The Emperor, the Archon, his Magistrianoí and their Lover

[DragonCobolt]

You grunt as the club smashes into you - and you roll hard with it, sending you flying backwards. Good news?

You don't break your ribs.

Bad news, you almost go over the side of the ship. You grab onto the railing with one hand, your other hand clinging to your longsword. Dark water flows beneath your feet and you are terribly aware, for just a moment, of how very deep the ocean is and how fast the ship is and how little time anyone will have to rescue you. You clench your teeth and drag yourself up with a burst of strength, driven more by fear than anything else, and land among the swirling melee - and then see that that damn bear is advancing towards you, tossing his club from paw to paw.

He is still limping over - his eyes wild and furious. You grin, an idea flashing through your mind as he comes closer and closer, staggering at you.

You tense - waiting for him to lift his club, then throw yourself to the side as he brings it down. By shrinking a bit, it's just enough.

The pirate captain, his eyes wild, hits the railing, topples forward, and unlike you...both of his hands are on the club. He plunges into the drink with a shriek, and then begins to swim desperately.

He's not the only pirate going over the side of the ship - the crew has managed to drive many of them backwards, and others have thrown up their hands. Most, though, have retreated back to the pirate ship, clearly having decided that this ship was too tough a nut to crack. The crew lets out a ragged cheer - but your heart is still going a thousand miles a minute. You sag down and lean your back against the railing you had almost gone over, your hand going to your chest.

"Shows those bastards," one of the crew - a short, curly haired woman with dark brown skin - says, spitting over the edge of the ship. She shakes her fist at the rowers on the pirate ship, who are backskulling as hard as they can. You grin at her.

"Does this happen every time?" you ask. "I can see why you sailors are all so tough."

"No," she admits. "...usually it's a worse." She flashes a jagged, gap toothed smile at you.

You stand, rubbing your shoulder - and look around, biting your lip as the crew begins to take custody of the few pirates who hadn't managed to get to their ship before the two vessels began to move apart. You can see Viator is clutching his hand to his arm - some dark black blood is dripping between his fingers.

NIKE IS VICTORIOUS - IF SHAKEN! WILL YOU...

[] Check on Vitor (both of you help with one another's conditions)
[] Question the Pirates (was this all as it seems, or was there something nefarious under it?)

Spoiler: Combat Rolls!

Nike, still using athletics for the harrying/attacks rolls: 6, 2, 6

Two Boredom, One Fear! But then we add in the result from your athletics skill and your condition and we also get Four Fear, which is the highest result, giving 4 successes. Bear has 1 defense and 1 armor. 1 success to reduce his defense to 0, then the remaining successes will cause 3 damage, reducing Bear to 0 Danger and taking him out

 

[DragonCobolt]

You sit down on one of the crates of cotton that are the ship's main cargo. Viator walks over to you, hissing as he does so, clearly planning to find some medical supplies. You grin, whistling to him. "Hey, stand here - I'm a writer, I know how to deal with a little scratch like that."

"It doesn't hurt like a scratch," Viator mutters, and you laugh, then reach up. You gently tug his hand away from his arm and smile at him - then look down at the wound.

You place your finger upon his wound, murmuring softly as you scrawl - leaving behind glowing green letters, taking your happiness that he wasn't hurt (too badly) and turning it into words: And then Viator, the brave, handsome, gorgeous man, was healed. Viator, craning his head to read the glowing lettering you left on him snorted softly. "Well, I'm already feeling better."

You wink at him - and the joy in your heart washes away the wound, not merely metaphorically. Literally. The wound seals shut and the blood is washed away in a pale glow of greenish light. He rubs at the now unscarred skin with his palm, then grins at you.

"I've never been healed by bardic magic before. Usually, I have to walk it off and tough it out," he says, while you feel a tiny nugget of happiness and contentment in your breast. You bite your lip slightly, your hand going to your chest as Viator look away, at the rest of the crew.

His voice is playful.

"Want to celebrate our victory?"

Your grin gets wider.

***
​

You wake up, two days later, to a call from the decks.

"Port ho!"

You wake up with Viator's green hand resting on your breast, his other cupping your crotch - which has settled in your sleep in a blurry, indistinct place between male and female. Viator, being a gentleman, was more than happy to enjoy his time with you in each of your variations, though he...as he put it...preferred to top. Fortunately, you were (as ever) flexible, and...

Well, there was just no polite way to put it: Spending the evenings of your first trip across the Sea of Spirits being railed by a hunky orc was just a fantastic fucking way to start your mission. BUt as the rest of the crew that are on duty for this part of the day begins to rush about, with the bell jangling to call up the rest, Viator groans and opens his eyes. He looks up at you as the two of you sway in your hammock, the only privacy from you and the rest of the ship being the most flimsy of all cantrips - the rest of the crew studiously ignoring you. It was apparently the custom on the Amiah: Fuck around, fine, just don't be too loud and stay focused on duty.

"Almost to port..." Viator rumbles. "I...have to get ready - hauling in takes all hands."

You blush, slightly as he writhes out of bed.

It wasn't as if Viator was your first lover. Not even your first male lover. Not by a long shot.

But...

NIKE IS ABOUT TO SET FOOT IN FRIELAND TO CONTINUE THEIR MISSION - IT IS NOT LIKELY VIATOR WILL...

[] "Well...it's been fun..." (2 Sorrow beats)
[] "See you around, Viator. I can't wait to see the Joylands." (2 curiosity beats)
[] "Well! It's been fun. Bye!" *get dressed hurriedly* (2 Boredom beats)

FURTHERMORE, NIKE HAS A SHARD - AND NO MONEY TO WEAN IT OFF

[] Do something stupid to burn it off (Write in what that should be)
[] Keep it for now, it might be useful (focus on mission)

Spoiler: Spells n' Rolls

Nike transformed his two curiosity beats into two joy beats, then cast with all 3 being used on the Damage track (since writing provides the 1 duration required for an instant spell.) This heals every bit of damage Viator had, and more!

Meanwhile, Viator simply used his Presence...and some Athletics...as a skill check to remove Nike's condition. You can use your imagination

TUTORIAL: Nike has gained their first Shard! When 3+ beats are spent at one time, they become a Shard of the dominant emotion (E.G, the most common type.) So, if you spent 5 beats (3 anger, 2 joy), then you would gain 1 Anger Beat.

Shards are persistent chunks of emotion that can only be shed through downtime. This removal requires indulging in an activity that is at least vaguely counter to the shard's dominant emotion. Reading a comedy to wean off anger shards. Read a tragic romance to burn off a joy shard. Get your hands dirty working on a craft project to burn off restless curiosity. However you do it, it costs 1 Thaler (1 gold coin) per Shard removed. This price can be waved by instead doing something YOUNG AND STUPID. For example, why read a romantic novel when you can seduce the wife of the mayor? Removing a shard grants 1 XP!

Shards function similarly to complications - however, unlike complications, they count as actual beats, not skills. This means that shards make it easier to get more shards. Having 1 shard means you only need to spend TWO beats at once to get a second shard.

Shards are useful - as they can be used for magic, unlike Consequences. but they are also...dangerous. If you acquire 10 shards of a single emotion, you become a GAUNT and are no longer able to feel ANY EMOTION SAVE THAT OF YOUR SHARD. Gaunts are prized by the unscrupulous and the power hungry for their magical strength, but feared for their monomaniac personalities and their lack of control.

 

[DragonCobolt]

You step off the boat, feeling downright blue - which is a bit ironic, considering that you've set foot into the Joylands. The city - Prater - looks quite distinct from the Galenzanti towns and cities you've been in before, befitting its more westerly situation. There is a lot more thatching on the roofs, and the windows aren't quite so tall, nor are they as narrow. The press of people, though, is familiar, as is their multifaceted diversity. There are folks who look as if they've come from the distant east, folk with clear fae blood in their veins (despite the Materialist strictures about the proper relationships between man and fae), folks who have been touched by stranger magic than you. You actually pause to watch as a woman with immense, burly arms lift and carry a heavy crate away from a cargo ship, her legs looking as if they have been sculpted into immense, biomechanical trunks by a passing dragon. Steam hisses from the seams between her knees and she effortlessly totes off a crate that takes an entire crane to swing off the ship.

But you're still feeling down from having to part from Viator. You hate it when you have to leave behind a lover - or when a lover has to leave you. The distant knowledge that you'd find someone new to fall in love with, maybe, eventually, isn't much of a comfort now.

But you try and focus on your mission. Your palm cups your pocket, making sure the message for Garicaus is still in your pocket.

This is when you round a corner and slam into someone running the opposite direction. You collapse backwards onto your rump and your palms spread to catch yourself as you clatter backwards - while the other figure falls back as well. You find yourself looking at a round cheeked, slightly plump woman of about your age, with a bowl cut black haircut and bright green eyes. Her skin is pale, where yours is dark, and she is dressed in hose, a checkerboard pattern red and gold knee length dress with elbow length black gloves and an absurdly poofy hat. It was quite possibly the most extravagant outfit you had seen beyond some of the fancier noble dresses in Dragonspire - made all the more remarkable by the fact that she was clearly no noblewoman, she had a sword on her hip and no bodyguards.

She sprang to her feet, glaring down at you. "Idiot," she said in Friespeil, then stomped off, leaving you blinking after her.

...okay, there was...one very good thing about her dress...

Holy shit, that ass.

You spent a bit watching her stomp off before she rounded another corner and was gone. You pushed yourself to your feet - checked your pocket - and then kept going.

Garicaus, according to the more detailed briefing you had been given before you left was living in a small tavern called the Basilisk's Rest, and asking around a few times gets you multiple conflicting directions. This simply means that you get to explore the city more, thinking thoughts torn between excitement at seeing a new place and sadness, before you finally find the place as the evening settles and the moons start to come out. The Basilisk's Rest is a two story tavern that is sat at the very corner of the city, within near spitting distance of the tall and entirely outdated walls that surround the city properly. But while the walls might do very little against modern kannon, they did also block the sun and make the streets narrow, so the buildings here were mostly populated by the desperately poor - the people you could tap if you ever needed some of the local bravos or cutpurses.

Your hand dropped to your purse, just to make sure. Not that you had much money left after the sailing trip...

You stepped into the tavern and glanced around. Mostly day laborers, some of them gambling, some of them simply drinking their joybeer in peace, some of them talking. There is a musician in the corner strumming carefully on an acoustic guitar, playing a lilting, playful song that you don't recognize. The bartender nods to you as you walk over. "What brings you here, stranger?" he asks.

You smile and try and keep your Galenzanti accent down - and through long practice, you're actually pretty good at it. "Looking for Garicaus - zir is staying here?"

"That old drunk?" the bartender frowns. "Zi doesn't owe you money, do zey? Because zi owes me five pfennings and a day's work for last week."

"No, no, zey're an old friend of my father," you say, nodding.

The bartender shrugs one shoulder. "Zi should be upstairs, working on zir magnum opus. Third room from the back - it has zir name on it - zey've been staying here long enough."

You nod, then start upstairs, your boots thumping on wood. The corridor is narrow and smells faintly of piss. Your nose crinkles and you walk over to the door that has Garicaus scrawled in it - using a K and I instead of C and U. You rap on the door. The door springs open a second later and you are presented with a rather misshapen pair of breasts and a wild beard. Garicaus is shirtless, wild eyed, and definitely drunk as hell as zi looks down at you, not even bothering to cover zir chest as zi snarles: "I was almost there, child. ALMOST THERE!"

You wave your hand before your nose. "Have you considered laying off the drink?" You ask, before adding: "Father's missed you a great deal."

The password doesn't change Garicaus' attitude. Zi instead grabs you and swings you into the room, slamming the door, before bellowing at the top of zir lungs. "I was in the MIDST of writing the FINAL line of the most important POEM to have EVER BEEN SCRIBED!" Zir hand pointed at a parchment - which, true, is covered with some of the worst poetry you've ever had the misfortune to read in your life. But as Garicaus rants and raves at you - you see that zir hands are moving, using sign language to speak while ranting. It's quite a trick, even if you have to block out zir raving at you: Glad you got here in one piece, kid. You can tell me to shut up very loudly at any time now, so I can stop making up new invectives. Though, I am quite proud of this one.

"You COCK-SPITTLE WORM BITTEN-"

"Garicaus!" you shout, loudly enough that the patrons downstairs might hear it. "The word you're looking for, on stanza three, is PEANUT! Not WALNUT! Peanut actually rhymes."

"...oh!" Garicaus exclaimed - and then, quietly, zi leaned in and grinned, showing yellowy teeth. "Shall we get to business, Magistrianoi?"

***
​

You sit with Garicaus - who still hasn't put on a shirt - in zir room as zey pour you some wine. You sip from it, and wince. More like vinegar. So, you pretend to drink as Garicaus reads the note, nods, then sets it on fire using the candle on zir desk. "What do you know about the Via Crusade?" zir asks.

Your lips purse. "It was a bad idea from day one...uhh, in the year 1204. The Antiapex wanted to spread the Materialist Spire to other worlds and tried to re-open the Via Lux without the proper command words. It ended up opening every single Via Lux in the world - to a random destination. Most worlds don't even have life on them, let alone human beings. And most of the worlds with live have...horrors." You shake your head. "End result: Multiple cities of Spiredom destroyed, half of the Dragonspire depopulated..."

"Yeah," Garicaus says, nodding. "It's also what brought this little number into Frieland."

Zi holds out a small clay pot, which has a truly ugly looking clump of plants in it - small red leaves bristling from an almost vein like vine. You reach for it - but jerk your hand back as Garicaus slaps your wrist. "These are razor sharp," zi says, pointing at the leaves. "The Red Vine also grows incredibly fast - it's a blight farmers have been fighting for four centuries with about as much luck as storms and hail."

You nod. "Okay." You pause. "What does this have to do with my mission."

"Your father thinks it's time for us to...take steps..." Garicaus chews zer lower lip. "Frieland was once the western reach of the Empire. It was the most prosperous part too - mines, farms, industry. Mostly run by slaves taken from other worlds. But since it had so many Via Lux portals built in it, the Galen also used it as a place for communications to go through. Your ancient predecessors came through all the time and left messages and missives in buildings called Publicus." Zi leaned in close. "And there happens to be a Publicus within two days of Prater that we've had our eyes on for months. We've been trying to track down a...certain missive that the last Galen Emperor, Remus Aprilus, was to receive."

You nod, your brow furrowing. "What use could it be? It's a thousand years old by now."

"That's not for you to know. Just get it from the Publicus - which, by the way, is in the midst of fae haunted lands, surrounded by red vine, and likely, filled with Auxiliaries."

You sigh.

Great.

"Do we-"

"No, we do not know their password," zi says, downing zir bad wine with a gulp.

You slump back, groaning.

Auxiliaries were what the ancient Galen had used to beef up their Legions - not the modern Auxiliaries that you had been trained in being a part of. The Galen had been a bit more direct in their methods: Need soldiers after a big battle? Okay, take the corpses, burn off the flesh, then shove fae into bones. They would then chain them to a command phrase - anyone without it would face legions of clacking, clattering skeletons.

Great.

***
​

As Garicaus snores, you cannot sleep. You lay on the roof of the tavern, looking up at the stars, and thinking of just how beautifully sad it was. A thousand years ago, the Galen Empire had actually gone to those stars. They had used the Via Lux to look at other suns - and what had they done? Taken slaves and...brought misery and it was just so tragic. You felt yourself beginning to cry and you wallowed in that sadness, letting yourself cry your eyes out, thinking of things that should have been.

When you did finally get to bed, it was barely two hours later before you were rousted from it by Garicaus announcing: "I am going to piss."

Zi then pissed in a chamber pot with a sound that reminded you of the biggest horses in your father's stables.

So.

You got up, rubbing grit out of your eyes.

NIKE IS VERY SLEEPY AND HAS NO MONEY...FUCK

[] "Can I borrow some coin?" (Buy coffee to undo your Condition of "Sleepy..." (1 Boredom), requires a presence check to wheedle money out of Garicaus)
[] "I better head out. Messages to get. Empires to save. Glory and all that." (Head out and let the consequence linger and deal with it later)

 

[DragonCobolt]

"I better head out. Messages to get. Empires to save. Glory and all that." You say, rubbing at your eyebrows and yawning loudly.

Garicaus doesn't even wish you good luck.

You make your way through the city towards the front gates - and you can hear that there is a change in the city, almost immediately. Your brow furrows as you stop by a corner - and you see men in half-plate armor are out and about. They're in groups of twos and threes, and they're hammering up parchment that looks like it's been cheaply printed. You've read book that have been printed using the printing press and movable type before. Personally, you prefer the more personal touch for illuminated manuscripts and book written in long hand, but you can totally see why so many books are being printed using with a press. Still, you wait for two of the men in half plate to walk away, chatting with one another, their weapons clear on their backs (mostly longswords, like yours), before you step up to the parchment.

ANY FOLLOWER OF THE SUN SPIRE
TO REPORT TO THE MAGISTERIAL OFFICE
IMMEDIATELY FOR THE EDICT OF BELIZ
REFUSAL TO DO SO SHALL FACE THE
ULTIMATE PENALTY
​

There is an illustration - cheaply printed as well - that make it visual for the illiterate. At least, you think that's what the intent is. The 'sun spire' is represented by a stylized woman holding a sun in her hands, looking piteous and distressed, bowed under the weight of chains that are helpfully labeled with HERESY and DAMNATION on it. You frown and shake your head.

"Sun Spire? What the hell is a Sun Spire?"

You glance around yourself and feel suddenly rather self conscious. While it isn't exactly obvious you're an Occultist and not a Materialist, you are lacking the necklace Spire that most Materialists wear, the tiny representation of the tower that all humans are building to heaven, or so they say. And you do have the oath beads that father had given you - they're simple wood carved beads on a string, carved with the symbols of all the finest Occultist saints, the ones who had marked down and made the pacts with the fae.

You can see other members of the city coming out and looking at the posts. They start to mutter - and as you walk through the streets, you hear the muttering getting...angry.

"This is unjust!" you hear a man saying - loudly enough that he is clearly either drunk or confident that most people agree with him. "They want to, what, eject half the city? That's what they did in Beliz, I hear!"

"The old duke would never-"

"-well, if you ask me, I think that if they were so intent on reforming the Spire, they'd do better than throwing the Apex off a roof."

"You can't agree with-"

You hurry faster, feeling a growing sense that something bad is definitely going to happen if you stay in this city. You know Father had said that storm clouds were gathering, and that Captain Fyord had said that a war was brewing. But you hadn't expected this to crop up so fast. And in the Joylands of all places - but you can see that several people are already at the center of shouting matches. You can see that they don't wear symbols to identify themselves, but you clearly hear them being called "Children" or "Children of the Sun." You wonder if this new branch of the spire has anything to do with the Sun King, the immortal god-king of Patrias. But...you're pretty sure that it must be something else, or else...well, you don't think quite so many Frielanders would be willing to debate over the subject.

They may dislike the Empire, due to all the wars and the long split between the eastern and western Spires.

But they hated the Patrians.

You round a corner - and there's the gate!

And there are two of those guards, in their half plate armor, and they point at you.

"You there," one says, a swaggering woman with a mushroom shaped hat that bobs around her head impressively. She reminds you a bit of the lady you had run into earlier in dress, even if she's as thin as the other girl was curvy. It's the style of clothing - and racking your brain, it clicks. You've read of them: The Landsknechte. It's less an organization and more a generalized plague that afflicts Frieland, an entire class of...well...mercenary. They're mostly famous for their surly disposition, their skill at infantry warfare, their eccentric fashion, and their utter lawlessness. Most cities in Frieland had gone straight to simply paying them to intimidate the peace into place rather than trying to control them indirectly with laws and their own guard forces.

It was cheaper. And more likely to work.

And it now had two of them eying you.

"You a sun chaser?" the other Landsknechte sneers. He moves to your right. You glance between them.

"We got orders that if any sun chasers try and leave the city, we're gonna make sure they go to the Magister's office first," the woman says, smirking as she eyes you. "Well, pretty lady? You got a proper spire, you a proper God fearing fellow like us?"

Yeah. You two are so pious, you think.

THE GROWING STORM IS ABOUT TO BREAK IN THE JOYLANDS - WITH NIKE CAUGHT IN THE EDGE! WILL THEY...

[] "Listen, I'm Galenzanti. I do not know nor care what you westerners are doing. I have post to deliver." (Tell the truth, use Presence.)
[] "Listen, I-" RUN (There doesn't seem to be more than two guards - make a break for it with Athletics)
[] "Listen, I'm a good follower of the Spire, I'll have you know, I have my necklace right he- oh darn!" (Buy time by pulling your oath beads, drop them, kneel to pick them up, and write a quick spell on the ground: the 1 duration for writing is free, and then 1 on area, 1 on giving a -1 dice penalty. Sorrow can blind you, and so, this spell will blind the guards. Then you run.)
[] Write in!


AN: Also, guys, remember! With each vote, you can gain or transform beats. You don't have too every time, but I just want to make sure no one is forgetting the option!

Spoiler: Nike makes a stealth check!

Nike rolls their Will and gets 5 and 5 - two Rage results. Throw in their Condition and their training and they get 1 Boredom and 1 Fear as well.

As the highest result MUST be used, this would mean they would get 2 rage, which are NOT APPLICABLE to stealth, and thus, a fail. RUH OH!

 

[DragonCobolt]

You chuckle, and honestly? It feels good to focus on something other than feeling blue - even if it is the fact that you have a serious chance of getting dragged off for religious strife that you haven't gotten a single hide nor hair in. You lift your hands. "I'm Finn Steros, author of Guidebooks to the Wonders of the World. You may have..." You pause, looking at the two mercenaries. "...read them...well...you may not, but they're quite popular." You smile.

The merc on the left frowned slowly, rubbing her chin with a metal shod gloved hand. She cocks her head. "Steros, huh? That sounds Galenzanti..." She frowns as you decide to use that.

"Yes, so I'm not likely to be one of those Sun worshipers you're looking for, right?" you ask.

"True..." the merc says. "And the Magistrate isn't interested in any fae-fucker." She sneers slightly at you. "You got those beads that you fae-fuckers carry?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Not everyone in the Empire has oath-beads," you lie. Everyone gets them, what good would they be if good followers of the Occultist Spire didn't have them? But the two mercs nod, and the talkative one jerks her thumb over her shoulder.

"All right, get outta here, fae-fucker," she says, frowning, and you walk past. "And have fun writing your stupid book!" she shouts after you.

You trudge away from the city, shaking your head. The street beyond the city is heavily lined with tracks and horseshoes and is still muddy from a rain a few days ago - but beyond the stink of the walls, you can already begin to feel your mood growing brighter still. The hilly landscape of the joyland stretches outwards - with a valley to your left, sweeping down to a river that winds its way through the place, tributaries spreading outwards to thread between small hamlets and villages. The river is dotted with merchant traffic, and you can see, further still, the rising hills of the far side of the valley, coming to elegant points of the mountains. BUt then you see what it is that makes the Joyland so very famous: One of the huge, floating islands. Wrenched aloft by the sheer happiness that had sunken into the soil over the centuries, the island drifts by, surrouned by clouds and covered with trees and bits of moss. Birds flap around it, and some swoop down to soar nearer to the ground.

It's uncanny and you have to admit, you'd be a mite uncomfortable if it drifted over your village...but you suppose you'd get used to it. Especially since they had been flying for centuries, and none of them had crashed.

To your knowledge.

You keep walking forward, knowing that it's going to be a long hike before you even get to the wild parts of the Joyland, but you have plenty of supplies - even if you're a little sleep...

"EEEEEEEEEE!"

You blinked, looked up, and saw a red comet flying down at you. You have just enough time to realize that it's a human figure, dropping from the sky, before you turn, yelp, stumble backwards, and get smashed into the ground. You skid along the muddy road and come to a stop, your head slapping back into the mud and the muck. Your back feels like one big bruise - and your chest feels heavily compressed. The weight of an entire human person sprawled atop you is hard to ignore. You close your eyes, open them, and hope that you had just fallen asleep in the road.

Nope.

There is a woman atop you - curvy and plump...a red and black checkerboard outfit and...

"Idiot..." you groan, remembering the only thing this woman had said to you before.

"Don't tell anyone!" she said, then scrambled to her feet, then dove into some bushes beside the road. You began to sit up, scowling as you look down at your muddy outfit - you think a very angry cantrip would be enough to clean this off - since, well, anger was all about changing states, and you were sure fucking pissed about this mud. But your ears perked up and heard the sound of thundering hooves. You lifted your head and saw that three horsemen were riding down the road, wearing the same flamboyant Landsknecht uniforms of the two guards at the gate. Their leader was a human with ebony black skin, glittering compound eyes like a fly, and mandibles that clicked and clattered, while his two friends were more common stock - a blond and a redhead. Each of them had cavalry sabers, lances in holstered in their saddles and breastplates that glittered in the noonday sun. The man with the mandibles had a broad brimmed hat that you thought was plumed, until you realized they were his antennas.

He pointed at you, then signed - clearly not up to speaking Friespeil with his mouthparts: Did you see the Sunchaser? She escaped the city with a destructive spell - we saw her come down in this area!

NIKE IS DIRTY, BRUISED, AND QUITE PUT OUT...BUT NOT REALLY EAGER TO JOIN IN WHAT IS BEGINNING TO LOOK INCREASINGLY LIKE THE RUN UP TO A MASS EXILE - OR WORSE.

[] "Yes, she landed right on me, then took off that way!" (Point to the River, using Presence to lie.)
[] "No, I tripped. What the hell is a Sunchaser!?" (Presence to lie)
[] "...she's right there." (Point her out, you monster.)

Spoiler: ALMOST FORGOT THE DICE!

Finn rolled a presence check and got a 3 and a 3! Two Curiosities, forcing them to spend their 2 Joy from transforming 1 sorrow to get 3 successes - more than enough!