[X] "What exactly is going on?"
[X] Oversee restoration of the archengine you found.
[X] Oversee restoration of the archengine you found.
Marca Estrella: A Game of Chivalry in the Time of Archengines
- Thread starter Exhack
- Start date
- Original
Part Uno X: Questions and Answers
Exhack
We Won't Build The Plane!
- Location
- Montreal, Canada
[X] "What exactly is going on?"
[X] Oversee restoration of the archengine you found.
"What is exactly is going on?" You stand straighter and look at your mother as severely as you can manage without her finding your gaze insolent, feet curling in just a touch as you wait for her answer.
A pause. She sighs. "Do you remember what we spoke of this morning?"
"Honor…?"
"The family history, Mireia."
"And what of it? Is there some even more terrible scandal you're hiding from me, waiting far beyond an appropriate sixteenth birthday to tell your first and only child?"
"Not at all. Your father and I have been very forthcoming about the past. It is the future that…" She trails off and stops herself.
"What future? My parents and my future husband have been traipsing about the future for weeks, and I am left dumbfounded as you dance around me."
"To cut to the meat of it, child," she stresses the last word. "The de la Bota were once respected landowners. Three baronies and the loyalty of the Mirage family archmeisters, along with other vassals."
You pause and take a few regular breaths, calming yourself before your blood boils and you do something improper. "And we threw it away by being disloyal. What's your point?"
"Your grandfather wasn't disloyal, child. He was loyal to the wrong man." She sounds stern, half-chiding and half-lecturing you. You hate this exact tone and the way she treats you when it comes around, but grit your teeth and bear on with it. "Adlbert was ill and childless, while the Duke Konrado was healthy, educated and had six strong sons. History would have remembered him as a good emperor- but he lost."
"Treason is treason." Your eyes narrow, you can feel your heart beating, can maybe feel inside you what this has to mean. You look away, not meeting your mother's eyes, denying it to yourself. Not even letting the thought fully form. "This discussion isn't one we should be having!"
"No, it's one that's been a long time coming."
"Mother!"
"Don't 'Mother' me." She sighs. "I won't demand an answer for you now, but I'm sending you off with a question to think on. If you could only save one, would you protect your House, your Emperor or the Realm?"
"You still haven't told me-"
"That'll be for later. I have to speak with your father a little…" She looks a little wistful, but forces a small smile. "But if it makes you feel better, we don't have any plans that will be of any trouble to you. Not anymore."
"And yet somehow I still worry."
"You really have grown." Your mother smiles and pats you on the cheek in a familiar way, before walking up towards the house.. You don't waste time calling after her this time.
--∴--
You make your way over to the workshops just north of the main compound of the estate, treading flat granite tile flanked by hardy bushes and grasses that keep the sand from swallowing it whole. Aina follows you with a parasol, though the sun is no longer so blisteringly bright you prefer to keep your skin from aggressively tanning in the unfashionable patches and lines clothes tend to create.
Grifon is being wheeled into dock, and the delivery of the spezzante has finally arrived. Geskleithron looms in the distance behind all of that, although it appears as just a little triangle of grey in the horizon as far away as it is.
The workshop is a little fort that was once the family's primary residence here before the reclamation of the wider estate from the badlands, the once-bare reinforced ferracrete chiseled and washed with stain to give an illusion of cream-colored brickwork and accessorized with banners in the family colors and a gargoyle over the hardened portcullis at the front. Towers jut out in its four corners, empty save for the south-west tower where Mr Ruy, the family's employed scrimshaw, lives in solitude and does his slow, intricate handiworks.
You take the side entrance that was carved into the walls around the time of your Grandfather, pushing through a small wooden door with no window and a grease-smeared handle. A servant quickly comes careening through holding a great stack of metal scrap and baubles, yelling.
"Out of the way, out of the way!"
You comply quickly and step out of the way, holding it open for him. He trips and releases the precious salvage he'd been carrying onto the cobblestone path, bracing his fall with his hands. He yells and whines a little while Aina helps him up.
"Thanks for the hel-" he shudders a little and looks between the two of you. The man was about your age, dark skinned and curly-haired, with a patchy beard and slightly husky build, his hands large and bristling with thick fingers. Ordinary, although not unpleasant-looking. "...a-ah. Mistress, apologies for making you do that!"
You glance down at your hand, now slightly greyer from the oil, and wipe it against your handkerchief without a second thought. "Not at all. Accidents happen. I trust you'll clean up after yourself Mr…"
"R-Rodolfo. Just Rodolfo." He calms a little and begins picking up the dropped items, some of them spilling off of his arms as he struggles to do so.
"Right then! Rodolfo, get some help or a tray to carry those things if you're struggling. You'll waste time if you try to do it yourself out in some misguided penance." You clap your hands and nod appreciatively, using your now-soiled handkerchief as a glove to pull the door open. Aina glares at your gesture ever-so-slightly and relieves you of the responsibility as soon as she reaches the door.
"Y-yes." He mutters.
"Bye now!" You say as the two of you pass under the walls and enter the courtyard. If he replies, you don't hear it. You see the family's four engine-bearers, vertical lattices mounted to wheeled transports, stand in the middle of the walled enclosure. Two are empty, a sign again of the hard times you've seen, and the two mounted up in their bearers have seen better days.
An old machine laboriously held together with everything and anything the family's found, there isn't a part of the Grifon's that you couldn't replace to improve its performance, and there's not a single part that hasn't been tuned to achieve its absolute maximum output.
The new one is a lot worse, at least externally. The chassis and inner armor are apparently intact, but corrosion to the external parts have sealed it shut and left it rather useless to you. Three men in drab work clothes are busily trying to strip away the grime, oxidation and sediment, hoping to expose seams to pull the armor off directly- but it seems to look almost the exact same as when you left it this morning.
You step to Thomas, who brought in to dock and has been present for the repairs since noon. He and Aina exchange glances and he turns to you, waiting for you to address him.
"How go the repairs?" You ask plainly, glancing over.
Thomas runs his fingers through his light brown hair, just a little anxious. "Slowly. The outer hull is too hard for our tools to cut through so we've taken to cleaning it."
"As I thought. I'm worried we may have to damage it to get it to open."
"Not necessarily." He shakes his head.
You perk up, looking at him with as genuine interest as you can manage without your lady-in-waiting giving you unservile looks. "How so?"
"Deep scrying from the bearer's internals show a standard tandem cockpit, for a hidalgo and escudero… or something like that. Two occupants, but the one I think is the hidalgo is long-dead. Just bones."
Your eyes widen. "You aren't implying…"
"I'm saying the escudero is alive, albeit in a preservative sleep… I think. If we can wake him, we could get him to fire the escape system or purge the armor."
"Assuming he speaks our language?"
"Cofre del Tesoro has belonged to a lot of people and some of them are still alive. The odds are good."
You raise your hand and almost bite your thumb, contemplating your options as you fix your gaze to the hull across the walled court. Suddenly, a loud bang rings throughout the courtyard, the ringing in your ears raising from a low static to a sharp ache all in an instant. Everything around the archengine wobbles, as if becoming unreal in comparison.
"...!" You hear yelling but it's all just noise.
You fall back but Thomas and Aina run to catch and hold you up until it subsides. A touch of blood dribbles from your nose and coats your lips in the fatty copper you're only slightly familiar with. "...!" "...!" "...?" They're yelling and you can even hear their voices, but it's all less intelligible than gibberish.
"...ess are you okay? Call a doctor, she's bleeding from her nose!"
"Stop." You force them off you and stand up, finding your breathing ragged and more deliberate than you'd like. "...let me."
Aina puts a hand to your shoulder, which you don't bother pushing off this time. She speaks, sounding the most worried she's been in a long time. "Mireia, you're not okay! It's probably heatstroke, at the very least."
You know that isn't true, even if you don't precisely know why. If you leave now and let your workers finish the work on their own, you have the feeling you're going to remain conscious and eventually go back to normal. Staying you feel, will mean learning things that cannot be unlearnt.
[ ] Leave the room and recover while the staff finish the work.
[ ] Tell them you're fine and to continue what they're doing.
[ ] Catch your breath for a moment.
[ ] (x.8) Step towards the archengine and move up the catwalk to position yourself over the head.
Sirrocco
Pedantic
[x] (x.8) Step towards the archengine and move up the catwalk to position yourself over the head.
We are tired of being left in the dark. If there are things out there to learn that cannot be unlearnt? We will face them bravely, and we will deal with the outcome. Better to know the thing, however horrible, then to not know it and have it strike from ambush later.
We are tired of being left in the dark. If there are things out there to learn that cannot be unlearnt? We will face them bravely, and we will deal with the outcome. Better to know the thing, however horrible, then to not know it and have it strike from ambush later.
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Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
[X] (x.8) Step towards the archengine and move up the catwalk to position yourself over the head.
Sirrocco
Pedantic
Already said it's a "him".
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
To be fair, they haven't cracked it open yet, it might just be that Escuderos are usually dudes in this setting. Or just generic leaning towards masculine pronouns.
Sirrocco
Pedantic
They've done enough deep scrying to tell the difference between someone who is alive and a pile of bones. It doesn't take *that* much more resolution to determine certain basic anatomical differences.
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] (x.8) Step towards the archengine and move up the catwalk to position yourself over the head.
I don't think it's likely to make our heads explode, and it's the most inexplicable anime protagonist thing to do, so I recommend this.
I don't think it's likely to make our heads explode, and it's the most inexplicable anime protagonist thing to do, so I recommend this.
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
[x] (x.8) Step towards the archengine and move up the catwalk to position yourself over the head.
It is fate calling.
It is fate calling.
Part Uno XI: The Last Servant
Exhack
We Won't Build The Plane!
- Location
- Montreal, Canada
[X] (x.8) Step towards the archengine and move up the catwalk to position yourself over the head.
"Mireia." Aina calls your name again. She's genuinely worried, you imagine, to not using formal address in public so many times. "What are you thinking?"
"We have to make contact with the escudero. I think I know how."
"Do you realize it-"
"...sounds insane? Yes. I don't really understand it myself, but call it intuition. I was in just the right state of mind when I looked at it, and I felt… noise." You dab your lip, wiping blood off a white corner of your soiled handkerchief. "Not voices, but something. I think…"
Aina sighs and crosses her arm. "I understand. It'd be a bad showing by your lady in waiting to not have a little faith."
"Thank you." You give a nod, maybe slightly too deferential. "Neither of you tell father. Until at least… I've had a try."
Thomas looks at his sister, and the two exchange another nod. Although not twins, you wonder if the two don't have some language or telepathy of their own.
"Of course." Aina says. Though she's amenable to it, she's gripping the hem of her skirt with white knuckles.
Thomas is somewhat more relaxed, or perhaps just thoroughly resigned. "My sister hardly listens to me. Let alone you, mistress."
"You're a smart man, Thomas." You smirk and set your heels to the ferrocrete as you cross the courtyard to the engine-bearer.
The gold-and-blue form of your salvaged archengine rests within a solid arch of metal and ceramic, suspended in a slouch by a lattice of heavy running in vertical and horizontal bands. Catwalks circle the framework on both sides, and the frame itself bristles hundreds of mounting points for the staff to clip their harnesses for maintenance work. The few that were working moments earlier have vacated to allow you to approach it without being struck with sparks and slag.
Your feet ding against the metal stairs as you round them up, crossing the walkway that runs around shoulder-height to the unit. The houndskull profile of the machine's great helmet looms over you, the beak-like front cover hiding the glint of glassy sensor eyes underneath. Whatever mechanisms held it in places have long corroded, and distortions have sealed the patchwork sensor holes that cover the front. You reach out to touch, your reach coming just short as you balance your hips against the railing. Without time to waste, you vault the railing and hold onto the cabling, hands staining from the dirt and grime that covered them.
You sigh and squirm through the broad, man-sized gaps between them and find yourself standing on the once-stylish gorget. The workshop is quiet and all eyes are on you.
"Hmm. Nothing." You mutter to yourself.
Attempting to find yourself and that particular thought you had moments ago, your face runs a gamut of expressions, mostly variations of your brow furrowing in the way your mother warned you against for fear of wrinkles. Frustration builds, as does embarrassment even if nobody can see precisely what you're doing.
"Well! Aren't you inside!?" Your fist thumps against the caked and bubbled, once-glossy helmet's surface. Unsurprisingly, you remove nothing of the damage and manage to break the skin over your two middle knuckles. It stings just enough to keep you from trying again.
As you shake your hand out and reconsider that decision, you hear Aina call you from bellow. "Mistress? Is everything alright."
You glance back and put your hands to your hips, puffing your chest out in mock-pride. Mostly for your own benefit. "Y-yes, it's fine! Just watch, this stupid machine can't keep me out forever!"
Aina giggles under her breath and puts up her parasol to fend off the sun coming from the uncovered gap between the four walls of the former fort. "Back to your old self, I see. I'll fetch you something to drink.."
"Of course. Do you think a little noise would put me in my place?" You comment cheerily.
<<Noise? You're deaf, aren't you?>> The world around you, everything but the hull of the machine you stand on, worbles and ripples in ways you find deeply unpleasant. This time, accompanied by a voice.
You wince and turn to the archengine again. It feels louder when you do. "Who… who said that?"
<<Not quite deaf, then. But terribly noisy.>>
Your hands lean against the hull and you look directly by instinct, although the opacity of the hull is unrelenting. "I won't be mocked. Reveal yourself!" You command, keeping your voice hushed just enough that the others don't hear you.
<<Very well.>>
A phantasm plays out over the surface, as if the plating and mechanisms become transparent one by one. Armor becomes structure and mechanisms, power conduits and finally the flexible, serpentine skeleton of the movable frame which you recognize from your readings. Finally all these pieces become invisible, with only a little egg-shaped pod beneath your feet, within the throat of the archengine.
A wrinkled little man, his skin pickled sickly green by years and years soaking in preservative liquid. His limbs gaunt and wiry. His hair stringy and long, floating in the liquid like tendrils. A single eye peeks up between the gaps in his locks, bloodshot. A hand raises in the image, and you feel it reach out and touch you somewhere between your eyes, behind your brow.
<<I am Avagis, the Animus of Vindication. Last servant of the Empire Migrant.>>
"The what of what?"
The rumbling slows and the world around you seems to have returned to normal. Eventually, you realize that the man is speaking to you from the inside of your head. <<I heard your call and awoke. Your voice is so loud, so brash. It is like…>>
"What voice? I haven't been yelling at all."
<<It is as if you were deaf. How wonderful for me to be found by one such as you.>>
"I can hear you fine."
<<I had to shout for you to hear me. To bestow on you the pain you visited on me.>>
You idly touch your lip and the light sheen of blood running to it from your nostril, wincing. "I did… that? To you?"
<<Yes. It is the mark of a strong mind and little discipline. I will forgive you, though.>> There is a pause.. <<I have days of sustenance left. Had I been allowed to sleep much longer, my body would have expired in the tangled forests of Quadia. For that, my life and this archengine are yours. I can feel the mind of my war leader no-more.>>
You blink. "Quadia? There's no world by that name, and this one is quite arid."
<<It has been a while, I suppose.>> He almost sounds wistful.
"So what do we do now?"
<<It is your choice. I can exit, but I will have to depend on you since my body has weakened. Purging the armor will sacrifice the usage of many of the external systems until your workers refurbish them. Alternatively I can force the solar pinions to blaze and clean the hull, but this would probably damage any delicate systems exposed by corrosion. I can't anticipate the results. Your journeyman laborer… Thomas, has a good idea in trying to jettison the control systems to force just necessary parts open. But that will require many hours of labor to reinstall the pods afterwards, for the… hidalgo and escudero. Hmm. I see that not much has changed.>>
You narrow your gaze at the image of the man inside the hull. "Are you... reading my mind?"
Another pause. He seems to be choosing words carefully this time. <<In a fashion. I have to learn your language and culture to fit into your society.>>
[ ] If I catch you doing that again I'll 'scream'.
[ ] Well, stop that. We can get you books.
[ ] Just don't get into trouble, please.
<<Yes, of course mistress. So what would you have me do?>> He sounds surprisingly deferential for a man who had just yelled into your mind loudly enough for your nose to bleed.
[ ] Purge the armor, I'd rather have a naked archengine that works than a geared one that does not.
[ ] We'll drive you out to the desert. It's risky, but I have a good feeling about it.
[ ] Eject the cockpits, those systems are important and we have plenty of time for repairs.
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- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Well, stop that. We can get you books.
[X] Purge the armor.
[X] Purge the armor.
al103
Grumpy Russian Bear (SV edition)
- Location
- Russia, Krasnoyarsk
[X] Just don't get into trouble, please.
[X] Eject the cockpits, those systems are important and we have plenty of time for repairs.
If problems would be serious one more archengine is unlikely to be very helpful. One fully fited one though even with risk to not be ready in time...
[X] Eject the cockpits, those systems are important and we have plenty of time for repairs.
If problems would be serious one more archengine is unlikely to be very helpful. One fully fited one though even with risk to not be ready in time...
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
[X] Just don't get into trouble, please.
[X] Eject the cockpits, those systems are important and we have plenty of time for repairs.
I don't see any harm in letting our new buddy fit in. Who knows, maybe our husband-to-be has psychic powers and our almost dead friend over there can help us root it out?
[X] Eject the cockpits, those systems are important and we have plenty of time for repairs.
I don't see any harm in letting our new buddy fit in. Who knows, maybe our husband-to-be has psychic powers and our almost dead friend over there can help us root it out?
