a goose

IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn)

Wolf nodded. Though perturbed by the other wolf's thoughts on the traditions of her people, she tried not to let it show; she had a feeling that meeting with Moth might allow him a better understanding.

"This inn offers lodgings. I can get us a room for the night, and we can set out after daybreak."

She downed the remainder of her glass and stood, leaving it upon the table. Ignoring the commotions that had stirred during their conversation – some Ferrumite at the root of them, it seemed – she walked to the bar. Coins became a key.

"Upstairs, second door on the left," she said, walking back towards her fellow wolf. "Two beds; you won't have to sleep on the floor."

OOC: @Wotz

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

Celrys blinked, perplexed, and took a moment to consider where he might have gone wrong.

Unfamiliar colours, unfamiliar accent, difficulty with the language-

Ah. That would do it, yes.

"I'm very sorry, let me try to be clearer: I mean your friend no harm. I want to help. I will not put any more metal inside Del, I will only use machines to look. I am metal because I put metal in people – but always in myself first, so I know it's safe. I want to find out what's wrong with Del, and to help if I can. You are worried it might be my fault, and I am worried about that too. That's why I have to help."

With that said, he stood up, and turned his back on the trio. If the outlander was still disposed to violence, Skyra would hold him back; she was quite capable. In the meantime, he needed to find the…

There.

He pulled a journal from his bookcases and sat back down, leafing through it, before remembering Del's queries. Without looking up, he began to speak:

"Ferrum is a village, like Tajun. The people of the Iron Tribe live there – by the colour of your armour, you are likely one of them. Quarantine is when sick people are put in a place they cannot leave, to prevent them from making others sick. You contracted the Ferrum Plague, and were kept in isolation-"

He froze, and looked up. "You contracted the Ferrum Plague, and were kept in isolation. Someone helped you get out, someone who told you to find me because of the device I installed in your head… Nemoni."

He tapped the current page in his book. "D3•L3•G8. Nemoni, Iron Tribe Glatorian, female. AKA… Del."

OOC: @Techn0geist @Morgan Yu @Snelly

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

Celrys' face became somber, and he nodded. "Indeed I have. A troubling business; I've already given Raanu some technology that should be of use to the scouting party. If Del's problems are related, I'll be sure to send him a telegram with whatever we learn."

OOC: @Snelly @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

He looked curiously at Karak, taking him in. Unfamiliar colours, unfamiliar accent, difficulty with the language – an outlander, perhaps? And, most curious of all, no visible mechanical implants.

Fascinating.

"Well, I intend to do a few tests to determine cognitive function – memory, motor skills, that kind of thing. If you're concerned, you're welcome to sit in on the process. If you're talking past tense, however, I can't rightly say I know – I have a great many clients, which is why I need Del's serial number. Once I have that, I can tell you exactly what that device is."

He paused for a moment; beneath his helmet, he furrowed his brow.

"I should also clarify that I am not made of metal. Extensively augmented, certainly, but still a living being, just like you. I couldn't do my work otherwise; the brain is a truly incredible organ, marvelous in its complexity, the likes of which no machine can quite match. The ability to think, to feel, to create, is something uniquely ours. Now, I can tell you're not from around here – from the west, or the north perhaps – and I understand your culture may view cybernetics differently, but here they are simply a fact of life. And, if it reassures you at all, my modifications do serve a purpose: when it comes to my creations, I am always my first intelligent test subject. When at all possible, I make sure that I do not subject anyone to anything I would be unwilling to install upon myself. So you see, safety is of the utmost importance to me – which is why I am absolutely determined to work out what's wrong with your friend. Does that help at all?"

OOC: @Morgan Yu @Snelly @Techn0geist

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

Celrys' blue eyes burned even brighter, curiosity now entangled with what appeared to be nothing short of awe.

"My word," he muttered. "You're something special, aren't you?"

He cleared his throat, and spoke gently: "Take that helmet off, let me get a proper look at you."

Once Del had done as he asked, the lens autonomously slid into place over Celrys' eye, extending into a telescopic scope. Wheels clicked and whirred until at last they seemed to settle, and the artificer steepled his hands on his desk. His expression had become something studious, serious, though his visible eye was no less intense. After a moment's silence, he relaxed and smiled.

"Celrys me," he announced, beaming. "Though I'm afraid I must disappoint you: I'm quite certain I'm not your father. I suspect that message you're reciting is a little garbled, though your directive to find me was thankfully unimpeded."

With that, he turned his eye to Skyra. "You were quite correct to bring Del here, Miss Daring; that device in your friend's cranium is definitely my handiwork. If it's the problem, we'll get to the bottom of this in no time. Say, Del – would you be so kind as to turn your head just a smidge? I'd like to get a look at the serial number."

OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly @Morgan Yu

OOC: a jam with the irreplaceable, irreducible, irreparable @Morgan Yu (extra Yu's not included)

IC: Scodonius (Staff NPC) and Vitrum (The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna)

Scodonius was, at this stage in his illustrious career, rather used to getting his own way. So when his secret friend told him, in no uncertain terms, to put out a hit on the closest thing he had to a brother (it was only natural to hate one’s siblings with a burning passion and endeavour to see them fail miserably in all their efforts, he’d been told) and Scodonius replied, ‘No, you do it’ – well, it came as something of a surprise that the suggestion wasn’t met with immediate and enthusiastic agreement.

Now, should it have been a surprise, particularly given who he was dealing with? Perhaps not. But if Scodonius had allowed himself to be governed by words like ‘should,’ he would never have made it so far in life.

Still, here he was, spending his afternoon in his home office instead of his personal pool, speaking to some sword-for-hire. Was it beneath him? Obviously, but that wouldn't keep him from maintaining his standard grace and decorum. She was a professional, after all, even if said 'profession' was distasteful.

Why in the names of the Lords did I not just order Berix to handle this?

"So, I understand you're, a, uh… a woman of discretion."

The sellsword gave a single, measured nod in response. Two ruby eyes peered at the gangster through her helmet.

The collar of Scodonius’ shirt felt suddenly tight. “Would you- I mean, that is, can I get you a glass of water?”

She shook her head.

“Ah. Right down to business, I see. I like that.” He did not like that. He swallowed hard before continuing, suddenly very aware of how dry his mouth was. “Well, you see, I asked you here today because of a problem I have. Well, it’s not just me, but I- right, no, it is me. Not that – I’m not the problem. It’s my problem. And you have a reputation in certain circles as something of a problem-solver.”

“I’ll need a name, and I’ll need a timeframe.” The words came out clear, paced and precise.

“Kirbraz. He’s – that is, he was – my arena partner, from back in the day. He’s uh, blue, black, actually looks a lot like me. Less handsome, of course.” He gave what he hoped was a winning smile, and felt immediately glad he didn’t have a mirror. “And, uh, time, yes. Soon. As soon as possible. Yesterday, even. I mean- well, you know what I mean. You’re a pro. You get it.”

It seemed as if the mercenary moved upright ever so slightly. Scodonius flinched.

“Kirbraz. And you have no qualms on how it is handled?” She placed a thumb on her chin.

"Handled?" Scodonius squeaked.

She stared back. 

"I mean, you know, main thing is just that it is handled. But like, don't, uh, don't be too rough on the guy." He shrugged, committally, and tried to blink back sweat from his eyes.

“Meaning what? Do you want him killed, or not?” The mercenary leaned forward by inches.

“What? Yes. Obviously, yes.” For once, confusion and indignation momentarily won out over anxiety. “That’s why I’m hiring you. To, y’know, to take care of him. That’s the whole deal.”

She kept her glare, pensively idle before nodding a final time. “I’ll need half the pay, up front. No contact until I’m finished.”

"So, uh… when it's done, how do I get in touch?"

With that, the assassin stood up from her chair, setting the clips on her cloak and rolling her shoulders. Scodonius could just about glimpse her sword on her waist.

“I’m staying at the Scarabax’s Delight, third room, first floor. Any unforeseen elements or emergencies, leave a message for ‘Vitrum’ at the front desk.”

She glanced back up to Scodonius, ruby eyes seeming to cut more like diamonds.

“But I’ll let you know myself, once the mark has been killed.”

"Well, excellent. This, uh, this should cover the… deposit?" He slid a small, bulging cloth bag across the desk. It made a sound not unlike what one might expect from a set of incredibly expensive wind chimes, which also happened to be full of money. In this respect, those wind chimes would be a great deal like the bag.

Vitrum reached for said bag, fingers attached to scarred knuckles prying the knot open to take a look inside. Beneath her mouthpiece her lips quietly mouthed the count of the coins as she carefully, but quickly, placed a stack of coins onto the desk they’d both been sat at. Before long she’d decanted all of the denarii onto the desk - quite an expensive deposit all in all. And then, finally, she shifted one of the small piles over to Scodonius.

“Your count was high.” She stated, simply.

Scodonius blinked, incredulous. She really was a pro.

With that, Vitrum scooped the rest of the money into the cloth bag with care, tying it off with little effort and stuffing it somewhere beneath her cloak, with a brief bob of her head to her employer before she made for the door. The clock was ticking - and Tajun nights were cold.

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"Information. Can't think of a fairer trade than that."

This would be the make-or-break moment, she knew; she had to win Taldrix on two levels. The first, at least, was easy.

"Like I said, I watched nearly a dozen miners die by this plague. I can give you timelines – not just what symptoms appeared and when, but also the first crucial piece your boss is missing: date of infection. He can watch me all he wants, but without that, his 'observation' is meaningless. If you go to him with that, you make yourself important in two distinct ways: first, you've given him something he needs, which is always a good way to earn favour. But you make yourself even more valuable in the process, because now you're the one who can get me to talk. You get his gratitude now, and his attention forever. Or, at least, until I die."

And now for the hard part. She knew the play well; time and again, it was how she resolved disputes back in Ferrum. Contrary to what a fair few in the tribe seemed to believe, she wasn't some master negotiator, and contrary to what she would have liked to believe, it wasn't just her empathy and down-to-earth nature that had earned her that reputation. It was a trick – the most important one her grandfather had ever taught her.

Any man will take a bad deal if he thinks he's got one over on you.

What he used for sales, she used for diplomacy. When there wasn't a clear right and wrong, the only answer was compromise, and no one wanted to feel they had lost. So, she let them win. It was her own take on her grandfather's adage:

Let someone believe they're getting more than you mean to give, and they'll take terms they'd otherwise refuse.

It wasn't as catchy, but it better reflected her approach; after all, she was never trying to con anyone into a 'bad deal.' The fact was, people were stubborn, and their idea of 'fair' was often just a little bit self-centred. If everyone felt like they were winning, and no one was truly disadvantaged, it became an awful lot easier to keep the peace.

That was the play. Taldrix, due to some deep insecurities, hated her. More importantly, she looked down on her. If Somnii was right, she would believe she had the upper hand because she wanted to believe it. All her life, Taldrix had had to fend for herself – she was cleverer than Somnii, because she had to be. Her wits had kept her alive. Somnii was a pampered child of nobility; Taldrix had been raised by the streets. Somnii was a desperate slave, bargaining for her life, maybe hoping that she could befriend Taldrix, have her aid in the pointless escape she was planning. When had she ever had to strike a deal? When had anyone not simply bowed to her power and praised her, willing to do anything to ingratiate themselves to her?

Somnii was naïve, and Taldrix was wise.

She found a fire behind her eyes, and smirked. Overconfident. Arrogant. That was who she was, who she needed to be.

"In return, I want to know what your boss' deal is. Who he is, what he wants – and not just what he wants from me. An outsider wouldn't be trying to unite the Bone Hunters if he didn't have an agenda. And I know what you're thinking: once you have what you want, you have no reason to get that information for me, much less bring it back. You're wrong. You need me to keep talking, because it keeps you valuable, and because I have more to say. The one thing I bet your boss wants to know most: how the plague is spread."

She played it like her ace, and leaned back in smug satisfaction. Taldrix, she hoped, would see what Somnii had 'overlooked' – that the information she wanted, Taldrix wanted too. Her captor had little to lose, and everything to gain. This wasn't an alliance; it was an opportunity to use Somnii for her own gain, and to prove herself superior in the process. And if Somnii had played it right, Taldrix would be very eager to get one over on her.

OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna)

Tajun nights were cold.

It was hardly unique in that regard; everywhere in the Wastelands that wasn't Vulcanus could confidently say the same. A Bara Magna day would boil you alive, just as surely as the night would freeze you solid. So far, so standard. It was for this reason that most jobs, especially labour-intensive ones, especially especially ones performed outdoors, would be done in the early morning and the late evening.

In Tajun, though, there were no such limitations; plentiful shade and water made it just about the most comfortable place to spend an afternoon, whether one was working or merely relaxing. It created one of the village's many fascinating contradictions: though not the village that produced the most wealth, it still found itself home to many of the Wastelands' wealthiest denizens. Tajun real estate was always in high demand, and there was never enough to go around. Homelessness was endemic, but in a village so full of shadows, there were plenty of places to hide out of sight. Poverty, greed, and darkness were the conditions in which crime would always thrive, and make no mistake: Scodonius was thriving.

And Kirbraz loathed him for it.

Not because he profited from the suffering of his people – both passively, by allowing the rich to shunt them to the sidelines, and actively through a drug trade he had a direct stake in – nor for his cowardice in shunting that simpleton Berix to the fore, just so that he could someday take the fall for him. It wasn't even because his one-time arena partner denigrated and abused him at every opportunity.

Kirbraz hated Scodonius because it should have been his.

On the bright side, unlike homelessness or crime – sad inevitabilities of enormous profit – that, at least, could be rectified. All he needed was the right ammunition to bring Scodonius down… ammunition that was, at long last, within his grasp. Because Tajun nights were cold.

It was Berix who had brought it to his attention; stupid and Spice-addled as he was (and make no mistake, he was), the jumpiness and paranoia that came hand-in-hand with his addiction made him a surprisingly effective spy. No matter how small or seemingly benign, the slightest inconsistencies would provoke his anxieties. It made for no shortage of false leads, but on this one occasion, it seemed he had actually discovered something of use. And the thread he had pulled, the thing that could unravel Kirbraz's rival at long last?

Scodonius had been taking late-night walks. Only in Tajun, the one place where all activities could be comfortably conducted in daylight, could such an act be suspicious. Even so, Scodonius might have dismissed it, were he not so desperate for leverage – and it was a good thing he hadn't.

Scodonius' excursions followed a pattern. He would receive a telegram – no doubt with a time and place – and immediately destroy it, a choice he seemingly failed to realise was absurdly suspicious. Within a day or two, he would leave under cover of darkness, and return some time later. And there it was, the fact that clued Kirbraz in to the true significance of these clandestine meetings: that Scodonius, who valued his own comfort above all else, who had met criminals in broad daylight, in his own home, would expose himself to the cold simply to keep a secret.

Kirbraz had already drawn a few conclusions from this. For one, meeting at night was clearly not Scodonius' idea, which meant that his contact had proposed it. By extension, it also meant that this mysterious contact was valuable enough to him that he would accept that proposal. Whoever his contact was, they were powerful, and they wanted their association with Scodonius to be kept a secret. That was the key – Scodonius himself was shameless, but his mysterious contact held some manner of power over him, and feared exposure.

Essentially, whatever they were plotting was totally inconsequential; Kirbraz just needed to know who to blackmail. If they had power over Scodonius, they could simply force him to resign and name Kirbraz his successor, or risk having their dodgy dealings revealed to the public. It was a plan that was simply brilliant and brilliant in its simplicity, and Kirbraz had come up with it all on his own.

Best of all was that Scodonius had, according to his sources, received and shredded a telegram earlier that very same day. Soon – maybe that night, or the next night, maybe even the night after that – Kirbraz could tail his rival through the streets of Tajun, and finally have the ammunition he had been craving for years.

And all because Tajun nights were cold.

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"I am sick. That's why he's keeping me here. But that's beside the point."

She took a breath, closing her eyes for just a moment while she arranged her thoughts. This would be a difficult pitch, but it had merit. That much she was sure of.

Her eyes opened once again.

"Your plan isn't bad – if I fake some kind of attack or fit, I bet he'd be panicked enough to want to investigate. When it turns out I'm fine, he might be too relieved to punish you, but that's a gamble; it works out better for me than for you, since he can't harm me. We know he wants me alive and in good health. Well, I'm an important person, so maybe that's because he wants to ransom me, but that doesn't explain the observation. That's what I mean when I say he's keeping me here because I'm sick – he wants to know how the sickness works."

It was another guess on her part, but it seemed to make the most sense. She couldn't have made it far from Ferrum by the time she was found, and she'd told them what she could about what had become of her village. That meant he knew about the plague, and that she had been infected. Combined with the other pieces, a fairly clear picture had formed.

"The one way to be sure he's only seeing the sickness is if I'm healthy in every other way, and then I'm being observed so that he can watch how it develops. That's what he really wants: information. That is what I'm offering you."

OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice)

Tueris’ brow furrowed.

“We… are in no position to refuse aid.” He had to force the words from his throat, as reticent to say them as he was aware of their truth. “They are welcome to join us, if they wish.”

Though he himself had never sat down, he gave the nod to Aurax. Time to stand up; they were done here.

“If you’ll introduce them to us, we can be on our way.”

OOC: @Nato G @~Xemnas~ @Burnmad @oncertainty

IC: NPC (Celrys' Workshop)

The Agori blinked. Then blinked again. Somewhere in between, Skyra seemed to have made herself at home in the reception area, and she found herself having to rush back in to catch up.

"I, uh, that… as the case may be, you must understand that Celrys is a very busy man. Tournament season is a particularly busy period, it may be weeks before he can offer a consultation to your…"

She looked at Del, Celrys' alleged child. There was something familiar about them, to be sure, but even aside from the disparity in species she saw little similarity to Celrys.

”Water. Have?”

“Oh, uh, certainly. Give me just a moment.”

With that, she retreated to her desk, behind which was some manner of strange contraption. After a moment, she produced a glass of water and placed it on the countertop.

“Now, where was I…”

A small white light behind her ear began to blink. She straightened up immediately and cleared her throat.

“It appears that Celrys would, in fact, like to see you. Take the door on the left to his office, and he’ll be with you momentarily.” Returning to the usual script, or perhaps just the prospect of the three visitors being out of her hands, had greatly calmed her. She interacted with a notch on the desk, and the door she had indicated slid open of its own accord.

The room beyond it was quite unique – far from the stone and metal and daylight of the lobby, it was covered almost entirely in imported Tesaran wood, from the bookshelves that lined the walls to the large desk at its apex. There were already two seats in front of it, both wooden themselves, and a third behind that was clearly for the artificer himself, still nowhere to be seen. But strangest of all was the one wall that wasn’t hidden behind bookshelves, and provided the shimmering light that illuminated most of the room: it was, it seemed, a glass window, facing not onto the outdoors but instead into an enclosure of water, lit by unclear means. Fish – some real, some mechanical – swam back and forth within, while the fronds of strange plants swayed, suspended from below.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Like a window into another world.”

The voice came from another door next to the fish tank, which again slid shut behind the Agori. He was tall – unusually so, though not so much as to look like a Glatorian – and covered in plated gold, including a helmet which totally enclosed all but his mouth and his pale blue eyes, a glass lens suspended above the right. On a second glance, he appeared to be almost entirely artificial – though dark grey skin showed here and there, his legs, his lower right arm and the entirety of his left were black metal, accented with gold. In his mechanical hands was another wooden chair, which he pushed in to face the desk. Celrys looked at the trio and beamed, a genuine warmth to his smile and excitement glistening in his eyes.

“Please, please, sit. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.”

OOC: @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist @Snelly

IC: NPC (Celrys' Workshop, Tajun)

It was a pleasant little stone building, and surprisingly humble, tucked into the shade in one of Tajun's most affluent neighbourhoods. The only thing that gave any indication of its nature was a gold plaque by the door, upon which was embossed:

The text seemed almost to glare at Skyra, its disapproval palpable. Still, the door was answered – not by Celrys, but by a diminutive, beleaguered-looking Water Tribe Agori. She was young, but her face gained a decade at least in the moment she laid eyes on Skyra. It was quite apparent she recognised her.

"Miss Daring, the door was not locked. If you and your-" She looked briefly at Del, and then even more briefly – so much as to seem intentionally so – at Karak. "Companions would like to step inside, you can explain your predicament and I'll find out when he's available."

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

Then he wanted her alive. She had suspected as much, but to have it confirmed…

She could use that, somehow. She would find a way.

"I've got good news for you, then; I've already lasted longer than I expected, but I watched nearly a dozen miners succumb to this plague. It took them all, in the end." Somnii paused, a thought occurring to her. "That's what this is about, right? I heard Crucius say I was being 'kept for observation.' If that's the case, then I think we can help each other."

IC: Skrall (The Prison Wagon)

Skrall sighed and shook his head. He had little love for the Bone Hunters – they were parasites, without honour or worth, and made allies of the Skrall only out of a desire for further profit. Such venality drove every decision they made; if another tribe made a better offer, they would turn on the Black Legion without hesitation.

Still, he supposed, the Skrall would have to take allies where they could find them. The greed of the Hunters at least made them willing to overlook the notions of conquest and racial supremacy that so chafed the rest of the locals, and the old saying about the choices of beggars held true. This was how it had to be – for the Skrall, and for their prisoner.

OOC: uhh, let's see here. @Snelly @Morgan YuYuYuYuYuYuYYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYYuYuYuYuYuYu @Techn0geist @Toru Nui @skrall 

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

The new boss?

"You don't believe I imagined it." It was a guess, but an educated one – something in the Bone Hunter's reaction spoke more to shock than disbelief. Somnii's tone had shifted, now; it was more gentle, more conversational, perhaps even sympathetic. "You don't know for sure, and we both know at least some people have seen him. That means he's keeping his inner circle sworn to secrecy, and hiding himself from the rest. Why, then? Why doesn't he want you to know what he looks like?"

OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice)

Not stupid, he thought; Brazen.

Isolation and enmity had blinded the Ash Tribe leader, but Tueris saw a cunning in the actions of the Bone Hunter. As he'd heard it, Raanu knew Somnii's family well – hearing the Hunter's story, seeing her body laid out before him in that state, it felt like a calculated move. Raanu was a wise man with a nose for danger, and he'd been raising red flags about recent changes in Bone Hunter activity. Tueris couldn't help but wonder if that had made him a target.

On top of that, if the Bone Hunter was lying, they were walking through ****** and straight into a trap; if he wasn't, the same held true, and he got rid of the only person that could've told them not to. Either way, instead of guarding caravans and travelers, Glatorian from all over were off on an arduous journey to their near-certain demise, just in time for the busiest season the roads ever see. Great business for slavers.

He looked to Aurax. "It's strange, alright. On that much we agree. And as for the Bone Hunters…"

He trained his eye upon Somok, a new harshness in his expression. "It's easy to dismiss as savagery what we don't understand. You may not think much of Raanu, and I can hardly blame you, but I actually know him. He's a great man, and a wise leader; if he takes the Bone Hunters seriously, then so do I."

Seriously as a threat, or as a source, he felt no need to clarify. To his mind, they were the same thing.

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Nato G @oncertainty @Burnmad

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice)

"We don't know for sure that there even is a plague." Tueris stroked his chin absently, and allowed the silence to linger while he gathered his thoughts.

"Raanu met with a Bone Hunter, who claimed he and some others found the Iron Tribe leader half-dead from this 'plague' in Iron Canyon. Only word about it came from them, and since they burned the poor girl's body to a crisp after she 'succumbed,' we don't even have any evidence – 'sides a charred corpse – to back their story up. So, you see our issue."

OOC: @Nato G @~Xemnas~ @Burnmad @oncertainty

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice)

"You've really heard nothing? Seen nothing?" Tueris' eye was suspicious, but his tone was not. Though it went against his own advice, he had to ask the question the Ferrumite had overlooked; if they failed to arm themselves with as much information as possible, this expedition would be over before it had even begun.

"We were hoping you might know more than we did. I know you're all pretty isolated, but if anyone would know anything…"

OOC: @Nato G @Burnmad @oncertainty @~Xemnas~

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"...You don't know, do you?" The words somehow left her mouth with more confusion than judgment, genuine surprise undercutting what could otherwise have been a taunt. So taken aback was she that she almost – almost – failed to notice the Skrall slave's odd expression as he left. It was a familiar kind of admiration; acknowledging it always brought a twist of guilt to her stomach, something she had been unsettled to learn was not simply natural for anyone who found themselves placed upon a pedestal. To her mind, she was no better than anyone else – all she had ever done was speak her mind, and listen. Still, for those used to being unheard and seeing corruption go unchallenged, her attitude had often seemed to be a great relief.

To Somnii, that wasn't a reflection of the quality of her personhood, or even of her leadership; to her, it was the bare minimum that should be expected of anyone, especially those in power. Therein lay the guilt: being praised and admired for so little was a reflection of how little people had come to expect. It was a failure of herself, and those in positions like hers, that led to it.

For now, she filed away a note in her mind that recognised the slave as a potential ally, and turned the totality of her attention back to Taldrix.

"He was the one who brought me here. Honestly, I just kind of assumed he's the guy in charge."

OOC: @Toru Nui @Mel

IC: Skrall (The Prison Wagon)

"Have you ever seen evidence of witchcraft with your own eyes? Even once?"

Skrall did not wait for a reply.

"I survived because I started collecting and drinking water in the way the prisoner did; he told us the truth, from the start. We didn't face a single struggle that we ourselves didn't create – all our ailments were entirely preventable, if we had only asked the locals for help, instead of treating them with suspicion and condescension. My comrades weren't killed by witchcraft or hardship. They were killed by Skrall superiority. And if you keep thinking it's treason to admit we aren't invulnerable, you won't last very long in the Wastelands."

OOC: @skrall but especially @Toru Nui

IC: Skrall (The Prison Wagon)

"We were a party of six; our leader died first. We initially believed that he was simply going mad – he became confused, unsure of who and where we were, then turned paranoid. We were considering killing him in his sleep – mutiny was a crime, but in this case, it could also be a mercy. He spared us the trouble by never waking up.

"We thought he'd been cursed by the people of a nearby village. We took the man we thought responsible as a prisoner; when we returned to Roxtus, he would come with us to answer for his crimes. But then he started talking."

Skrall's face betrayed a cold fury, passionless and raw.

"Sunstroke. He diagnosed it easily, the moment we mentioned our leader's lack of sweat – as the only named one among us, he had insisted it was due to his mental and physical superiority, the same reasoning by which he refused to rest in the heat of the day or take shelter from the sun. He was Skrall; such weakness was beneath him.

"Oh, we didn't believe the prisoner at first, thought it more tricks – after all, what reason did he have to tell the truth? But we favoured the shade and travelled by night from then on, and none of us met our leader's fate. But it wasn't long before the rest of us fell ill, clearly the doing of our bound companion. We were suffering fatigue, dizziness, nausea; one of our number succumbed to delirium and wandered into the desert, convinced he had seen an oasis on the horizon. We found his dessicated body lying in the sand three days later, picked clean by carrion. We were growing weaker by the day, and after another of us died in his sleep, I stated the obvious: we weren't cursed. The prisoner showed the same symptoms as us, and had identified the cause days earlier – much of our water had evaporated in the heat, and with no way of recovering what had been lost, we were rationing it. And we were rationing it too tightly."

He heaved a pained sigh, clearly still troubled by the recollection of what came next.

"The prisoner had suggestions – cutting into cacti, turning over rocks. Superstition and nonsense. We were Skrall, we knew how to fend for ourselves; we dug down and used the groundwater. Not two days had passed before all three of us who remained were struck down with fever and agony of the stomach; what water we drank, we passed immediately, now saturated with blood. One more scout took his own life rather than endure the pain. We two who remained knew that we were dying, and my comrade blamed the prisoner. Even I could not deny that he was the only one who was not suffering as we did, but rather than kill him as my comrade bade me, I asked him why."

Skrall produced a flask of water and took a swig, savouring it. His mouth felt dry from the memories alone. His eyes, which had turned to the middle distance during his tale, fixed themselves again on the fool Skrall.

"Tell me, Skrall. Tell me why I lived, and my comrades did not."

OOC: @skrall but primarily @Toru Nui

IC: Skrall (The Caravan)

Skrall began to chuckle. "You know who I am, don't you? What became of my unit?"

He turned to look the suicidally overconfident Skrall dead in the eyes. "Care to wager a guess at the glorious manner in which they fell?"

OOC: @skrall, but primarily @Toru Nui

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Long Road to Ferrum)

Tueris nodded to Aurax, though his expression was grim. Each additional member of their party was an additional life to worry about, and an additional vector for transmission. He had once read a story of a boat, travelling down a river of water; it stopped again and again along the banks, taking on a new passenger each time.

It never reached its destination. The weight of its occupants forced it below the waterline, and the lot of them drowned.

He followed closely behind the Ferrumite.

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Nato G @oncertainty @Burnmad

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"Wait." It went against her every instinct, but she knew that she was powerless here. She needed leverage. She needed information. Planning an escape would only go so far if she didn't even really know who she was escaping from.

"Who is the four-eyed man?"

OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"******, I guess not. They must have been a little busy with the whole 'being dead' thing."

Somnii rose unsteadily to her feet, fists clenched.

"Newsflash, shitbird – you don't know me. Go find some other effigy to burn."

OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice)

The journey to Precipere was worryingly uneventful. Even the trails and tunnels connecting it to Vulcanus were in shockingly good condition, given how little use they saw; Tueris supposed he should be glad. After all, as he and his party emerged from the mouth of the cave directly overlooking the village, the sun had only just begun to rise, bathing its primitive stone structures in blood-red light. A more superstitious Glatorian might have considered it an ill omen, particularly given the Ash Tribe's macabre traditions. Tueris knew better:

None of them were making it back alive anyway. No omen could change that.

"Once we're in the village, stay silent unless spoken to. These folks aren't likely to take kindly to a bunch of heavily-armed mercs swaggering into their home. Ruster, you take point; less bad blood between your tribe and theirs."

In case the epithet wasn't clear enough, Tueris fixed his one good eye on Aurax and nodded to him.

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @oncertainty @Nato G @Burnmad @Geardirector @Toru Nui

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Long Road to Ferrum)

"Then it's time we left. It'll be dawn before we reach Precipere, and we need as many daylight hours in Iron Canyon as possible. The heat may be nasty, but Skopio are nastier."

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"That's funny, I don't remember ever seeing you in Ferrum. Maybe I couldn't see you past that nose of mine." Somnii's eyes burned bright with resentment, and she felt more awake than she had in what felt like weeks. "Or maybe you're confusing me with someone else. Do you often find yourself projecting childhood grudges on people you don't know?"

OOC: @oncertainty @Burnmad @~Xemnas~ @Toru Nui @Mel