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Pillars of Salt (Pirate Mecha Quest)

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[X] "Sounds good."
You may not trust Mandalay, but you feel reasonably certain you aren't walking into a trap. Besides, custom says she's treating, and you've heard some tales about Ravelry's drinks.

If it really is that bad, anytrap on her part is likely to back fire
 
*considers*...
So. Mandalay is described as the worst sort of pirate, the kind of person who in theory is gonna get what's coming to them someday but until they've turned into a spoiled brat off their victories...
But there IS a peace between captains, even if it's one strained between our captain and Mand Mand.
Soo...I'm thinking there's been some schemes, but it sounds like we're nominally on the same side even if we don't get along...
On the other hand she's been chatting up this noble exile pilot girl for a long time...And she's already discontent.
So here's my read.

[X] "Sounds good."

While we COULD jockey for power/position here, I'm worried if we do so the option to jump ship to Mand Mand's crew will become too shiny for our noble pilot to handle, and in doing so even if we say no Mand gets her to say yes and oops! We lost a rare, valuable pilot!
Whereas if we go along and Mand Mand plays tricks instead of say, trying to deal fair with us, we get our pilot's loyalty secured. She can still make it hurt, but if she does it's the kind of thing we can probably play to our advantage if we survive, which will force her to go for the kill, and that's bad for the accords, bad for everyone. Kind of thing that other Captains will likely help us get our vengence on Mand if she goes too far. I'm down for that.
 
[X] "Sounds good."
You may not trust Mandalay, but you feel reasonably certain you aren't walking into a trap. Besides, custom says she's treating, and you've heard some tales about Ravelry's drinks.

"Honor the Code!"
 
[X] "Sounds good."

meh, lets risk it for now. We can be paranoid after experiencing this place's reputation.
 
[X] "Sounds good."

It's a fair risk. Char isn't so angry as to actively screw the Ahriman. She's just desperate.
 
For everyone's information, I've edited the last update. Nothing substantial has changed, definitely nothing that would effect your vote, but I think it's a significant step up over the first posted draft in terms of writing quality.
 
[X] Sounds good

This looks like an interesting quest! Too bad I missed some of the early choices, but these things happen.
 
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VI
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    • VI
    ​
    "The Ravelry it is then." You holster your pistol under one arm, then after a moment of consideration duck back inside your room to grab another weapon. Suitably equipped, you take the elevator down to your waiting crew.

    The Ahriman has been parked in one of Libertalia's many underground docking bays, perpetually lit by a harsh fluorescent light. Your hundred strong crew has gathered at the nearest door, a heavy metal gate that leads to a large scanning room. You spot Kayla in the crowd, shifting her weight from foot to foot, clearly eager to get out and about.

    "Same rules as always," you tell the crew, making your way to the front of the crowd. "Keep an ear out for good scores, pay for all your drinks, and don't get into any trouble, unless you really want to." The crew gives its traditional chuckle at the non-joke, which isn't necessary but is still appreciated.

    The scanning room makes your teeth buzz, but the alarms don't go off to signal that any of your crew is trying to smuggle contraband into the city. Libertalia is remarkably permissive about these things, and the atmosphere of the city means small arms are practically required, but even a free city has its limits.

    The gates to the city grind open, revealing Libertalia. Spires of iron and glass stretch high into the night sky above you, neon advertisements flashing on every corner. Food, guns, weapons, flesh – there's precious little you can't find in the largest of the free cities, if you're willing to pay the right price.

    Cecilia gathers up your crew, her arms moving like she's conducting a grand orchestra. You give her a wave and make your way into the streets, which are clogged so thickly with people that you can barely find space to squeeze by. Beggars, huddle tightly in their corners, pleading for jewels, street vendors pitch their wares to anyone that will listen, swearing up and down that today's meat is fresh – real fresh, not the three day fresh you'll find across the street. By the time you've made it a mile, you've caught three kids under twelve with their fingers in your pockets, and you've had to flash your pistol to a group of men eyeing Chalcedony's diamonds.

    You're home, and it feels wonderful.

    The rail that takes you to Ravelry's district is dingy and overcrowded, but functional. Chalcedony wrinkles her nose at the smell, which admittedly is deeply unpleasant, but you think she might be overselling it a bit. Johann passes the time in deep, quiet conversation with an old woman wearing four or five tattered coats – she kisses his hands repeatedly as you disembark, then waves from the window until the train vanishes into the distance.

    "New friend?" You ask Johann, reaching over to box the ears of a pickpocket trying to filch Chalcedony's wallet.

    "Little rats," Chalcedony mutters under her breath, clutching the wallet to her chest. "I swear, I'm going digital when we get back to the ship."

    "She was a follower of the Saam," Johann says. "And it can be hard to keep to its tenets in a city like this. I only listened."

    "As long as you're here with us," you tell him.

    Johann nods. "Of course, Captain."

    A flashing neon sign announces the Ravelry to the world, and a line of would-be-clubbers stretches the length of the block. You'd rather call the whole thing off than wait for hours in that line, so you approach the bouncer, cybernetics preparing a jewel transfer.

    The bouncer, however, seems to be expecting you. He waves you forward, thickly muscled arms covered from shoulder to wrist in colorful sleeve tattoos. "You Eberhardt?" He asks, raising his voice so as to be heard over the chorus of preemptive boos from the line.

    "That's me." Your cybernetics ping his wricomp, a thin band of metal he wears on one wrist, with your captain's registry. He spares a quick glance on it, then waves you through. The boos and jeers from the line grow so loud that he has to practically press his mouth to your ear as you pass, but you catch his words all the same.

    "Mandalay is waiting on the balcony. Third right from the bar."

    You nod and lead Chalcedony and Johann inside. Ravelry's interior is smothered in darkness, and the music pouring from ceiling mounted speakers is so loud that you can barely maintain coherent thought. Your cybernetics pick up on your discomfort and adjust, the room growing brighter and the music quieter until you can actually think.

    Johann taps you lightly on the shoulder, and you turn to face him. Though you can't hear his words over the music, you can read his lips easily enough. "People actually like this?" He asks.

    You shrug and nod towards Chalcedony, who is looking all around the club with stars in her eyes. Despite the line outside, the inside of the club isn't particularly crowded, and you don't see any bodies on the floor. A slow night for the Ravelry, it seems.

    The bar is stocked with a variety of expensive liquors from every corner of the wastes – Alleghainen whiskey, Ruskoran vodka, Ranchicourt brandy. A few of the more exotic drinks actually glow in the dark, and your cybernetics inform you that they might be mildly radioactive. You consider buying a pre-meeting round, but then see the price list and think better of it.

    A guard stands in front of the third door from the bar, but he doesn't stop you from opening the door and ascending the stairs behind it. The stairway is steep, narrow and twisting, but when you emerge at the pinnacle you're treated to the balcony, a spacious lounge overlooking the rest of the club. Floor to ceiling windows help mute the din from downstairs, allowing a reasonable level of conversation.

    Mandalay reclines on a large couch, drinking heavily from an expensive looking bottle. The rest of her pilots are spread haphazardly around the balcony. A blonde girl faces off against a pair of identical pre-teens in a holographic game involving spaceships of some kind. A tall, lanky man with close-cropped hair meticulously cleans a rifle. A woman, older than even Johann with skin black as coal, plucks languidly at what looks to be a genuine acoustic guitar. A boy with a shock of pink hair is stretched across the floor, dozing.

    "August!" Mandalay cries, raising her bottle in greeting. Her pilots swivel their heads to look at you, six sets of eyes all finding you at once. You can practically hear the cybernetics whirring to life, and it takes a concentrated effort not to reach for you pistols.

    "Mandalay. It's been a while."

    Mandalay flashes you a brilliant smile. "Not since…last year, huh? I'd say too long, but I'm pretty sure you almost shot me back then. So maybe just long enough."

    "I think you and I remember that night differently," you reply.

    "Wouldn't doubt it. I was shit-faced," Mandalay says, shrugging a shoulder. "Come here, sit down. You know my pilots?"

    "Only by reputation." You cross the room and take a seat across from Mandalay, the chair so soft it's almost like sitting in a cloud. Chalcedony and Johann sit on either side of you. The table that sits between you and Mandalay pings your cybernetics, asking if you'd like a drink, and a few moments later a circle in the center of the table opens up to reveal three glasses rising up from the depths – whiskey for you, brandy for Chalcedony, and water for Johann.

    Mandalay points to the blonde girl, now ignoring her game in favor of sizing you up. "Xanthe," Mandalay says. "Pirate born, like us, but from one of the smaller cities. Ala, Alek…"

    "Alanton," Xanthe provides, her voice almost sing-songy.

    "That's it," Mandalay says, taking a swig from her bottle. "The tykes are Dresden. Say hi, Dresden."

    "Hello, Captain Eberhardt," one of the twins says. Looking closer at them, you can see that they're not quite identical the one who spoke is a boy, the other a girl.

    "Just Dresden?" You ask, glancing over at Mandalay. "They're not-"

    "A bona-fide Ruskoran Gemini," Mandalay says. She doesn't bother to try to hide her smirk. "Ever met one before?"

    "I thought they were just a story," you admit. "Like a Class S, or the oasis."

    "There are very few of us," Dresden says, this time speaking through the girl. "And Ruskor prefers to keep us inside the-" she falls silent, suddenly, but the boy picks up immediately "-city. Mandalay snuck me out the waste pipes." The girl again. "It was disgusting."

    "But very much worth it," Mandalay says, clearly reveling in the look on your face. "The gun nut is Beauchamp."

    You glance over at Chalcedony, who has straightened a little in her seat. "The name sounds Ranchicourt."

    "You have a good ear," Beauchamp says, and now that he's speaking you can hear the accent in his voice, the light, rolling r's so similar to Chalcedony's. "I was a royalist, before my city fell to the Greens." He turns to Chalcedony and says something in the language of Ranchicourt. Even if you knew the words, you doubt you'd be able to decipher them through his accent. Chalcedony flushes and responds in the same tongue.

    Mandalay's eye twitches slightly - you're pretty sure she doesn't speak any more Ranchicourt than you do. "Delilah is our aspiring musician," she says, gesturing to the black woman with the guitar. "She's nearly thirty though, so we're all just waiting for her to drop dead."

    Delilah smiles pleasantly despite the comment. "Mandalay will miss me when I'm gone," she tells you, "but I don't intend to overclock any time soon. It's nice to meet you, August. I've heard much about you, from Mandalay and others."

    You return the smile. "Good things, I hope."

    Delilah gives you a so-so gesture with one hand, eliciting a snort of laughter from Chalcedony. You give her the side-eye, which she studiously avoids by looking down to the club's main level.

    "And finally, Gawain," Mandalay says, pointing out the pink haired boy still laying on the floor.

    Gawain blinks at you. "Seen your vids. Big fan. Sorry to hear your mecha got slagged."

    "It happens. I like the new one well enough."

    "Hope I get to see it in action." That done, Gawain lies back down and closes his eyes.

    "Well then," Mandalay says. "I showed you mine…"

    You take a sip of your whiskey, savoring the rich flavor of it. "Well, I don't have quite your entourage. But this is Johann, formerly of Sett."

    "I've heard of you," Mandalay says. "You've been with August for a while, neh? But you weren't around when he and I almost scrapped."

    Johann nods. "I am glad I was not. I detest pointless violence."

    "Ever think you might be in the wrong line of work, Johann?"

    "Almost constantly," Johann replies, "but I can't change what I am."

    Mandalay laughs, loud and long. "Sure as shit," she says, before turning back to you. "No need to introduce Chalcedony. We've met."

    "So I've heard. Mind if I ask how?"

    "It's a boring story," Mandalay says, waving a hand dismissively. "How about we talk about why we're all here instead?"

    You lean back in your chair. "I'm here because Chalcedony vouches for you. I'm not sure why you're here, but I have to assume it has something to do with your new Freelord."

    Mandalay's face darkens almost imperceptibly, but by the time you blink she's regained her devil-may-care grin. "So you heard about me and Alexander," she says, swishing the liquid that remains in her bottle back and forth. "Don't worry August, it's strictly business. I'm still…available."

    You nearly spit your drink out, but not because of the distinctly unsubtle come-on. "You're part of Tau's fleet?" There isn't a person in the wastes who doesn't know the name Alexander Tau, except perhaps some Ruskoran serfs who don't get to hear about the outside world. He became the youngest person to ever make Freelord when he was just seventeen, killing a then-Freelord in single combat. In the eight years since he has come to dominate the Salt Accords, with more ships and pilots to his name than all but the single greatest Freelord, the king of pirates himself.

    Again, Mandalay revels in your reaction, stretching the silence out by draining her bottle and summoning another from the table. "Alexander sees potential in me," she says, smugness practically dripping from her voice. "He has grand plans, and wants me to be a part of them."

    You tap a finger against your knee. "And let me guess, you need your own men? I don't find myself particularly interested in being your lackey, Mandalay."

    "Please," Mandalay says, rolling her eyes. "If I wanted a lackey, I'd take my pick of the idiots begging for my favor. I need a partner, August."

    "You've never struck me as the partner type."

    Mandalay laughs, but the sound is different than it was when she laughed at Johann's comment a moment ago – harsher, crueler, a bitterness like sunlight glinting off the edge of a blade. "Well that's exactly the problem," she says, uncorking her new bottle with her teeth and taking a deep swallow. "You see, Alexander is trying to build something. He doesn't want his fleet to be a cult of personality, to flame out and die the moment he croaks, like Wild Kimiko, or the Bahamut brothers. He wants a dynasty. Something that'll last."

    You frown. "Why are you telling me this?"

    "Because once you commit to something like that, you make an institution," Mandalay says. "There are interests you have to satisfy that aren't necessarily your own. Politics you have to play."

    Ah. Now you're beginning to understand. "Some of his admirals don't like you very much."

    "Crusty fucks," Mandalay spits, confirming your suspicions. She holds up her hand and starts counting off her fingers. "They think I'm reckless, impetuous, irresponsible, childish, suicidal. Can you believe that?"

    "Yes." Well, maybe not the last one.

    Mandalay scowls at you, but then her features soften. "Well, that's exactly why you're here, August. People know you, even if you have stagnated since Infinite Ziggurat. The crusty fucks, they'll have heard of you, and they'll approve of you."

    "And hopefully you, by association," you say. "I see your game." You pause for a moment, considering what you've just heard. "It's not the kind of plan I would've expected from you."

    "We all have to mature sometime," Mandalay says.

    You're not sure that's what this is, but you nod anyway. "And if I like being a free captain? If I'm not so sure I want to shackle myself to Alexander Tau?"

    Mandalay smirks. "I'm not asking you to marry the guy, shit. I just want to contract with you for a couple schemes. Then…" she shrugs. "If our relationship is working, we can renegotiate. Or you can go, do whatever small time shit tickles your dick."

    So if Mandalay is telling the truth about all this – and for what it's worth, your gut is telling you she is – she needs you, or someone like you. But it's only a temporary need, one she doesn't expect to have after a few schemes. What is she planning? What exactly is her role in Tau's organization? "Is that the offer then? Or are you going to tell me more about these schemes?"

    Mandalay wags one finger at you, as if she's a mother who's just caught her child with their hand in the cookie jar. "I can't go around handing out sensitive information like it's candy," she says. "But if you're on board, then I have a score for us. With both of us, it's doable. And it's big."

    "How big?"

    "One hundred million jewels. Each."

    It takes a concentrated effort to not let your mouth fall open at the number. One hundred million jewels is more than you've made in your entire career of piracy, if you ignore non-liquid assets that you could never afford to sell, like the Ahriman and mecha. It would transform you from a known but small-time pirate into a real player, someone with an actual say in the next Grand Parley.

    Mandalay must see something in your eyes despite your best efforts, because her smile only widens. "And hey, since I'm so flush right now, I could buy you a Sybil," she offers. "You'll want one, for this score, and I know you haven't got one."

    [] Agree
    One hundred million jewels. Association with Alexander Tau. A Sybil. In a single stroke, August Eberhardt would be a name to be feared, and respected. You can't wholly trust Mandalay – but you can't wholly trust anyone, not really.

    [] Decline
    When something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Mandalay's offer would radically transform your reputation, but you can't be sure it would do so in a good way. The slow, steady route isn't glamorous, but it's safe. Relatively speaking, anyway.
     
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    • [X] Agree

    Well, it's a pirate life, so may as well go for broke. We must stand ready for the sudden but inevitable betrayal.
     
    [X] Agree
    One hundred million jewels. Association with Alexander Tau. A Sybil. In a single stroke, August Eberhardt would be a name to be feared, and respected. You can't wholly trust Mandalay – but you can't wholly trust anyone, not really.

    No backing out now.
     
    [X] Agree

    Though I want to point out that this is probably gonna be the last I agree to working with Mandalay. She's playing for a lot higher stakes than I am comfortable with.
     
    Hrum.
    So, she wants us to vouch for her, show she's not some flash in the pan...Here's what I'm thinking.
    It sounds like if we can keep slogging a little bit longer, that Freelord Alex might come for us. And while Tau is a BIG name, I'm actually more leery of him then lady bad life decisions over here. Pirates are...Semi-liquid assets, and building up THIS much power to me says he wants to do one of two things:
    1. He wants to become the Pirate King.
    2. He wants to craft his own City in the Wastes, with his organization at the top.
    If it's the latter I'd be for it. I'm worried it's the former though and he's basically going to get him and his men killed.
    ...Eh, plot hook is plot hook and we did pass up the last one.

    [X] Agree
     
    [x] Agree

    Our crew wouldn't let us live it down if we refused.
    Of course, our crew probably wouldn't live if we agreed, period, but that's a different story, and the more interesting one at that.
     
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