QM's Notes: Well, that took longer than expected, sorry y'all. Next update will come Friday. I'd be interested to hear what people think of the quest so far - what they like and don't like. I'm still pretty new at this, so I'm sure there's room for improvement.
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It's a challenge to try and see what's happening by the carriage through the harsh red glare, but you don't need see it to know that the Calendars will be in trouble if that bitterbright runs out before you drive the monsters off. With the three most capable looking Lighters in tow, you maneuver in the oblique towards the carriage, trying to get closer without blocking the line of fire for Grindrod and the prentices.
You're close enough to make out some clipped conversation among the Calendars when the firing line behind you lets off a volley - a monster staggers but doesn't fall. However, the hit causes the unlucky bogle to stumble into the wires of the remaining dancer, and it is quickly cut to ribbons. The remaining monsters have actually turned away to flee when you catch sight of some movement by the ruins of the carriage. A smallish figure, apparently just now having managed to extricate herself from the wreck, rushes towards the battle. The Calendar Skold only has time to shout something that sounds like "Threnody, NO!" before the girl puts her hand to her temple and the world seems to turn upside down. Behind you, a lampsman vomits.
You try to regain your bearings, but it seems like it might be too late. Apparently less affected by the witting, the monsters have turned back around and are bearing down upon you rapidly - you manage to level your musket but you can't quite aim straight. Then, to your amazement, they stop. One topples to the ground midstride, and two more are held frozen. The final monster is rolling on the ground, clutching its head. Looking back to the Calendars, you see that the Skold, though clearly struggling, now has her own hand pressed to her temple, the characteristic gesture of a Wit. "She's a Bane!" one of your companions whispers in an awed tone. Skold and Wit both, Banes are both exceptionally rare and exceptionally dangerous.
Still frozen, the two monsters can do nothing as you and your men open fire at point-blank range, and they collapse like puppets with their strings cut. Still on the ground, the last remaining monster writhes in wordless agony, its motions getting slower and slower until they finally stop completely. The grisly work done, the Calendar Bane sinks to the ground, exhausted.
A hearty cheer goes up from the Lighters, and you quickly proceed towards them.
"Well fought, my Ladies. I am Agent Alexis Rozencrantz of the Imperial Lamplighters - is there any assistance we can offer?"
"Indeed, Sir." the Bane responds, "I am Lady Dolours, Bane and assistant to the esteemed August of the Right of the Pacific Dove. Have you any thrombis? My sister is gravely injured but she may yet live if treated quickly."
"I have what she requires, Sir," a prentice pipes up, the same as threw the repellent that kept the bogles at bay. He must be carrying the squad's salt-bag. You give him a quick nod, and he kneels beside the fallen dancer, assisting her partner in tending to her wounds.
Sergeant Grindrod appears behind you, his arms folded. "That was skillfully done Bane, but I must ask you, what in the BLOODY HELL were you doing travelling with a six-horse team at this hour of night? You should know that it riles the bogles up something fierce." Now in full drill-sergeant mode, he rounds on the girl Wit - Threnody, if you recall - "And YOU Miss - What were you THINKING? That lackbrained witting almost brought good men to ruin. Were I so inclined, I could have you clapped in irons for impeding the duties of the Emperor's servants!"
The girl seems stunned at first, but she quickly snaps out of it. "Wh- Lackbrained? CLAPPED IN IRONS!? You lowborn toad, I ought to have YOU clapped in irons for speaking to a peer that way! If it-"
"ENOUGH, Threnody." The Bane interrupts. "Allow me to explain. I am well aware of the night's dangers, same as any of my profession. Had we not been denied entry by your brothers at Wellnigh, we would not have needed to venture forth so foolishly. No room for a six-horse team, they said."
"That can't be right," Grindrod exclaims, "All cothouses can stable six horses with room to spare - wouldn't be much use otherwise. What else did they say?"
"Nothing. Your charming Major-of-House simply rejected us and sent us on our way. We would have needed to storm the place to gain entry."
"That's highly disturbing," You say slowly - "If what you say is true, the Marshal will hear about it, you have my word."
"It wouldn't surprise me if it were," Grindrod grumbles, "He's one of the lot the Master-of-Clerks had shifted up from the Considine. Don't know a thing about lighting, the lot of 'em. Refusing folks in need isn't the way we conduct ourselves here on the Emperor's Highroad."
"Perhaps," Dolours murmurs, "It would seem the Emperor's Lamplighters are not what they once were."
On that cheerful note, you leave the Calendars in the care of Grindrod and his prentices, and proceed down the road. You need to have words with Wellnigh's Major-of-House. You spy sthe twin keeps of Wellnigh House soon enough, and you head directly to the Major's office.
"Ah, Mr Rosencrantz, what brings you back so soon?"
"You." Is your simple reply.
"Really?" He looks startled. "I'm not sure how I could be of any interest."
"Is that so? Tell me Major, did a party of Calendars come to you earlier in the day, asking for entry?"
"Oh, that. Have they been complaining? I'm not sure what they were so worried about. They had a Bane with them. Any distress they pleaded was exaggerated, I assure you."
"Actually, they were attacked. One of them is badly injured, and I didn't see the coachman. I presume he's dead."
"O-Oh. Well, its just- I mean, you know how they are, meddlesome women, always getting in the way with their holier-than-"
"That's no excuse for-"
"I HAD MY REASONS!" He suddenly thunders, "I am the Major-of-House here and it is not your place, AGENT, to question my decisions!"
The glare you fix him with is ice cold. "We'll see if the Lamplighter-Marshal shares your opinion." Storming out of the room, you return to your office, still fuming. By the time you sit down at your desk though, your thoughts have cleared a bit. Major-of-House Danson is one of the Master-of-Clerk's men, which makes getting rid of him an issue. The Clerk-Master himself is a singularly unlikeable man who spends most of his time getting in the way of other people, but the Marshal's every attempt to have him removed has met with a curiously strong (and unexplained) resistance. Clearly, someone powerful wants the Master-of-Clerks to stay right where he is. Worse, he's filled a great many open billets along the road with people of questionable qualifications, and kicks up a storm should anyone challenge it. Thinking of how to relay this incident to the Marshal, you consider your options:
How do you handle the Major's situation?
[]Pen a relatively mild report recommending that Danson be given a formal reprimand: Danson had seemed like a fairly decent person up until now, hopefully a public dressing-down will be all that is necessary to set him right. Besides, you don't have time to deal with whatever game the Master-of-Clerks and his patrons are playing right now. He should thank you for being so lenient, really.
[]Pen a highly critical report recommending that Danson be relieved of his command and reassigned to somewhere he can't do any more harm: Whatever kind of man he may be, it's clear Danson doesn't have the capability to make a good Major-of-House. Your dear Clerk-Master will likely complain about this to his supporters but you doubt it will get him far - your assessment could hardly be called unfair.
[]Pen a scathing report recommending that Danson be court-martialed and drummed out of the service: A man like Danson isn't fit to shine the Emperor's shoes, let alone serve in the Imperial Lamplighters! It's high time that there was a reckoning for the undeserving bringing shame upon the Empire's good name. This will surely make the Master-of-Clerks and his shadowy backers angry, but franky, you don't give a damn.
[]Other: Write in
Vote for one option only please.
