The Streetwalker's Guide to the Hierarchy
- Thread starter Birdsie
- Start date
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
Must've been from a previous draft. Will fix.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Scour Old City
[X] Japhris (?)
[X] Japhris (?)
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Hah, I guess this proves that Goremont was infact not aware of contamination (or failed to realize its potential (or it was a gamble on contamination making it worse (or or or destroying the physical part of the disease did not destroy the disease itself and the other shoe is yet to drop)))
Yeah its a risk but they're already in danger along with a lot of other people.
Andrei and Dorian feel like friends and comrades who try to be decent people, take risks, explore the multiverse to learn together.
That's a pretty good excuse.
Dorian is a social expert and it shows.
Another apocaypse world, Dorian has a tendency for those.
Let's analyze the main options. Start with the easy one:
[ ] Refuse
this is obviously just a bad idea. Antagonizing the people Dorian just worked hard todeceive misdirect prevaricate into being friendly and short on difficult questions is not very smart. Especially given we have the option to immediately run away beyond their reach. And we have little to gain from being overtly hostile, given we are not murderhoboes, and even if we were these people seem unlikely to have much good loot. (And just agreeing with them will have them automatically give us weapons and supplies!)
You could maybe, somewhat painedly argue that these people are Tyrannical due to their desire to Conscript us, but in the practical sense, while a "pacified" outpost might be less dangerous than the forest, it could also end up with us being suddenly incinerated by an orbital strike.
(the other likely sub-options like retreating to the Street, trying some kind of standoff, or potentially allowing them to confiscate all our "relics" are extra bad in my opinion)
[] Track Strange Signal
I was initially partial to this one, but on second thought, we don't have a good grasp of the general danger level of this world, and the strange signal is probably going to be relatively high up on the danger scale.
This may normally not be that much of a problem, dorian and musorov are quite strong for 'lesser world' standards, but we have 2 new, still weak team members whose lives we just saved at significant risk so taking the option that maximizes the chances of one of them getting immediately killed is perhaps not ideal.
Having them hang in the backlines may be a decent strategy here, but we don't quite know if they can handle the ambient danger level of the forest on their own, and the source of the signal is moving very fast so measures like distance or mr. Croft standing in the way may be of little respite.
That leaves the two options that seem the most promising to me,
[ ] Scour Old City
[ ] Run Away
Scour Old City (along with signal) is I think an "obvious" "default option". It has the problem of potentially inviting more unpleasant questions about what exactly is going on with us, but I think that's a navigable problem. More likely we get plentiful supplies, some positive rapport with the government, maybe some amounts of highly safe downtime.
It's the prudent option. After just taking and resoundingly succeeding with a significant gamble, the natural follow-up is to keep our head down and carry on. It would certainly follow our flawless track record of always saying "Yes" to any suggestion someone outside of drethir makes to us. And that's exactly why we should pick running away to the forest! Forge our own path! It may be hazardous, we may need to scavenge for supplies, but--- oh, nobody's voting for it. And strange signal is (almost) winning! Well fuck. Oh well. I'm probably voting for Scour Old City
[ ] Refuse
this is obviously just a bad idea. Antagonizing the people Dorian just worked hard to
You could maybe, somewhat painedly argue that these people are Tyrannical due to their desire to Conscript us, but in the practical sense, while a "pacified" outpost might be less dangerous than the forest, it could also end up with us being suddenly incinerated by an orbital strike.
(the other likely sub-options like retreating to the Street, trying some kind of standoff, or potentially allowing them to confiscate all our "relics" are extra bad in my opinion)
[] Track Strange Signal
I was initially partial to this one, but on second thought, we don't have a good grasp of the general danger level of this world, and the strange signal is probably going to be relatively high up on the danger scale.
This may normally not be that much of a problem, dorian and musorov are quite strong for 'lesser world' standards, but we have 2 new, still weak team members whose lives we just saved at significant risk so taking the option that maximizes the chances of one of them getting immediately killed is perhaps not ideal.
Having them hang in the backlines may be a decent strategy here, but we don't quite know if they can handle the ambient danger level of the forest on their own, and the source of the signal is moving very fast so measures like distance or mr. Croft standing in the way may be of little respite.
That leaves the two options that seem the most promising to me,
[ ] Scour Old City
[ ] Run Away
Scour Old City (along with signal) is I think an "obvious" "default option". It has the problem of potentially inviting more unpleasant questions about what exactly is going on with us, but I think that's a navigable problem. More likely we get plentiful supplies, some positive rapport with the government, maybe some amounts of highly safe downtime.
It's the prudent option. After just taking and resoundingly succeeding with a significant gamble, the natural follow-up is to keep our head down and carry on. It would certainly follow our flawless track record of always saying "Yes" to any suggestion someone outside of drethir makes to us. And that's exactly why we should pick running away to the forest! Forge our own path! It may be hazardous, we may need to scavenge for supplies, but--- oh, nobody's voting for it. And strange signal is (almost) winning! Well fuck. Oh well. I'm probably voting for Scour Old City
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OctarineShrike
Avatar of Mandos
[X] Scour Old City
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Linneas of the Argent Kingdom
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Linneas of the Argent Kingdom
We don't really have to bring the elf along, and Linneas should be fine on its own. We can heal him, after all. More to the point, if we successfully solve this case we should get some good rep in, which might allow us to access more global plotlines. They have teleports, so getting in good graces with Lieutenant would be useful. In case that this is not random and is actually a important plot mission, starting it earlier means that we get to know opponent faster, so more crafting time.
Plus, just getting gear has value.
I've got no idea why people vote Linneas. It does precious little in the current situation. Picking elf heals her, picking Musorov crafts him a mask and picking Carrasco gives us info, valuable connection and the whole eye parasite plot. Linneas gets us to know him and gets us some info about King power, but none of that has actual immediate impact unlike the other three options.
OctarineShrike
Avatar of Mandos
[X] Scour Old City
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Japhris (?)
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Japhris (?)
[X] Scour Old City
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Linneas of the Argent Kingdom
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Linneas of the Argent Kingdom
OctarineShrike
Avatar of Mandos
A look at the tally suggests the current winning result is scouring the old city, socializing with Musorov, and a coin toss between Linneas and Japhris for the second social action.
ThatGuyWithIdeas
Treize died for our sins
- Location
- Romania
[X] Scour Old City
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Japhris (?)
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Japhris (?)
[X] Track Strange Signal
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Lieutenant Carrasco
[X] Dr. Andrei Musorov
[X] Lieutenant Carrasco
Zampano
🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈
- Location
- Simping for DSB
The travelogue format is really suffering from the voters' refusal to talk to strangers / engage with current events in each location. It's like going backpacking in Europe after college and only eating alone in your hotel room. And not even going to a hostel.
Are we really going to scour the city without asking the locals even one question about wtf a "Relic" is?
OctarineShrike
Avatar of Mandos
We managed to bullshit our way into convincing them we're from here so it'll take some shenanigans for someone to properly explain relics to us. Much less Liutenant Carrosco. Unless that parasite is somehow a relic and we ask her about that.
I dunno about you but I was convinced the unknown threat level of the signal vs the rest of our group is a reason to scour the city.
Taure - Inhuman Harm
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
Inhuman Harm
As sightseeing destinations went, Oasis was more than satisfactory.
It was far safer than either Demimonde or the zombie-infested Earth, although far more utilitarian than anywhere Dorian had been.
All of Oasis' inhabitants were workers, and a fraction of them specifically trained military personnel. It made for a rather curt culture, where everyone was constantly busy with something, except during lunchtime - the only acceptable time to socialize or hold a casual conversation, it seemed.
However, it had a darker side as well.
Although Dorian wasn't a trained psychologist, he was a well-practiced extrovert and glad-hander, and he noticed a ubiquity of depression among the staff. An inescapable malaise infected one in every three of them, and it seemed that everyone brought effort to conceal it from the others, as if not wishing to be a bother.
Although some of the staff eagerly pushed on, wide-eyed and bright, as spirited as some of Dorian's once-conspirators, hopeful for the remaking of a better world; a lot of them instead had internally abandoned the conviction that Taure's state of affairs could improve, and became internally dejected. He wasn't able to find hard statistics anywhere, nor was this a topic to casually bring up with anyone short of a commanding officer, but he strongly suspected the suicide rates were cynically high.
For a couple of days, he educated himself and learned to use a computer in secret, collecting more data, to anticipate what'd come.
Dorian still preferred the paper books over the digital media. It seemed, at least, that humanity learned from its errors: a lot of their so-called 'network' was destroyed when the forest spread, and now making backups and copies in different formats was the norm.
Even so, none of the discoveries he'd made were especially helpful. No scientist on Taure was even remotely certain of where the sylvan phenomenon had even originated.
One fateful autumn morning fifteen years ago, it was simply as if a forest on one of the continents became a hive of maddened influence; fresh saplings becoming thousand-ringed titans overnight and spreading new generations of trees within the same amount of time. With them, came the rest of the forest: animals, fungi, and other flora, almost like a living tide of greenwood; a tsunami wave of nature. Each region of woodland so much as touched became infected with the effect, hosting it as well.
Try as they might, the world couldn't react well enough on time. There was no woodcutter swift enough to deal with the issue. Although certain machines had the ability to tear woodlands apart, there weren't enough of them. In the second week, almost half the world was a jungle.
And by the end of the third week, every survivor had either retreated to small settlements on the world's edges: to unforested islands, or strange glades spared by the forest's heedless advance, or else ascended into the skies on ships of metal to escape this madness. The others weren't so lucky.
When Dorian donned the Theater Child and meditated on the discoveries, he noticed the emergence of a curious if rather terrifying pattern. Namely, Dorian noticed how very recent the apocalypse of each world was. Demimonde, zombie Earth, and Taure's incidents had all occurred easily within the reach of mortal memory. Given half the worlds he'd seen were in ruin, it painted a rather ugly image. He saw the multiverse and its timeline in his mind's eye, and how to the naked eye, it seemed like everything was dying.
Then Dorian decided to focus more on the present time, to take his mind off things, and not fall into a trap of glumness like the locals.
"I must admit," said Andrei, as he screwed on the cap of a small canister meant to be mounted on a gauntlet, "The Oasis manufacturing facilities surpass anything I'd ever imagined, even in my wildest dreams. Even the civilian lathes can reproduce implements I'd once considered scarce! The many worlds continue to astound me."
He focused on the instrument he'd made, and to the doctor's delight, it remotely shot a small aerosolized spray. A glittering cloud of moisture fell down, then recollected under the doctor's concentrated will, returning back into the canister. According to an earlier monologue, he was intent on adding magnetized rails onto his suit and holding many such canisters on them, and filling them with a variety of useful chemicals. With Ebbandry to direct the pumping process, an internal mixing system could even be used to produce novel substances on a case-by-case basis. This, according to Andrei, would be of incredible use in almost any environment. It'd be a work of weeks, though.
Dorian was also hard at work. In front of him was a fully face-covering metal mask and a set of typical tools, not the sort of advanced tools Taureans were accustomed to, but a more classical set from Drethir. He found adapting to their computerized automatic lathes made for somewhat subpar results, as none of the masks absorbed Facelessness as well. Just a couple of finishing touches, and then a layer of detailing, and Dorian would be done.
From the workbench of his own, Dorian snorted, shaking his head.
"Already done with your recollections of Demimonde?"
A sour look crossed the doctor's face. "As cruel as it was, I won't forget where I came from."
"Tell me about it?"
"The DSSR was an autocratic tyranny," said Andrei with a sad smile. "All vampires are sociopaths. Mortals, such as ourselves, were nothing but chattel, as was my mother. I was orphaned and worked a field to survive. However, I had a good mind, so I studied and achieved a scholarship, then in short order, a doctorate. During an international conference, I found asylum with the Tribes. When I successfully emigrated - or, escaped, rather - however, I felt that I had accomplished nothing for the people of my poor homeland, who suffered still. Therefore, all my works were nothing but garbage for they meant nothing... and I, in turn, was born of that trash."
He raised the canister, assessing its sheen with a cool diagnostic gaze.
"I decided this must change. In a society where our Visceral overlords bred slaves for obedience and mulish stupidity, I stood as one paragon gifted with a rare clarity. I had to make a better world, to strive. What use is science, my friend, if not for the betterment of mortalkind? We ask questions, but the 'we' in that statement is very plural. For one scientist to desire to know his world, and indeed to learn on his own, without anyone to share his findings with, must be a sad existence. Science is a collective endeavor."
"We'll return to Demimonde," affirmed Dorian. With Viscerality, he could sense the doctor's zeal almost as if it were a literal flame within him. "And set the record straight. We're weak and meaningless for now - but someday we'll be the craftsmen of a better tomorrow. This much, I can promise to try. Also, I've finished your mask."
The doctor put away the canister and smiled, accepting the work. "Thank you."
It was a countenance of hard steel and marble-like eyes of blue lenses. Otherwise, it was angular, achromatic, extremely well-polished, and with the appearance of unyielding ruggedness and strength. Andrei immediately donned it as a test of whether it fit and nodded, then removed it once more.
A mask meant for war couldn't be cluttered with useless conversation. His interlocutor grasped the mechanics of identity well.
"And what about your rebellion?" asked Andrei. "You've told me some about Drethir."
"Drethir's a distant problem. Once, I thought it'd be my whole life. The Street's abduction changed everything." Dorian sat still for a moment, one finger tapping on the desk uneasily. Inside him, the cauldron of distortion bubbled, as if wishing to surge to the forefront and corrupt the world. He stilled it forcefully. "I'd like to avenge my family. Or at least I believed I did... but is revenge a valid motive? Justice is what people usually speak of when overthrowing tyrants."
"The Empire of Drethir deserves an ending to come its way, based on what you've told me," Andrei said with conviction. "As long as you act with clarity, and without needless cruelty, you won't misstep. That's my opinion, at least, and I am a rather educated man."
"And what if I cause the end of the world?" asked Dorian. "What if that is the Street's warning to me?"
"I think, sometimes, mankind requires conflict to overcome its shortcomings," said Andrei. "It's how we grow. The Street may mean to allow you to see the mistakes of others and learn from them. What have you learned from the apocalypses you saw?"
"On Earth, even though vampires were evil predators, humans continued to hunt them down unto extinction's edge - even warned of consequences. Greed and hatred claimed their hearts. On Demimonde, your peoples were so stuck in a race against each other, so eager to prove their own methods superior and find some measure of glory, they failed to accept the warning signs of doom, and for their hubris, doomed the whole world."
Dorian shook his head with disbelief. "But that's it! What about this place?" he asked with distress. "Where have these people erred? Was there some moral fault, for which some prosaic deity punished them? I cannot see how a world-forest appearing from nowhere is any of their fault, truth be told. This civilization's response seems largely reasonable to me: escape the incoming doom as well as you can, and once the storm has blown over, pick through the ruins and reclaim what you can."
"Hm. I am not entirely convinced the Street is entirely cognizant as an entity of its own yet, mind you," said Andrei as a forewarning. "I am speaking from the position of someone who does, to help you think. But... maybe that is the lesson? Depressing as it is, maybe this world is meant to show how sometimes there is nothing you can do."
"A sad lesson, if so."
"Life can be a cruel teacher." Andrei smiled. "But we can do better."
"Indeed. What do you think about our companions?"
"Linneas and Japhris?"
Dorian nodded, as he started to clean the workspace, as was a habit of skilled and well-taught craftsmen. The metal shavings went into a small bin. And the tools, naturally, went back to their varnished container.
"I haven't formed a solid opinion yet, I'll admit," said Andrei. "Linneas seems reverent, but I cannot say if he is trustworthy. Certainly not a foolish man, to advertise himself so well. I'd learn more about him and his intentions, if I were you. What we've seen of the poor girl doesn't tell me as much as I'd like, except that she's a brave soul in very difficult circumstances. That deathknight was a monster, and I cannot imagine the thought of dying as a result of his corruption. She must've been terrified. I fear she may put too much gratitude in you. I've seen people who were similarly saved become... obsessed with their saviors. But perhaps she's not that kind of person and can maintain a clearer mind. Hero worship at this stage wouldn't do you much good... except perhaps to empower that strange new magic of yours. I've never seen anything like it."
"Fascinated, are you?" Dorian chuckled. "I could make you a Pawn, eventually. Once this noble spark has built up enough heat, at least."
"I'd rather you made me a Bishop - or better yet, a Doctor," said Andrei with a voice as dry as desert sand. "But I suppose if your flames are on the precipice of sputtering out, I would be willing to aid you, as a comrade, and claim either mantle with hard work."
"Hm, so you aren't opposed to treating me as royalty?"
"Sir, sometimes you already treat yourself as royalty."
They both laughed.
"But no, I've no qualms about respecting a superior in some regard, especially if the station is likewise earned," said Andrei, a touch of humor now under his eyes. "And if you ever proved a tyrant, I'd aim to do to you what you aim to do to the Drethiri. But I doubt you'd fall that hard from your perch."
"It means a lot," Dorian said with a nod of gratitude. Then, he muttered, "You must've found faith on Icarel or something, to have so much of it now."
The doctor rolled his eyes and folded his arms, white labcoat sleeves crumpling slightly. "I am still a man of cold rationality. I assure you."
"Wise. I may indeed make you a Doctor then, if circumstances ever permit."
"You have my thanks, Your Majesty."
The words held a meaning and true reverence. Inside, the flame of kingship swelled minimally. Not enough to even appoint a second Pawn yet, but it was a fractional step up the stairs to a crown. One of perhaps a hundred he'd need to take, before reaching that milestone.
After that, Dorian went out into the clinic and decided to have a look at the other life he'd saved. After multiple days of rest and frequent visits from Dorian, where he'd administered subtle Visceral healthcare under the eyes of the doctors, Japhris was now in a conscious state, although he'd decided to leave conversation until now.
She nodded as he entered the room, ears twitching underneath the dark hair.
"The doctors say you've been visiting often," she said, voice soft and tired - or maybe she was melancholic. He struggled to identify the feelings there.
"We are a team, for better or worse," he said, in case anyone was listening. The narrative needed a solid backbone to stand upright. "I should inform you, I didn't save your life expecting gratitude or a life debt. You're free to make your own choices."
"I understand." She nodded, sighing softly. The sound was peculiarly beautiful. "Have you seen a necklace? Was there one on me, when you brought me in?"
"No." He didn't understand the relevance and decided to answer honestly.
"He must've taken it," she muttered, a sudden look of anguish crossing her eyes.
She didn't need to expand on who 'he' was. The context of her and Linneas' circumstances made that obvious.
Dorian's voice was careful and mellow, as he quested, "Was it important?"
"A gift from my mother," she said, curling up into a fetal position, staring down despondently into her connected hands, between her thighs. "It was an amulet, and very important to me... Even without its sentimental value, I am a much worse Arcanist without its ability to store mana. I'll be useless, unable to help you. Can't earn my keep."
"You don't need to earn your keep," he said with a deep sigh, driven to wonder at this young girl's misery. How strong she had seemed, sickened and locked in those chains, and warning them to run away despite the deathknight's overwhelming aura of hatred and ruin. "You've suffered enough as it is. If you want to accompany us, I don't mind. We'll protect, shelter, clothe, and feed you. We've more than enough power to afford this much kindness to one lost soul. And if you eventually become strong enough to repay it with our aid, all the better."
"You're a kind man, despite the hole within you," she said, after a moment of hesitation. "I could see it clearly, when you chose me and Linneas to take with you. You wanted to save everyone there. You still want to. If the deathknight would've allowed it, you would've thrown yourself on his sword in return for one more soul."
"The hole within me?" he asked, curiously.
She nodded slowly, looking down, without speaking.
"What kind of hole?"
"Well, there are two. One is here." She placed a dainty palm against Dorian's shirt, right over the heart. He suppressed a cold shiver. "The other's on your forehead, almost as if someone or something had drilled a hole into all your dreams. But I can tell you're a kind person, still. If you could, you'd want to clothe and feed every lost soul in this world. You're not even aware of it anymore, are you? You don't even think of it, because of the holes and all the hatred you had to swim through. It must feel terrible."
"It is," he admitted.
"I can help maybe, once I recover a little," she said, drawing her blanket up. "With the upper hole, not the lower one, or the hatred. Only you can help yourself with that." She shook her head.
"I know. I appreciate it. Your name, it was Japhris, right?"
She nodded, looking askance.
"I'm Dorian Croft. It's nice to meet you."
She nodded again. "Nice to meet you too. We'll be going somewhere, right? Not down the Street, but somewhere here."
"Yeah. Soon enough. Are you up for it as well?"
"I am." He considered that. He'd originally intended not to take Japhris along, since her injuries and mental state weren't the most conducive to an operation such as this, but if this was her self-opinion, he'd need to at least consider it. "This world... has a vitality that reminds me of home, almost. This forest is alive and the trees whisper every night, once the crickets start to trill. You can't hear the words, because you're not like me, but they're whispering. It's not a song like the Street. Simple words."
"What kind of words?"
"Words of anguish. Every tree here, too, has a hole in it." She pursed her lips. "But these are not the sort of holes that squirrels hide in."
He sighed. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that."
---
You'll be scouring the city for relics!
A couple of pertinent decisions.
[ ] Take Japhris With You - She seems strong enough to weather what should be a simple archeological canvassing operation.
[ ] Leave Her Here - It's clear she needs more time to recover before doing anything even resembling field work.
-[ ] Unattended
-[ ] Attended (by whom?)
Which detail do you want to be on?
[ ] Firewatch - Essentially, you make sure no weird beasties cross the perimeter. If any do, you shoot them dead. It's simple and psychologically rewarding work, and lets you grind some useful battle experience. It also lets you train teamwork with your friends.
[ ] Search Team - You're one of those conscripted to search directly for relics among the ruined buildings and glades. On the minus side, it's boring and unproductive for most of the time. On the plus side, you can try to smuggle and keep any really cool relics you find.
[ ] Medical Team - As a Visceralist (and accompanied by an actual doctor, one of whose doctorates does include biology) you're uniquely suited to healing people's busted up bones and flesh. Technology's advanced enough you should be able to play it off, If asked. You'll earn a lot of gratitude from the locals!
[ ] Write-in
As sightseeing destinations went, Oasis was more than satisfactory.
It was far safer than either Demimonde or the zombie-infested Earth, although far more utilitarian than anywhere Dorian had been.
All of Oasis' inhabitants were workers, and a fraction of them specifically trained military personnel. It made for a rather curt culture, where everyone was constantly busy with something, except during lunchtime - the only acceptable time to socialize or hold a casual conversation, it seemed.
However, it had a darker side as well.
Although Dorian wasn't a trained psychologist, he was a well-practiced extrovert and glad-hander, and he noticed a ubiquity of depression among the staff. An inescapable malaise infected one in every three of them, and it seemed that everyone brought effort to conceal it from the others, as if not wishing to be a bother.
Although some of the staff eagerly pushed on, wide-eyed and bright, as spirited as some of Dorian's once-conspirators, hopeful for the remaking of a better world; a lot of them instead had internally abandoned the conviction that Taure's state of affairs could improve, and became internally dejected. He wasn't able to find hard statistics anywhere, nor was this a topic to casually bring up with anyone short of a commanding officer, but he strongly suspected the suicide rates were cynically high.
For a couple of days, he educated himself and learned to use a computer in secret, collecting more data, to anticipate what'd come.
Dorian still preferred the paper books over the digital media. It seemed, at least, that humanity learned from its errors: a lot of their so-called 'network' was destroyed when the forest spread, and now making backups and copies in different formats was the norm.
Even so, none of the discoveries he'd made were especially helpful. No scientist on Taure was even remotely certain of where the sylvan phenomenon had even originated.
One fateful autumn morning fifteen years ago, it was simply as if a forest on one of the continents became a hive of maddened influence; fresh saplings becoming thousand-ringed titans overnight and spreading new generations of trees within the same amount of time. With them, came the rest of the forest: animals, fungi, and other flora, almost like a living tide of greenwood; a tsunami wave of nature. Each region of woodland so much as touched became infected with the effect, hosting it as well.
Try as they might, the world couldn't react well enough on time. There was no woodcutter swift enough to deal with the issue. Although certain machines had the ability to tear woodlands apart, there weren't enough of them. In the second week, almost half the world was a jungle.
And by the end of the third week, every survivor had either retreated to small settlements on the world's edges: to unforested islands, or strange glades spared by the forest's heedless advance, or else ascended into the skies on ships of metal to escape this madness. The others weren't so lucky.
When Dorian donned the Theater Child and meditated on the discoveries, he noticed the emergence of a curious if rather terrifying pattern. Namely, Dorian noticed how very recent the apocalypse of each world was. Demimonde, zombie Earth, and Taure's incidents had all occurred easily within the reach of mortal memory. Given half the worlds he'd seen were in ruin, it painted a rather ugly image. He saw the multiverse and its timeline in his mind's eye, and how to the naked eye, it seemed like everything was dying.
Then Dorian decided to focus more on the present time, to take his mind off things, and not fall into a trap of glumness like the locals.
"I must admit," said Andrei, as he screwed on the cap of a small canister meant to be mounted on a gauntlet, "The Oasis manufacturing facilities surpass anything I'd ever imagined, even in my wildest dreams. Even the civilian lathes can reproduce implements I'd once considered scarce! The many worlds continue to astound me."
He focused on the instrument he'd made, and to the doctor's delight, it remotely shot a small aerosolized spray. A glittering cloud of moisture fell down, then recollected under the doctor's concentrated will, returning back into the canister. According to an earlier monologue, he was intent on adding magnetized rails onto his suit and holding many such canisters on them, and filling them with a variety of useful chemicals. With Ebbandry to direct the pumping process, an internal mixing system could even be used to produce novel substances on a case-by-case basis. This, according to Andrei, would be of incredible use in almost any environment. It'd be a work of weeks, though.
Dorian was also hard at work. In front of him was a fully face-covering metal mask and a set of typical tools, not the sort of advanced tools Taureans were accustomed to, but a more classical set from Drethir. He found adapting to their computerized automatic lathes made for somewhat subpar results, as none of the masks absorbed Facelessness as well. Just a couple of finishing touches, and then a layer of detailing, and Dorian would be done.
From the workbench of his own, Dorian snorted, shaking his head.
"Already done with your recollections of Demimonde?"
A sour look crossed the doctor's face. "As cruel as it was, I won't forget where I came from."
"Tell me about it?"
"The DSSR was an autocratic tyranny," said Andrei with a sad smile. "All vampires are sociopaths. Mortals, such as ourselves, were nothing but chattel, as was my mother. I was orphaned and worked a field to survive. However, I had a good mind, so I studied and achieved a scholarship, then in short order, a doctorate. During an international conference, I found asylum with the Tribes. When I successfully emigrated - or, escaped, rather - however, I felt that I had accomplished nothing for the people of my poor homeland, who suffered still. Therefore, all my works were nothing but garbage for they meant nothing... and I, in turn, was born of that trash."
He raised the canister, assessing its sheen with a cool diagnostic gaze.
"I decided this must change. In a society where our Visceral overlords bred slaves for obedience and mulish stupidity, I stood as one paragon gifted with a rare clarity. I had to make a better world, to strive. What use is science, my friend, if not for the betterment of mortalkind? We ask questions, but the 'we' in that statement is very plural. For one scientist to desire to know his world, and indeed to learn on his own, without anyone to share his findings with, must be a sad existence. Science is a collective endeavor."
"We'll return to Demimonde," affirmed Dorian. With Viscerality, he could sense the doctor's zeal almost as if it were a literal flame within him. "And set the record straight. We're weak and meaningless for now - but someday we'll be the craftsmen of a better tomorrow. This much, I can promise to try. Also, I've finished your mask."
The doctor put away the canister and smiled, accepting the work. "Thank you."
It was a countenance of hard steel and marble-like eyes of blue lenses. Otherwise, it was angular, achromatic, extremely well-polished, and with the appearance of unyielding ruggedness and strength. Andrei immediately donned it as a test of whether it fit and nodded, then removed it once more.
A mask meant for war couldn't be cluttered with useless conversation. His interlocutor grasped the mechanics of identity well.
"And what about your rebellion?" asked Andrei. "You've told me some about Drethir."
"Drethir's a distant problem. Once, I thought it'd be my whole life. The Street's abduction changed everything." Dorian sat still for a moment, one finger tapping on the desk uneasily. Inside him, the cauldron of distortion bubbled, as if wishing to surge to the forefront and corrupt the world. He stilled it forcefully. "I'd like to avenge my family. Or at least I believed I did... but is revenge a valid motive? Justice is what people usually speak of when overthrowing tyrants."
"The Empire of Drethir deserves an ending to come its way, based on what you've told me," Andrei said with conviction. "As long as you act with clarity, and without needless cruelty, you won't misstep. That's my opinion, at least, and I am a rather educated man."
"And what if I cause the end of the world?" asked Dorian. "What if that is the Street's warning to me?"
"I think, sometimes, mankind requires conflict to overcome its shortcomings," said Andrei. "It's how we grow. The Street may mean to allow you to see the mistakes of others and learn from them. What have you learned from the apocalypses you saw?"
"On Earth, even though vampires were evil predators, humans continued to hunt them down unto extinction's edge - even warned of consequences. Greed and hatred claimed their hearts. On Demimonde, your peoples were so stuck in a race against each other, so eager to prove their own methods superior and find some measure of glory, they failed to accept the warning signs of doom, and for their hubris, doomed the whole world."
Dorian shook his head with disbelief. "But that's it! What about this place?" he asked with distress. "Where have these people erred? Was there some moral fault, for which some prosaic deity punished them? I cannot see how a world-forest appearing from nowhere is any of their fault, truth be told. This civilization's response seems largely reasonable to me: escape the incoming doom as well as you can, and once the storm has blown over, pick through the ruins and reclaim what you can."
"Hm. I am not entirely convinced the Street is entirely cognizant as an entity of its own yet, mind you," said Andrei as a forewarning. "I am speaking from the position of someone who does, to help you think. But... maybe that is the lesson? Depressing as it is, maybe this world is meant to show how sometimes there is nothing you can do."
"A sad lesson, if so."
"Life can be a cruel teacher." Andrei smiled. "But we can do better."
"Indeed. What do you think about our companions?"
"Linneas and Japhris?"
Dorian nodded, as he started to clean the workspace, as was a habit of skilled and well-taught craftsmen. The metal shavings went into a small bin. And the tools, naturally, went back to their varnished container.
"I haven't formed a solid opinion yet, I'll admit," said Andrei. "Linneas seems reverent, but I cannot say if he is trustworthy. Certainly not a foolish man, to advertise himself so well. I'd learn more about him and his intentions, if I were you. What we've seen of the poor girl doesn't tell me as much as I'd like, except that she's a brave soul in very difficult circumstances. That deathknight was a monster, and I cannot imagine the thought of dying as a result of his corruption. She must've been terrified. I fear she may put too much gratitude in you. I've seen people who were similarly saved become... obsessed with their saviors. But perhaps she's not that kind of person and can maintain a clearer mind. Hero worship at this stage wouldn't do you much good... except perhaps to empower that strange new magic of yours. I've never seen anything like it."
"Fascinated, are you?" Dorian chuckled. "I could make you a Pawn, eventually. Once this noble spark has built up enough heat, at least."
"I'd rather you made me a Bishop - or better yet, a Doctor," said Andrei with a voice as dry as desert sand. "But I suppose if your flames are on the precipice of sputtering out, I would be willing to aid you, as a comrade, and claim either mantle with hard work."
"Hm, so you aren't opposed to treating me as royalty?"
"Sir, sometimes you already treat yourself as royalty."
They both laughed.
"But no, I've no qualms about respecting a superior in some regard, especially if the station is likewise earned," said Andrei, a touch of humor now under his eyes. "And if you ever proved a tyrant, I'd aim to do to you what you aim to do to the Drethiri. But I doubt you'd fall that hard from your perch."
"It means a lot," Dorian said with a nod of gratitude. Then, he muttered, "You must've found faith on Icarel or something, to have so much of it now."
The doctor rolled his eyes and folded his arms, white labcoat sleeves crumpling slightly. "I am still a man of cold rationality. I assure you."
"Wise. I may indeed make you a Doctor then, if circumstances ever permit."
"You have my thanks, Your Majesty."
The words held a meaning and true reverence. Inside, the flame of kingship swelled minimally. Not enough to even appoint a second Pawn yet, but it was a fractional step up the stairs to a crown. One of perhaps a hundred he'd need to take, before reaching that milestone.
After that, Dorian went out into the clinic and decided to have a look at the other life he'd saved. After multiple days of rest and frequent visits from Dorian, where he'd administered subtle Visceral healthcare under the eyes of the doctors, Japhris was now in a conscious state, although he'd decided to leave conversation until now.
She nodded as he entered the room, ears twitching underneath the dark hair.
"The doctors say you've been visiting often," she said, voice soft and tired - or maybe she was melancholic. He struggled to identify the feelings there.
"We are a team, for better or worse," he said, in case anyone was listening. The narrative needed a solid backbone to stand upright. "I should inform you, I didn't save your life expecting gratitude or a life debt. You're free to make your own choices."
"I understand." She nodded, sighing softly. The sound was peculiarly beautiful. "Have you seen a necklace? Was there one on me, when you brought me in?"
"No." He didn't understand the relevance and decided to answer honestly.
"He must've taken it," she muttered, a sudden look of anguish crossing her eyes.
She didn't need to expand on who 'he' was. The context of her and Linneas' circumstances made that obvious.
Dorian's voice was careful and mellow, as he quested, "Was it important?"
"A gift from my mother," she said, curling up into a fetal position, staring down despondently into her connected hands, between her thighs. "It was an amulet, and very important to me... Even without its sentimental value, I am a much worse Arcanist without its ability to store mana. I'll be useless, unable to help you. Can't earn my keep."
"You don't need to earn your keep," he said with a deep sigh, driven to wonder at this young girl's misery. How strong she had seemed, sickened and locked in those chains, and warning them to run away despite the deathknight's overwhelming aura of hatred and ruin. "You've suffered enough as it is. If you want to accompany us, I don't mind. We'll protect, shelter, clothe, and feed you. We've more than enough power to afford this much kindness to one lost soul. And if you eventually become strong enough to repay it with our aid, all the better."
"You're a kind man, despite the hole within you," she said, after a moment of hesitation. "I could see it clearly, when you chose me and Linneas to take with you. You wanted to save everyone there. You still want to. If the deathknight would've allowed it, you would've thrown yourself on his sword in return for one more soul."
"The hole within me?" he asked, curiously.
She nodded slowly, looking down, without speaking.
"What kind of hole?"
"Well, there are two. One is here." She placed a dainty palm against Dorian's shirt, right over the heart. He suppressed a cold shiver. "The other's on your forehead, almost as if someone or something had drilled a hole into all your dreams. But I can tell you're a kind person, still. If you could, you'd want to clothe and feed every lost soul in this world. You're not even aware of it anymore, are you? You don't even think of it, because of the holes and all the hatred you had to swim through. It must feel terrible."
"It is," he admitted.
"I can help maybe, once I recover a little," she said, drawing her blanket up. "With the upper hole, not the lower one, or the hatred. Only you can help yourself with that." She shook her head.
"I know. I appreciate it. Your name, it was Japhris, right?"
She nodded, looking askance.
"I'm Dorian Croft. It's nice to meet you."
She nodded again. "Nice to meet you too. We'll be going somewhere, right? Not down the Street, but somewhere here."
"Yeah. Soon enough. Are you up for it as well?"
"I am." He considered that. He'd originally intended not to take Japhris along, since her injuries and mental state weren't the most conducive to an operation such as this, but if this was her self-opinion, he'd need to at least consider it. "This world... has a vitality that reminds me of home, almost. This forest is alive and the trees whisper every night, once the crickets start to trill. You can't hear the words, because you're not like me, but they're whispering. It's not a song like the Street. Simple words."
"What kind of words?"
"Words of anguish. Every tree here, too, has a hole in it." She pursed her lips. "But these are not the sort of holes that squirrels hide in."
He sighed. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that."
---
You'll be scouring the city for relics!
A couple of pertinent decisions.
[ ] Take Japhris With You - She seems strong enough to weather what should be a simple archeological canvassing operation.
[ ] Leave Her Here - It's clear she needs more time to recover before doing anything even resembling field work.
-[ ] Unattended
-[ ] Attended (by whom?)
Which detail do you want to be on?
[ ] Firewatch - Essentially, you make sure no weird beasties cross the perimeter. If any do, you shoot them dead. It's simple and psychologically rewarding work, and lets you grind some useful battle experience. It also lets you train teamwork with your friends.
[ ] Search Team - You're one of those conscripted to search directly for relics among the ruined buildings and glades. On the minus side, it's boring and unproductive for most of the time. On the plus side, you can try to smuggle and keep any really cool relics you find.
[ ] Medical Team - As a Visceralist (and accompanied by an actual doctor, one of whose doctorates does include biology) you're uniquely suited to healing people's busted up bones and flesh. Technology's advanced enough you should be able to play it off, If asked. You'll earn a lot of gratitude from the locals!
[ ] Write-in
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