The thing is, if they bothered to do something to us instead of just kill us, it means we're valuable to them. We're an investment. And we can use that by appearing at risk and incentivizing them to take action for us. Is there a chance that they'll try to harm us? Yes, but there's also a significant chance that they're going to try to keep us on their side. Also, it makes sure things get more interesting.
My first instinct is that we're a Mordred that got mindfucked.
The past of our MC is fabricated and is one that there should be no survivors that can show the cracks in the story. Hell, there might have been a boy that shared our name at some point.
I don't think Mac's memories are fake, that seems wrong considering it seems like a lot of time has passed. I think it's much more likely Mac is Mordred's reincarnation. I'm pretty sure that is Morgana, and while she should never be fully trusted, I doubt she means Mac harm. Lots of interesting hints about how the Chivalry is set up. I bet all the original Knights are still around somewhere, but I'm curious if they're the same ones from before or if they're reincarnations.
Your jaw explodes in pain and you instinctively call upon Caledfwlch. Your only response is an aching emptiness, like a tiny piece of your heart has been excised from your body.
You feel the fear surge in your gut like bile and you reach for your Heraldry – for the strength that filled you in the hospital, and made you angry and powerful. But the only thing that greets you is an aching emptiness, like a tiny piece of your heart has been excised from your body.
Now, clearly the similarity could just be common mechanics of heraldries in dreams (which would in and of itself be interesting), but I think the fact that Mordred and Macaulay reacted in exactly the same way -- down to the exact words -- suggests they might actually be the same person, or at least deeply similar (given that a Heraldry is basically a soul made manifest) on the level of their souls.
Anybody else notice how the source of Heraldries was stated to be the sun, not Artura or the Round Table? Either Gally has made some massive changes (which is unlikely, given that he said the broad strokes remain the same and the source of Heraldries is a pretty big deal), or something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.
EDIT: The sun is also referred to as "a dying god's final gift". Did Artura die? Wtf is going on?
Well we know it's a Queendom, so that hints that Artura may still there at least in some form. It's mentioned though that the Knight-Legate is the most powerful person, which wouldn't be true if Artura was still around. Also that she and two others run the Chivalry, and together with the eleven Regents run the Queendom. While I'm sure things have changed a bit, in the last quest there were 4 knights, Annabelle, and the two guys. Even with Lorelei's reincarnation that's still only 8.
Also in the conversation with Morgana she talked to Mac about how "she" took his power and used it. The dying god's final gift could be referring to the original Mordred's death and or the use of his power to create the current situation. That at least would explain why male knights are common now. Of course considering Artura doesn't seem to be running the kingdom, it could be they both sacrificed themselves to create the current kingdom and it's just called a Queendom as a homage to Artura. A lot of things feel off though.
The thing is, if they bothered to do something to us instead of just kill us, it means we're valuable to them. We're an investment. And we can use that by appearing at risk and incentivizing them to take action for us. Is there a chance that they'll try to harm us? Yes, but there's also a significant chance that they're going to try to keep us on their side. Also, it makes sure things get more interesting.
The problem with that logic is this doesn't seem to be her usual MO, and we're a liability at this point. The MC flat out acknowledges he will seek her out at some point. Either we acknowledge that we are already compromised to our leaders, or by telling them we get scrutiny and are still inclined to do something that our superiors will likely punish us for. Everything that might make us valuable just adds to the risk of relying on us. We're already liable to be stigmatized as the survivor from Tintagel, but add to the fact the Whispering Woman is making offers to him on his first night? That looks really bad, simply because we're exactly the kind of person who has little to lose and seemingly everything to gain.
Way I see it? We were literally a starving wretch, unless we really fuck things up, at least we'll get fed in prison . But seriously, we're not a patriot, we don't have anything we haven't already lost, a threat of court martial kinda rings pretty weak when you've had your home genocided.
Edit: Anyways, unless Gully really changed some things? This is Morgana. She can probably only really screw with us personally if we make a deal. We're still probably in the clear.
"There's a chance my Aunt Morgana might come pay me a visit," you say, studying Andrea's reaction. The Captain's eyes widen, and she touches her fingers lightly to her lips. "Believe me, I'd rather not have her here if I could. She could cause too much trouble in a war camp. But you can't exactly stop a woman who can wear any face or form she pleases." You shake your head. "With a little luck, she won't show up at all. With any luck she'll speak only to me. But there is a small chance she'll decide to…toy with my officers."
"Me?" Andrea whispers.
"As long as you're carful, you have nothing to worry about," you promise her. "If she wants to mess with you she has to directly offer you a deal. Do not take it. Be polite, excuse yourself, and find me immediately. Do you understand? Immediately."
"Yes, your highness. I just…"
"You have a question?" "Is it true that she has to give you what she promises?" Andrea asks. "That's what all the stories say."
You sigh and run a hand through your hair. "…Yes. Yes, that's how her magic works. She offers you something you want in exchange for something she wants. Then she has to give you what she's promised before she's allowed to take what she's owed." You hold up a hand. "But she's been making these deals for a very, very long time, and I've never heard of anyone who's ever gotten the better of her. Not a Knight, not Merlin, not even my mother. Do you understand?"
This is a hard choice. On the one hand, we might end up in a very precarious position if we tell them we were visited on the first night; if we've had our memories messed with or are a reincarnation they might just decide to call the whole thing off as too risky. On the other hand, they might have previously decided that the memory wiped/reincarnated one will be almost certainly visited on the first night, and if they don't say so they can't be trusted.
Although I hate to get all meta about it, I don't think we'll get any sort of a game over from our very first choice, so I'm inclined to take the risk and see where it goes.
You blink in the darkness, once, twice. Each breath makes the world feel more normal – each passing moment brings your heart closer to a slow, steady rhythm. You have no idea what it means, that the Whispering Woman appeared to you in your dream, but you know that you can't go and face the Chivalry now, not after what she told you. You don't like the sound of court-martial, but you like the sound of being branded a traitor even less. And so you wipe the sweat from your eyes, turn your pillow over to the cooler side, and settle back into your bed – and a restless, though thankfully dreamless, sleep.
*
Early the next morning, Hawley appears to take you to the Knight-Augur's chambers.
For a moment, fear seizes your heart. Does the Chivalry know? Can they see into your dreams, detect the Whispering Woman's presence within your mind? As the Knight-Legate is to war, so the Knight-Augur is to magic and learning – who better to rip the secrets of your dreams from your skull? But Hawley only laughs, mistaking the panic on your face for mere nervousness. It's a routine procedure, she explains. Like Dr. Isley had examined your body, to ensure it was in good enough shape for active duty, now the Knight-Augur must examine your soul.
Hawley leads you back through the winding hallways to the elevator that had taken you up the Spire. There are no buttons, but when Hawley presses her palm to the biometric scanner the pad lights up green, and you hear the elevator spin into action. When the elevator arrives, you step inside and take a moment to stare up at the sun, already in its customary spot high in the sky. Its presence calms you somewhat, washes away the ragged edges of your dream. There is a reason the Whispering Woman comes at night, you think as the elevator climbs higher and higher, all the way to Spire's penultimate floor. She and things like her cannot stand the light of divinity.
It's not until you step out of the elevator that you notice the spatial impossibility of the floor.
The Spire maintains a consistent construction from the outside – a hollow, circular tower with an inner ring two miles across, a fact that holds true both at the base and the very top. And yet the floor you emerge onto does not match this description. Rather than a long, curving hallway, you step from the elevator into a small circular room, facing three doors. A wave of dizzying nausea sweeps over you, and Hawley is forced to throw your arm over her shoulder supporting you long enough to make it to the door to your left and make use of the large knocker built into the center.
The door swings open almost before you're finished knocking, and you are put face to face with more geometric nonsense. A vast library greets you, tall wooden bookshelves packed with hundreds of tomes leaning at odd and impossible angles. Candles float through the air like lazy fireflies, their light warm and comforting. As you step inside you turn to see that the door shares a wall with several windows, which – even though you know must look into the circular lobby you just entered from – show instead more library.
"First time in a tesseract?" A woman's voice asks. You spin to face her, but the movement upsets the delicate balance of your stomach and you gag, clutching at it.
Hawley snaps as much of a salute as she can manage, given that she's still supporting most of your weight. "Knight-Augur Kumori."
Kumori waves her off. "No need for that," she says. "Thanks for bringing him up here. I'll get him a seat." She purses her lips and gives a sharp whistle, and a small wooden chair leaning against one of the bookshelves pops up and skitters across the floor towards you, legs flailing manically until it comes to a stop next to you.
You stare down at it, the sight of it skittering doing nothing to help your churning stomach. "I don't…want to."
"Oh relax," Kumori says, rolling her eyes. "It's animated, not alive. It won't bite, or cop a feel or anything."
You glance over at Hawley, but she merely nods encouragingly up at you. This doesn't entirely drive away your doubt, but your stomach threatens insurrection and so you collapse into the chair, holding your head in your hands. After what seems like hours, but is likely only a few minutes, the nausea begins to subside, and you dare to take a look around the room. Hawley, again, is nowhere to be seen. She seems to enjoy leaving while you're otherwise distracted.
Kumori, though, is impossible to miss. Though clearly several years your senior, she still seems a few decades too young to hold a post as prestigious as Knight-Augur – but you suppose appearances can be deceiving, especially when talking about the queendom's most powerful sorceress. Still, you had imagined someone slightly more dignified. Her chin-length brown hair is tousled, sticking every which way, and she wears a quilted robe knotted at the waist, covered in pockets and various stains. She is seemingly unaware of your staring, her nose buried in a heavy leather bound book. Her lips mouth words in a language you don't recognize, her eyebrows creasing slightly as she makes her way across the page. Then she looks up with a start, as if only just realizing your presence. "Feeling better?" She asks. "Do you want a smoke?" She fishes around in a few of her robe's pockets and produces a pack of cigarettes, which she offers to you.
You frown up at her. "I am. But no, I don't smoke."
Kumori nods, slipping one cigarette from the pack and popping it into her mouth. She snaps her fingers and one of the many floating candles makes its way over to her, weaving deftly around a bookcase bent so far over that it forms an arch high tall enough to walk through (though the books somehow continue to cling to the shelf, in defiance of all the laws of gravity). Once the candle is close enough, Kumori uses it as a light and then shoves it away, watching as it wobbles and spins. "Probably a good choice," she says, taking a deep inhale and holding the smoke in. "These things'll kill you." She exhales, and the smoke dances in the candlelight. "Oh, actually they won't. Heraldries are great for lung cancer. Clears the carcinogens right up." She smiles, the barest hint of teeth behind red lips. "You feeling alright?" she asks, twirling the cigarette between two fingers. "Any trouble sleeping?"
The panic surges through you again, but this time you're prepared for it, and you're able to clamp down on the emotion before it can manifest on your face, in your posture. "It was nice to have a real bed again."
"Amen to that," Kumori says, her smile widening. "Most rookies don't know the value of a good mattress until their first deployment." She gestures at you to stand. "Now come on, get up and get your shirt off. We don't have all day."
You feel a flush creep along your neck and face, but cover it by pulling your shirt over your head.
Kumori takes another drag on her cigarette and whistles, high and sharp. Not a minute passes before a large, heavy desk thunders around the corner. It runs more smoothly than the chair, with a curious animal grace, and as it moves you can see an intricate webwork of shock absorbers placed between the legs and the top, keeping numerous instruments and liquid-filled vials safely in place despite the motion. Kumori scratches it idly under the lip and begins picking through some of the instruments – a brass telescope, a set of dice carved from bones, a pocket watch that ticks irregularly and leaps across the clock face seemingly at random. She picks each of them up in turn, then sets them down, and then begins staring off, unfocused, into the distance.
This continues on for several minutes before you finally summon up the courage to speak. "Ma'am?"
"Kumori," Kumori corrects, blinking. She looks back at you. "Did I just…"
"Zone out?" You offer. "For a few minutes."
Kumori groans and claps her face between both hands. "I'm sorry," she says, leaning heavily onto the desk, which shifts somewhat to better bear her weight. "I've been running some rituals. Paratemporal stuff. My sense of time is all over the place right now." She frowns. "Or maybe then."
"Paratemporal?" You ask. "You're fucking with time?"
"Exactly!" Kumori beams, eyes twinkling. "Although it's less a fucking and more a gentle…ah, not much point trying to explain" she says. "You're still probably only at the first perception threshold. But you'll get there."
You rub the bridge of your nose, but it does nothing to ease the rapidly growing ache between your temples. "I think I lost you at perception threshold."
"Oops, sorry," Kumori says. She plucks a jar of thick yellow paste from the corner of the desk, and then after a moment of thought, grabs some kind of multicolored cube as well. "Forgot you were from the middle of no…from the country. You'll learn this stuff soon enough, but for the purposes of our conversation," she hands you the cube, and you turn it over in your hands. It seems to be made of dozens of different colored squares laid out in rows and columns, which you can twist with your hands. "That's a puzzle cube," she explains. "The game is that you try to twist everything so that every face is one solid color, get it?"
You play with the cube for a moment, twisting and turning it, and nod. It seems complicated, but you can see how someone might be able to figure it out, given time. "Sure."
"Magic is a lot like the puzzle cube," Kumori says, snatching the cube from your hands. She holds it up so you can only see one side. "Imagine you could only see one face. That you didn't even know it was connected to a larger apparatus, right? You could twist it a bunch, even make some headway. But it would seem random and confusing, and you could only ever get the one face." She turns the cube, exposing more faces. "But then imagine that someone comes along who can see the rest of the cube. They could twist it and turn it with full context…" the rows and columns dance beneath her fingers, and before you know it she's solved the cube, each face a different, solid color. "Now, you might call that person a witch, or a wizard, or a sorcerer, or whatever, but the truth of it is that they just saw more of the puzzle. Get it?" She grins. "Perception threshold."
"So as I learn more magic, I'm going to get better at seeing how things connect?"
Kumori shakes her head. "More like the other way around," she says, uncorking the jar of yellow paste. "Now hold still." She dips her fingers into the jar and then uses them to draw thick, solid lines across your face. A foul smell fills your nostrils, but you do as you're bid and stay still, thinking over Kumori's words. Your mind can't help but drift back to the Whispering Woman, to the warning Zamir had given you yesterday. How powerful must the Woman be to circumvent the power of the Spire? What perception threshold must she be at? "It seems like…" you say after a moment, struggling to put your thoughts to words, "it seems like it would be hard for someone on a lower perception threshold to figure out the motivations of someone on a higher threshold."
"Well, sure," Kumori says. She has finished with your face and has swapped the paste for oil, which she now paints in delicate spirals across your chest and back. "The less perspective you have, the more danger of making mistakes you're in," she explains. "A yellow square might think that him getting turned is all about him. But in reality, it's about the red square on the other side of the cube. Which is why rule number two of magic is to never forget how little you matter."
Maybe it's the arguments Kumori is making, or maybe it's the soothing tone of her voice, or maybe both – but you begin to feel the knot of tension in your stomach unraveling. You had thought that it was just the nausea, but now that it's beginning to abate you recognize it as a nervous fear. It is entirely possible that the Whispering Woman's message was not truly for you - that it was merely one twist in a puzzle too vast for you to understand. "So…what's rule number one?"
Kumori holds the bottle of paste up to her nose and sniffs, frowning. "Always triple check your ingredients," she says. "Like I thought this was Alder pulp, but now I'm thinking it might be bat dung."
You recoil, shouting, and Kumori breaks into hysterical laughter. "Kidding!" She says between wheezes. "Aw, c'mon kid. Job like mine, you gotta take your kicks where you can get them, you know?"
"Permission to speak freely Kumori?" You ask, struggling to regain your composure.
"I guess I owe you that."
"I'm not really sure whether I like you or not."
That only gets Kumori laughing harder, and it's several minutes before she can finish her work with oil. "Now just stand there and don't touch anything," she says, turning back to her desk. She pokes at a small sphere, sending it into a fit of buzzes, then takes a seat and opens a book.
"How long is this going to take?" You ask. The smell of the paste hasn't gotten any better, but you've gotten used to it, somewhat, and now you're mostly just bored and tired. You feel yourself yawning and forcibly stifle it.
"A while," Kumori says, not looking up. "And if you mess any of it up then it has to start all over, so try not to talk so much."
You roll your eyes but fall silent, amusing yourself by following the gently floating candles with your eyes. It strikes you as incredibly dangerous to have so many open flames in a library, but the candles seem almost as if they're aware of the danger, constantly bobbing and weaving away from anything easily flammable.
Nearly fifteen minutes pass like this – Kumori flipping through her book, you fighting off sleep – before a soft rustling from behind you catches your attention. You turn, expecting to see another animated piece of furniture, but are instead greeted with the sight of a man.
He is tall, though hunched over, his form hidden within an oversized travelling cloak. His hair hangs lank around his face, and his beard is rough and wild, more the result of being too long away from civilization than any specific fashion choice. He leans heavily on a carved wooden staff nearly as tall as he is, and a bluejay sits perched atop his head, regarding you quizzically. Both the bird and the man are soaking wet, a fate they are rapidly inflicting on the carpet beneath them.
You gape for a moment before regaining your senses. "Is it raining outside?"
"Not here," the man says, brushing past you with hardly a glance. "Chisaki," he says, and his voice is urgent, "I need to speak with you."
Kumori doesn't so much as look up from her book. "Well, aren't you?"
"Alone."
"I'm busy right now," Kumori snaps. She closes the book and places a hand on his stomach, pushing him gently back. "And you're getting water all over my desk."
The man looks back at you, and his eyes have a strange, crazed redness that you remember from the refugees fleeing Tintagel. "Who is this?"
"A rookie," Kumori says. "I'm giving him his physical, so don't get so close."
Ignoring her words, man walks up to you, a hand emerging from under his cloak. It's wrapped almost entirely in bandages, and when his fingers touch your chin you can feel…something a wrongness that reaches you an instinctual level, as if you're about to touch a hot pan. Heat without heat. The man's fingers force your mouth open. "Careful!" Kumori shouts, but the man ignores her, peering into your mouth, then prying open one eyelid to stare into the whites of your eye. You remain still, partially from shock and partially from confusion, until the man lets you go and his arm vanishes back under his cloak.
"His Heraldry's fine," he says. "Let him eat. We need to talk."
Kumori clenches fists. "You're insufferable," she says. "This is delicate spellwork, and you're touching him? Someone like you could throw this entire ritual out of whack just by standing too close!"
"I know what I'm doing," the man says.
"Oh, I've heard that one before," Kumori says, crossing her arms. "You haven't changed a bit. Come back later, if you need to talk. Sun's light, let me do my job."
The man inclines his head slightly, staring Kumori down, and for a moment it looks like he wants to argue – but then the bluejay sitting on his head flutters down to his shoulder, and he turns away. "Fine," he says, heading back for the door. "I will be back, though."
"Honestly, I don't know how you of all people always manage to come at the worst time," Kumori shouts after him, but he closes the door behind him before she's halfway done with the thought. She groans and returns to her desk, staring at the closed cover of the book she was reading just a moment ago.
Your eyes flit from nowhere in particular to nowhere in particular, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. You can't shake a feeling of awkward out-of-placeness, as if you walked into the wrong room by mistake and caught the tail end of a very long argument. "Um…" you manage after a minute. "Who was that?"
Agility
Manual dexterity, hand-eye coordination, and body control. Characters with a high Agility have flexibility, a good sense of balance, and deft hands.
Brawn
Blend of brute power, strength, and overall toughness, as well as the ability to apply those attributes as needed. Characters with a high Brawn are physically fit and hardy, rarely get sick, and have strong constitutions.
Cunning
How crafty, devious, clever, and creative your character can be. Characters with a high Cunning are savvy, quickly pick up on vital social and environmental clues, and can more readily come up with short-term plans and tactics.
Intellect
Intelligence, education, mental acuity, and ability to reason and rationalize. Characters with a high Intellect can extrapolate and interpolate data, can recall details and draw from previous experience, and can think of long-term strategies and envision the ramifications of present actions.
Presence
Moxie, charisma, confidence, and force of personality. Characters with a high Presence make natural leaders, draw attention when they enter a room, can easily strike up a conversation with nearly anyone, and are quick to adapt to social situations.
Willpower
Discipline, self-control, mental fortitude, and faith. Characters with a high Willpower can withstand stress and fatigue, remain composed during chaotic situations, and exert influence over the weaker willed.
Anyway, as for the vote, I think I'll go with [X] Everyman. I don't think switching around 1 point is worth it this early in the game, and the lack of any strengths or weaknesses will make it easier to shape Mac to whatever challenges we end up facing.
. But seriously, we're not a patriot, we don't have anything we haven't already lost, a threat of court martial kinda rings pretty weak when you've had your home genocided.
