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Traces of Veils [Fallen London/Arknights]
- Thread starter thenew
- Start date
- Crossover
Methinks we'd be better served keeping Kjerag in isolationism, much easier to handle the populace if we ever go full on usurper.
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
Yeah but a isolated Kjerag is a weak Kjerag with a bunch of foreign empires in its borders. A modernized Kjerag changes things from potential war which we're bad at, and more intrigue heavy stuff which Veils is very good at since modernized Kjerag attracts investors from other other countries.
I don't know how well we'd be able to prevent modernization, not without some really ham handed actions, since it seems like it's already been going for a while before we even arrived to begin building the first stages of our networks.
I suppose we could try to retain isolation while modernizing, but the more we cut off Kjerag (if we're using it as our base of power) the more we'll likely hamper our ability to influence other areas, even if that's just being able to keep a few ears in them for forewarning so we don't get blindsided by something we didn't see coming.
We'd want modernization with isolationism, yes.
Problem is that, in canon, the modernizers (Silverashes) are not only in the political minority, but eventually plunge the country into civil war to put their family head into power.
From my perspective, it'd be easier to play ourselves as a reactionary denouncing the Silverashes (and if necessary, the Paleroches and Browntails for benefiting from their trade despite supposedly wanting to maintain status quo.)
But this is outright meta-knowledge, so I dunno if we'll even end up in that position.
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- Location
- USA
Modernization is going to happen regardless. You'd have to kill SilverAsh and break Karlan Trade to even slow it down, which is a tall order.
Even then, Kjera isn't against it. She's actually completely ok with it.
Even then, Kjera isn't against it. She's actually completely ok with it.
I dunno, the messiness of a build up to and setting off of a civil war by them as a power grab seems like a good place to be a manipulator plying our trade to get our hooks into the Silverashes.
If nothing else I don't think we ever end up being a public "usurper" ourselves. That just doesn't seem like way Veils the Intriguer rolls, at most I imagine we might make a persona as a trusted advisor of the person doing the usurping.
So when we get in a position to affect how a nation moves, a lot of our ability to do that is likely to be indirect and leveraged through our network. And so the more we isolate Kjerag, the more we'll cut off our network from reaching into neighbouring states or other points of interest to pass back information we can use plot more schemes.
[X] The Friend From Afar
Do note that the civil war never actually happened, being prevented by Enya with the help of Kjeragandr. While I have no doubt we can easily make it happen if we wish to, without outside intervention, the war doesn't pop off.
BarnabusBarnabus
Something like spice and something like pine.
- Location
- A beach, limned in silver like the painted moon.
[X] The Friend From Afar
-[X] A soft smile.
-[X] Cow it further.
-[X] Knock on the door.
"No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true."
- Location
- In the oldest city on the oldest land
[X] Smug Bat Cat
Lurking_Badger
Cheese Enjoyer
- Location
- Wisconsin
[X] Smug Bat Cat
To make another argument for Mocking Grin, I think the expectation of ignoring what is normal and proper could provide an effective way to obscure and prevent major inquiry into our activities if they can't be hidden completely. Some people might not like what we're doing as the description says, but "youth these days have no respect for the traditional way things are done" so they'll have less reason to try and dig into what's actually going on when the surface level view just confirms what those people are already prejudiced to believe. At the very least they'll have less reason to look into it than if someone who doesn't have those expectations of them is acting that way.
And then there's the whole bit of how a mask with a disregard for tradition, lack of care for what's "proper," and a disposition good for making ourselves known could be useful for getting inroads into the groups pushing the modernization process along and reaping it's benefits.
And then there's the whole bit of how a mask with a disregard for tradition, lack of care for what's "proper," and a disposition good for making ourselves known could be useful for getting inroads into the groups pushing the modernization process along and reaping it's benefits.
Vote closed
A conversation
thenew
#1 Masters of the Bazaar Fan
- Location
- My Lodgings
[X] The Friend From Afar
-[X] A soft smile.
-[X] Cow it further.
-[X] Knock on the door.
-[X] A soft smile.
-[X] Cow it further.
-[X] Knock on the door.
You knock on the door once.
No answer.
The sound of the rocking chair- and the crackling of the fireplace- continues without interruption. The man doesn't seem to have noticed your knock at all. The cowed, trembling animal at your side stares at the door, and then at you.
You open your mouth, letting your fangs show. Better if this beast gets used to them soon, if it is to be molded into a more useful sort of pawn in the future.
It shows fear, but does not show signs of being paralyzed by it. Peculiar- its terror is not surpassed by its curiosity, but that other emotion is apparent in its behavior. You shake your head. No, it is not coming in.
You look back at your bag. The disguise stares back at you with its lifeless eyesockets, with the hole where a kind smile will one day be. You close the bag. You'll finish it later.
You now have a Throughly Cowed Hornbeast! It is your first pawn.
You now have a Kindly Disguise! It is incomplete, but the softness of its form is already appearent.
Then, you knock again- a bit louder this time.
It seems to be more successful. Through the window, you spy the wolf almost falling out of his chair, startled, before they steel themselves and speak. They are fearful, then? Of what? You are used to being feared, but this is strange.
They speak in the local tongue, and their voice is slightly fearful. You almost trip over a syllable or two, but the meaning is obvious.
"Who's there?" the wolf asks, hesitation clear.
You cough politely, and muster the best approximation of the language of Kjerag that you can manage.
"A traveler."
The wolf seems to relax, though that is… recognition? They were expecting a voice, and recognized yours was not that one, which calmed them down.
"A traveler?" they say softly to themselves. "You're… you're not from here, are you? I haven't heard from you before." they say, before pausing. "You can come in. The door isn't locked. I've held it open for a wanderer or two, but I'm afraid I'm a bit too old to do that anymore."
With a familiar sound- rusted mechanism, lock in as much disrepair as the rest- you open the door. Your feet are covered in mud and grime, but there is a carpet on the entrance. It is very dirty. The purpose is obvious.
Closing the door, you decide to take a look at the house's interior, first.
The building itself is very bare. A fireplace, a coat rack to your side, the rocking chair and a plain wooden table. There are doors to other rooms- what seems to be a kitchen and a bedroom, but nothing else.
As you noted, everything is very dilapidated and worn by age. Some of it has been taken care of well, but the rest… damaged floorboards, that rusted mechanism, the broken window- a cold wind is coming through it, even.
And yet, the air is… homely? You are unsure. This is a place that, if not loved, is at least appreciated.
A sense of safety, perhaps? Some sort of refuge in the snowbound landscape.
The wolf turns their head towards you. Taking a better look at them, now…
You can find one notable thing- they are covered in scars. There are patches left without fur from the skin not healing properly, spots with the traces of frostbite, marks where flesh was marked by the teeth of some beast, and the signs of the clawed touches left by many, many wild things.
This one is a familiar sort. A hunter.
Long past his prime, apparently, but still.
Some of their teeth are missing, others are metal replacements. Their snout is marked by a large burn scar. Their pupils are covered by cataracts. Blind? You cannot make such a judgement yet. And perhaps other senses might compensate.
Just because the wolf does not look like a fully fledged hunter anymore, that does not mean they should be underestimated. The fight might not have left them- not yet
You tap your cane on the floorboards, softly- very softly, just to test something. The wolf's reaction to the minute vibration is- ah. They react, yes. They heard it, that minute sound. An almost imperceptible twitch on their ears, and an almost silent grinding of their teeth. Their hearing, at least, is intact.
It's interesting, in the very least, how easily the wolf let you into their house.
You leave your bag in the ground, this time soundlessly. They do not react this time, at least not visibly.
The wolf smiles in your vague direction, and gets up from their rocking chair- with some effort. They grunt a bit doing so. Their spine is not in a good state
With a smile on their face, they walk towards you, until you are face to face.
You think you hear some sort of sound coming from their left side. A vibration in the air, of some sorts?
"It's been some time since I had visitors." they say. "Would you like some coffee?"
Hm.
Well, why not?
With some amount of difficulty, the wolf pours a cup of warm coffee for you.
Your beast watches curiously from the window. It's a peculiar animal. Far too intelligent.
The wolf- who you've learned is called Harlan- is some sort of exile from the village. And a man, as well. He sits on the chair on the opposite side of the table with a groan. The chair creaks as he does so.
You look at his clawed hand, and narrow your eyes. You thought you heard something strange around him, but you couldn't pinpoint what. Now you know.
It's the whispering.
The same whispering you heard around the wand. Just more… anticipation on it. An eagerness. The voices are waiting for something, for a promised day.
How ominous.
There's something lodged in his arm. The mineral inside the wand- it's certainly the same material as this, or at least very similar in nature.
"Milk?" he speaks, in English.
He noted your lack of familiarity with the local language, and tried this one. He calls it "Victorian." There are occasional hiccups and odd turns of phrase, but it's far better then stumbling badly.
It still annoys you to have such limited knowledge, though.
You swallow the rash words that emerge from your throat, and cow the syllables into their correct form. Soft and soothing.
"Please."
As the wolf pours the milk into your cup- it seems to be goat milk? Similar texture and appearance, at least- you get to take a better look at the things in his arm.
No, this mineral… it's not lodged. It's a growth. Black crystals, growing through his flesh and poking through the skin. His grip strength in that hand is shaky, in a way you recognize- it must be painful. Very painful.
Hm, your earlier guess was correct. Harlan does not seem very impacted by their blindness. Heightened senses, by human standards at least, are likely compensating for the loss of sight.
"I'm sorry, I don't have any sugar." Harlan tells you. He seems honestly apologetic for it.
"It is no issue."
You take a sip of your coffee. Even with the milk, it's impressively bitter. Strong, too, just the way you like it.
"You're a silent sort." notes your host. You tap a clawed finger on the table, checking his reaction to the sound.
Just a light twitch. Almost imperceptible.
"I tend to be." you answer. "My apologies."
He laughs. It's a raspy sort of laughter, the sort of merriment that squeezes itself out of dying lungs.
"No, no." he says. "It's no issue. I was just hoping for someone to talk a bit. Dreadfully lonely around here, those days. All I get are the youngsters tossing rocks at my house and running away."
You give the impression of a raised eyebrow. Harlan does not react- blind, yes, at least that is confirmed more definitely.
"The young ones came here to throw rocks at your windows?"
"They used to. After they broke my window they stopped. Well, maybe they have gotten a beating or two from their parents after that. Teach 'em to be polite." the wolf hisses through chipped teeth, before muttering to himself. "...as if they'd care."
It's an opportunity to prod more.
"No one comes here?"
"Not really. The hunters avoid this place. The children don't come here anymore. There was that young man, but I don't think he cared much about what I had to say."
Young man, hm.
Harlan sighs, and pours more coffee for himself.
"Almost running out of those." he says. "Running out of everything…"
"I am sorry for intruding and taking more of your supplies, then."
His face twists in a grimace, marred by guilt. He does regret taking you in, in some small way. He is worried about running out of supplies.
"No, no, don't. It's no issue."
You smile.
"Are things that scarce, here in the forest? Is the village nearby not-"
"No." he interrupts you, looking into the broken window. "No, they are not. The forest is bountiful. I am just too old to earn my keep, and I will not live off charity from those who scorn me."
He pauses, and turns his head back at you. His white eyes do not see, but they carry an inquisitive gleam nonetheless.
That was... enlightening.
You already knew that the forest is still a viable source of resources, and the wolf looked too weak to extract them in his old age, but it's good to have confirmation.
Interestingly, the wolf seems to be some sort of exile, scorned by the village. Why is that? Is it connected to the whispering crystal growths? Were the shards, full of the Dead's voices, implanted within his flesh for some mysterious purpose? Was it an unsuccessful implantation, and the cause of his exile?
Many questions. Few answers you can gleam in an unsuspicious manner.
It's very good that you met this Harlan. Even if you make a mistake and reveal too much, or show an unexplainable ignorance, an outcast like him is unlikely to reveal it to the rest of society, and even if he does people might not take him very seriously.
You'll go for a somewhat bolder approach.
"If I am not mistaken, you are a..."
Leave it open, let him fill the void.
"An Infected, yes." Harlan answers, bitterly. You frown.
Infected?
A risk of contamination? Is that why he was exiled? Are the crystals at risk of spreading?
It can't be. You're sure there was- there is- one of them inside the wand. You could have easily snapped the thing in half and touched the mineral itself. If it was a virulent contaminant, it wouldn't be stored in such an unsafe manner, would it? Perhaps it would.
That said, you are not feeling anything. No signs of growths or any whispering coming from your body. The voices do not register you or your presence, either.
And Harlan does not seem too concerned about you being here. He could be simply an uncaring sort, but children used to come here and throw rocks at his house. Simple contact must not be enough to spread the disease.
You think it might be something equal to the exile of lepers, or the Tomb-Colonies. Rather then an active risk to public safety, an undesirable people would rather not have to look at.
Interesting. More pieces of the puzzle, then. The obvious loneliness of the hunter, his weakened body, his slowly dwindling supplies and rotting home... it all paints a rather grim picture.
You're well aware of what this sort of loneliness feels like.
Your memories of the time before the Bazaar, before the intrigues of the Fallen Cities are dulled, but you recall the cold depths, of how incomplete you felt.
Not because of a lost position, or privileges. You are not Wines or Mirrors to uselessly reminsce about the Great Chain, to find comfort in their "rightful position in the world" or other meaningless platitudes. You are well aware that the hierarchies above are as fickle and arbitrary as the ones below.
You were lonely, and loneliness can only be solved by companionship, of the proper sort. A hunter needs, more then anything, prey. You needed to hunt once more, and yet it was all so easy. Too easy. And your fellows never understood. They could never understand.
But in the end, she did.
You regret nothing. But perhaps, just perhaps, you lament leaving her behind, even if it was a choice she made.
Wines, you think. The bastard. The oath she swore, she thought of you as the friend she would have to kill for its assistance. Wines would have not named you as her friend, but you both know otherwise.
It was more then friendship. It was something else. Now, it is gone, and that yawning void within your heart opens again.
Harlan coughs. It's a wet, bloody cough. Whatever disease he carries, it is consuming him, destroying him.
The violent coughing continues, and he almost spills his coffee all over himself.
"Can you- would you mind doing me a favour?"
You tilt your head. Do you? It would qualify as a repayment, perhaps. Some other parts of you would, perhaps, feel a bit miffed about receiving such hospitality without giving anything in return. Charity, after all, is one of the most heinous crimes there are.
That said, you do not care about the Order of Days. You never did. Why should the other rules be any different?
"No. What do you need?"
"There is- a bottle of pills." he answers between coughs. "Fetch them for me, please? In the- in the kitchen. The pills and a bottle of water."
You nod, taking one sip from your cup, and get up from your chair. Interestingly, the architecture of it is different from what you are used to- the wolf's knees bend in a way very similar to yours, and the chairs made for it end up being more comfortable to you.
You waste no more time and get to the kitchen before that wolf finishes coughing themselves to death.
The kitchen is bare, and marginally more well cared for then the rest of the house. No gas, or electricity, though. Candles, the cooling carcass of a chunk of firewood, a few half empty sacks of what you guess are supplies, knives, forks- aha.
The pills are next to a large glass bottle, full of water. Melted and boiled icewater, by the look. An unfamiliar material, and a triangular emblem, alongside an inscryption.
Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals Inc. Oripathic Suppressant
You take a better look at the emblem. A rook? A tower. Two other sentences as well.
May I enjoy my life and practice my art
Respected by all men and in all times
The Hippocratic oath.
Interesting.
You take the wolf's medicine back to him, plus the water. The second you put it in front of him he's already snatching it up, opening the sealed cap with his teeth, and barely bothering with a sip of water before scarfing two of those pills down.
He continues coughing, if a bit less frequently, for almost a minute afterwards.
When Harlan finally stops coughing, it is to ask you a question, such is obvious in the way he turns towards you.
You decide to try for a question first.
"How did you get Infected?"
He stops.
Perhaps that was a bit rash, but this isn't a bad environment for being rash.
"...there was an Originium vein, around the other side of the valley. Fell there, breathed in the air. Didn't think much about it, it was Paleroches territory. I found it, you see, and told-" he coughs again. "Told the secret to an old friend, found its way up. Territory ended up changing hands very quietly, while the Paleroches didn't know the value of what was on it, to the Silverashes. Three months later, their people come in checking, give me some medicine. Tell me to check into a Rhodes Island office in the city for more every now and then. That, and to not use much Originium Arts."
Arts? And the involvement of the old families of Kjerag. Interesting knowledge to have at hand- it's good that you chose to come here.
"Not use much Arts, hm?" you ask. A meaningless question, really
Arts. Originium, Originium Arts. The Arts of Origin. It's obviously connected. Is the mineral Originium? Very likely it is. The book is related, and you suspect very important.
"Yes, you know. I couldn't do that. I couldn't leave it behind. It was my life! They threw me here after I got Infected, and here the hunt is always on. You can't leave the Originium Arts off, it's not some sort of machine. I used them, used them more then ever. I was more powerful, now, I could use that power. I used it, and didn't regret it."
A bitter laugh.
"Until the crystals started poking out." he says. "And then I found out I could barely move my legs, nevermind go to the city fetch more medicine."
The Arts of Origin can be used to hunt. They consume the body... Or worsen Infection? They can be used by those who are not infected, and being Infected strengthens them. If the "Arts of Origin" are connected to Originium, having Originium within your body- growing within you? More info needed- might make them stronger, but also worsen the disease.
Oripathic Suppressant is used to treat it. Rhodes Island produces or sells this Suppressant. Rhodes Island associated with the Silverashes. Silverashes associated with Originium mining- a vein? A mineral that can be extracted. Contamination from the ore might lead to Infection. Despite what Harlan says, unlikely to be airborne- different relationship with Infected would occur if it was.
Rhodes Island, as well. You'll have to look around for that one. Some sort of attempt by the Silverash clan, that you believe is one of the three primordial families of Kjerag, to garner the favour of the Infected?
Hm. As they exploit this "Originium vein," it stands to reason that infections would increase. Appealing to this facet of the population, normally ostracized and left behind, as the country's modernization forces it to grow as they become more and more present and separating all of them starts to become unworkable. Sound tactics, yes. Prioritizing having such a first move advantage is proof of their competence. Or at it least it appears to be.
More information needed.
You now have an Acquaintance! Harlan, the Infected, is aware of you. The same can be said on the other side. (Your Acquaintance level is 1. More contact will increase it.)
You'll wait. Let him ask his question. He looks tired. A bit of resentment. Not aimed at you, you didn't push it too far or prod too hard.
"If it's not too impolite of a question… why are you here, foreigner?"
A difficult question.
[ ] Deflect away from the topic.
Say absolutely nothing of substance while pretending you've answered the question. It's a classic.
[ ] Paint yourself as a wanderer.
He already called you one before. Craft a picture of yourself as a simple vagabond. The traveling is the goal. Tourism, essentially.
[ ] Speak of undisclosed business.
Shifty, yes, but if you let slip a few details of some vague "business deals" you are supposedly here to make, Harlan might let slip something himself.
[ ] Say the truth, in some way.
You have no idea why you are here. You woke up in the snow, in wholly unfamiliar lands, after a murder attempt. Do not mention that the attempt was successful.
[ ] Something else.
What more can you say?
(Write-in.)
Apologies for the very late chapter. Christmas stuff to be done.
Happy New Years, everyone!
Happy New Years, everyone!
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- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Say the truth, in some way.
The best sort of lie is a stretched truth.
The best sort of lie is a stretched truth.