

A promise, hm?

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

...you are tempted to laugh once more, but refrain from doing so.

You continue to simply stare at it. There's something that you are missing, something you haven't fully gotten... perhaps it would do well to find some more of those stones? Perhaps try, and exchange it for something else, to witness the passing of value, the transfer of the promise?

Currency, as you know well, is belief, and is imbued with belief.

The relationship between the people of Kjerag and its goddess is founded in mutual belief. Those stones are held as proof of a promise, given by the goddess' representatives to the populace.

The carvings were made by mortal hands, that is certain. The stone is nothing special as well- just a common rock.

Ugh. Stones would be able to gleam far more then you, with just a cursory look. You dislike it, but there are few people with an understanding of value and of treasures as it. The Numismatrix would also be suited for the task, now that you think about it- and she would accept a better price.

You continue to stare at the marks carved into it. What did Kjeragandr do to earn this belief? What has she protected Kjerag from?

From the outside world? Is it their shield against invasion, their divine protector? Have blizzards ever risen to meet the enemies of their nation- halting the march of armies, silencing the thrum of artillery?

Against something more mystical? Against some ancient god, fearsome devil, raging Judgement? Is it the reason why the sky is so strange, why the sun's rays fall in such a peculiar way? Is Kjeragandr protecting this land from furious light and wrathful Law?

You... do not think so. She did not seem that powerful. You could be wrong, but... it is unlikely.

The land is currently being invaded, you think. In a different way.

As modernization progresses, it will inevitably mean foreign interests, foreign capital and wealth entering the country, and it will be involved in the games of other nations. It certainly already is.

Will Kjeragandr protect them against that? Manipulate markets and control investments in their behalf?

It could, theoretically, but you find that occurrence unlikely as well. And if the goddess has such massive power and impressive fine control, well, there's nothing you can do about it at the moment.

That said... there is someone who could enlighten you on this matter.

You stand up from your resting spot in the bed, and poke your head out of the room. As you thought, Harlan is still there, immobile. He does not seem asleep. He remains awake and still, staring into the fireplace with unseeing eyes.

You suspect this is how the aged hunter whittles away much of his time, waiting to die.

After you step out, and make your way to the kitchen, he turns his head at the sound of your footsteps.

"...hm." the wolf says, before his attention returs to the flames.

You decide you might as well fetch yourself some water while you're at it. It'll even make your questionings sound more natural.

After a sip of chilly water, you return.

"...I have not been here for long." you say. Harlan does not react. "But I find this land to be something special."

The retired hunter trembles.

"It is." he says. "Has my hospitality been to your liking, Herrlin? I hope it was."

He sounds a little bit delighted at the similarity of your names. Not in the "I do not believe this," way, but more akin to... amazement at the coincidence.

"Yes, it has been so." you answer. There is a silence, before you change the topic. "Well. In this time, I have heard dreadfully few things about your... goddess. Kjeragandr."

Harlan squeezes out a laugh. It is followed by an involuntary cough, of the wet, bloody sort. You do not think this man will last another year, barring extraordinary measures.

"...good, very good. Most of what they would tell you is nonsense. Tall tales, nothing more. Do not listen, Herrlin. It is... poison. Lies."

"You sound skeptical."

"Forgive me if I'm not a very conventionally pious man those days. I haven't gotten many of the Goddess' blessings from her chosen agents, you see." Harlan mutters. A note of rage almost emerges in his voice, but he suppresses it.

"..."Conventionally" pious?"

"Kjeragandr was here long since before the Vine-Bear Court and the three families. It will be here long after they all vanish into nothing. I do not believe on the Saintess, or in chosen representatives." he says. "But I believe in her."

Vine-Bear Court, Saintess. You are unfamiliar with some of those terms, but asking him for answers might expose your lack of knowledge in a way that would certainly be suspicious, even for an outsider.

"...I understand."

Harlan sighs, and goes back to watching the flames.

"Her tears are the ice eternally unmelting, Her back the unbreaking mountain, Her breath the cold wind of winter, Her smile the warm light of spring." he recites. There is a flicker of comfort in his face, even if it is tinged by melancholy. "When She awakes, shall the mountains summon Her, and the sky cast down lustrous spectra."

He pauses. Harlan raises his hand to his eyes, as if to sweep off a tear. But as far as you can tell, they remain dry as bone.

He shudders, but you can tell that the prayer lifted a weight off his chest. He sounds more relaxed, more in control. You do not think you will see him lose control again, at least not tonight.

"I don't have my book anymore. It might be all nonsense anyway. But you should read it, after you leave. And... take care, will you?" he says, sighing. "Kjerag is a dangerous land. It has always been so, but today it is specially dangerous to outsiders. I would hate to hear news of your demise... not that I hear much of the outside world in here."

"...how long have you been here, Harlan?"

"A few years. I had a house in the village, before."

Hm. There is much to learn from this man, still.

"I see. That is... interesting. Thank you."

You think you'll stay here for another night. Question him a bit more. With how lonely he is, you do not believe he will reject the possibility.

You bid him goodnight. He answers with a curt nod, and returns to his quiet contemplation.

Acquaintance: Harlan is increasing... (1 change point, 1 more needed to reach level 2)

As you walk back into your room, an idea possesses you. You close your door, and open the window.

A freezing wind invades the room. You can see the outside, how the snow shines under the moonlight, and you... you feel something, deep within your heart.

The cold does not harm you. The cold does not feel discomforting, or painful upon your flesh, despite the freezing temperature having long since been reached. No, it is a kind sort of wind. It feels inviting, even.

Kjerag does not know you. Nor does Kjeragandr.

But her power does, for this minuscule instant, know that you are here. Enough to offer you her hand, and invite you into its home. There is no judgement, only acceptance, at least for now. For one second, you see a mountain, you know the existance of a mountain.

The snowcapped mountain between heaven and earth- Mount Karlan.

Divided between the lands of her children.

At times, she descends, and hears the whispers of war.

You blink- and then it is gone.

Your are left with that cold that you know very well. You blink again, one eye after the other, letting what you just heard adjust itself in your head. Then, you close the window, and take another look at the stone.

When think about what you just heard, you cannot help but grin.

War. How interesting.

You have gained a Mystery of the Snow (new total 2). Even though she whispered this secret in your ears, Kjeragandr remains unaware of your existance. But now you know- she would not be opposed to it, at least not on principle.

An Occurrence! You have discovered Mount Karlan! (The most sacred mountain in the Kjeragandr cult, located between the Silverashes and Paleroches' territory, and said to be Kjeragandr's abode. She awaits there.)

---

Finish your disguise


The beast comes in shortly after your revelation, shaking. There are some marks and scratches on its flank- but they are shallow at best. No damage to anything below the fur. You can guess it had a scuffle, but came out of top.

It has dragged something large here- the withered corpse of a reptilian cat-goat animal with legs that do not bend like either of those.

Why, this is perfect.

You take it, and get to work.

Now, you have no need for its skin. It's leathery, scaled, but the scales are all chipped, cracked. It is far too ragged to have good skin. Middle aged, on its prime when it died, but by now the skin's state is atrocious. Nothing rotted, but still taken care of terribly. Wrinkly in places, torn in others. Scarred in ways that are certainly not aesthetically pleasing, even if still charming in a manner.

Its teeth and bones are in pristine condition, but the skin simply did not age well. Was it buried in the snow? You tilt your head and give the beast a look. It seems confused.

It does not understand what you want. Well, it is just an animal. You silently drop the subject and turn your focus away from the creature.

Then, you take off your suit. Wouldn't want to damage it any further. Your work can get dirty.

Muscles are extracted, wrenched free of their fellows with claws and knives. They are braided into cords and strings and ropes, embedded into the pelt, fused into the layers of the skin as they are unmade and remade.

You take the string and redo the stitches again, and again, in other spots, adding more, removing some to fit the new additions you are planning to make. You cut your hand and bleed into the inside of the disguise, just a little, leaving dark stains that will not be seen by any living being. You take some of the bones- the legs, the arms, larger, more inflexible, less useful- and crush them, embed the shards into the muscle, fuse the fragments with the awaiting flesh.

Other, more malleable parts are given higher honors. The spine is merely adjusted, bound with string and pulled into the right shape. You do not slot it in yet, not before you slip in some bones to give the right ribcage shape, and poke in the necessary holes to add the strings you will have to pull.

There is no amber involved, no law-furnaces, no filtrations of light, mirrored gateways or vials of highly discriminatory poison, but it is a wonder all the same. Your wonder.

The blood that soaks the pelts is a Master's blood, it is yours, diminished as you are, but still something for sure. The disguise pulls itself upwards, minutely, slowly, until it almost resembles something that is alive.

This is not the end.

You slot in the eyes, you place in the teeth, pulling and prodding until they adjust themselves into the right shape. You work in the darkness, careful, silent but occasionally you make some test or another, bring it outside without endangering yourself- and the moonlight does not disturb your work. The Law does not roar in hatred at your blasphemous arts.

What is happening? You snarl.

You don't know, you can't know, not until you mount some manner of expedition and take it up with the Judgement itself.

And that would be suicide, especially in your diminished state as a living, breathing defiance of the Great Chain, the lines between human and Curator blurred and ethereal.

It is infuriating to be in the dark like this, but you will accept it.

Ah. The teeth are all in. The mouth you fashioned out of a corpse smiles kindly, amicably. It is the sort of smile that tells you that you need not worry. Nothing seems out of place, but you must give it the finishing touches. There are still some bones to place. The spine is there, and you have to select the right posture...

Your disguise is almost complete. You merely need to give it the finishing touches. But those touches are perhaps the most important part.

They will give your skin personality, a past visible in the way that it carries itself, in the way that it moves, in the sound of its footsteps and the shape of its body. The flesh you have left, the muscles you have yet to place in their right places, the string that has to bind it all together- it's for that.

Your skin must have a soul.

---

Select certain traits for your disguise. You will consume some of your prepared materials, or possibly additional resources, for it. Your choices will give the disguise unique characteristics and add Committed Impersonator. A disguise must have Committed Impersonator of at least 5 to function, but having more will make it additionally convincing, in addition to having more traits.

As you progress and gain resources, additional options will be added to this, whenever you wish to make a disguise. Giving it a story, a past, connections, or perhaps even a future- all of those are in the table.

You have three remaining Material.

---

Rest, with dreams of black wings.

...your work is done, for now. Your hands are weary.

It wouldn't do any harm to... rest, for just a small amount of time. Rest, and dream. You slip into the bed and cover yourself with the blanket.

You close your eyes.

The walls of the house shudder.

And then, you fly.

You soar through the mirrors the Fifth City, a dark shape wreathed in wordless screaming. Deep rending cries that are almost words, almost sentences, but still songs.

You go up, and up, and up, past the dirigibles and into the Roof above. You circle around a stalactite, and the Starved Men recoil at your presence. You delight in their fear, and then you descend.

You are a piece of star-specked night. Falling, falling, falling. Your horns and vanes blaze with reflected glim-light. Over the foggy city, close to the smoking chimney-stacks. Most don't see you, immersed in their festival.

Two of them do. A hunter, and a nun. You grin.

They ready their weapons, faces covered by elaborate masks.

It is over quickly, but a pleasing night of sport all the same. Urchins are already sorting through the hunter's pockets, searching his bloodied clothing. There isn't enough left of the nun for them to rob. You slip through the window of your own spire and fetch your garments.

You drape your cloak over yourself, put your wings away, and fold your body into something more manageable.

The Vake can rest now. Mr Veils has business to take care of.

You pick your teeth with a shard of bone, working some of the sinew out from between your fangs. The nun was strong, and determined, but lacking. Definitely lacking- Abbey Rock's soldiers have grown... boring. Limited. You have long since grown used to their fighting style, it is no longer as entertaining as it once was.

Perhaps that little huntress they have been training, recently, will prove to be a worthier sort.

You almost open the door of your lodgings, before pausing. Ah, you almost forgot it.

Reaching out for the bottle of perfume you keep next to your bedside table, you relish the scent. Sandalwood and white musk, absinthe, bat-flesh, human blood, mulberry leaf and much more. A delighful smell of body-hot fur, of appetite, of silk farms.

Then, you leave your room.

There are many matters that you must settle. For now, you must...

[ ] Visit Mr Apples
It has called you for dinner. You already ate tonight, but you wouldn't mind having some more.

[ ] Visit Mr Fires
It wants to rent one of your buildings- your old workshop from the days of the Fourth.

[ ] Visit Mr Cups
It has been silent, lately.

[ ] Visit Mr Cards
This time, you are the one that will administer its... treatment.