Broken
The Nameless kill Breaker with the help of some supernatural allies.
- Fake-heist the book and banner. Coat the banner with flubber. Ready a fake book.
- Plan to ambush Breaker while ALSO stumbling into Casta and Scurlock’s planned ambush of Breaker.
- Having distracted Breaker with a lightning duel, unleash an ancient demigod. Bounce the flubber banner.
- Let off a bunch of electroplasmic grenades.
- Replace the book with a fake.
- Get Mousely to pilot Rahz and take back Arkin’s soul juice.
- Escape!
Ripples
“As far as the tax rolls, we’ve found some unexpected revenue deficits in our new Skovlan processing facilities. Raw material shortages-“
The hall is lined with ministers, from entryway to nave. Nearest to the exit are the tax assessors They are, to a person, possessed of a kind of determined, exacting joylessness. The looming gunmetal and grotesque architecture does not faze them.
Within the depths of the nave, upon the throne, a finger taps with idle impatience.
“-In the south, I am pleased to say that fungicultural subsidies appear to be alleviating food shortages in the heartland. However, this has created certain unfortunate disruptions in a number of key sectors-“
The ministers grow in ostentation as their position grows closer to the throne. This one might have intricate patterning embroidery, while the next might be draped in medals or commendations. Peacocking within administrative chambers seems a kind of delicate game, incomprehensible yet distinct to an outsider.
The finger’s tapping slowly increases in tempo.
“-Would draw your attention to the newest refinery outputs, which should hopefully-“
The nearest ministers to the throne cease to show any signs of personality and ornamentation. Their faces are grave and blank. They may as well be dead. They certainly aren’t quite alive.
The finger’s tapping is abruptly arrested.
“-Can expect a moderate decrease in-“
The Immortal Emperor stands.
He is not so tall, nor so imposing as one might expect. Were a portrait ever painted of him, the casual observer would be hard-pressed to identify him as either an Emperor or, indeed, Immortal. His chin is weak. His hairline is high. He wears only a simple black robe. He doesn’t appear to be very much of anyone at all.
And yet, the entire room ripples at his motion. It is more than surprise. There is, abruptly, a kind of electricity.
”. . . My lord?” the speaker stammers.
In Duskvol, at this moment, a grenade has just exploded.
He stands, and all of the court holds its breath. His gaze is distant. His fist clenches . . . and then relaxes.
“My-“ the speaker tries again, but falls silent instantly as the Emperor speaks.
“Call for the Crows and Black Knights.”
There is no question. The room explodes into activity, even as he contines.
“I would have them armed and ready, but not overly so. No trains. Let them traverse the lands at their own speed. They shall go to Duskwall with subtlety and haste. I would have their coming be sudden as lightning from clear sky.”
The Emperor thinks for a moment, and begins to sweep from the room . . . but then reconsiders, and turns to one of his gaunt ministers.
“Send for Render. Tell him Breaker is dead. He will know what to expect from that.”
Search & Salvage
Stop me if you’ve heard this one:
So, these two people walk into an apartment in Six Towers . . . Well, actually, no, it’s not really an apartment anymore. It WAS an apartment, before a bunch of lightning and electroplasm grenades and . . . You know what, it doesn’t matter. It’s blown out now, is the point. ANYWAY. Two people walk into a ruin . . .
”Ooooh, FANCY demons! They got a liquor cabinet and everything!” exclaims Chuck Morgenstern as he skitters into the living room.
”Chuck, you GOTTA up your standards . . .” sighs Nat Marseilles as she lights a cigarette.
”C’mon, Nat! Are you kidding me?? They had it ALL in here! Murder bedroom, weird storm magic living room, soul liquor cabinet . . . AND a kitchen island! Y’know, think about how much you’d pay in the Capital for this kind of space!”
”Yeah, but in Duskwall? Six Towers? You could probably walk down one block and find better digs. You could SQUAT in better digs. So-“
”So yeah, OB-vi-ous-ly this was a meaningful location to them. Way ahead of you Nat, I already pulled property records, insurance maps, blah blah blah. You go to church much, Nat?”
”Eh, when family’s in town.”
”Well, you’re standing in a temple! Or, it was, pre-Imperial. Some old god named Vazara. Take a shovel and start digging, maybe we’d find some walls!”
Nat squints at the walls as Chuck talks, lips moving soundlessly to herself.
”Storm goddess, I take it?”
”Bingo! I’d bet a Brannigan’s that this demon was a goddess about 900 years ago. Or, not a goddess. What do they call them, vice-gods? Semi-gods?”
”History wasn’t really my subject. So! We’ve got one 900-year-old demon here. Powerful. STUPID powerful. As a matter of fact, I bet you could go walk into the ocean and find Leviathans that were weaker than this thing. So . . . How does an electroplasmic grenade kill something like THAT?”
Her eyes glance over to the shattered furniture and the many holes in the apartment walls.
”. . . And electroplasmic grenades don’t chokeslam people into tables . . . So, something loosened our demon up. Something BIG. What was it?”
”Nat, I do not know. But I DO know who threw the grenade.”
Grinning ear to ear, Chuck produces a barrel fragment. The wood is stamped “-ANNIGA-“.
”Found it outside. Bet you a FULL barrel of this that our Nameless had a problem with this demon! Wanna go find ‘em, ask some questions?”
”Huh! You know, we could, we could. Or . . .”
Nat gestures at different points of the room. As Chuck follows her eyes, comprehension dawns.
”. . . We could ask the demon’s roommates. Don’t you speak robot, Chuck?”
Peace Was Never An Option
Elsewhere, far away from Duskvol (but not so far as you’d think).
”. . . Why aren’t they awake? Did they? . . .”
The sound of a shush echoes against the stone.
”. . . They’ve got this . . . They have to . . . Come on, you shapeshifting fuck . . .”
In Duskvol itself, a thin golden presence winds its way through the alleys of Six Towers. It is beginning to flicker and fade more and more. It is lost. It is unaccustomed to cities, and this city is far beyond anything it once knew.
”. . . A rat, a bat . . . Anything . . .”
The golden presence diminishes with every second. Without a host to sustain it, and after the power it has expended, it will not last long . . .
”HONK”
Perhaps the Skovlan goose recognizes something in the presence; both wild creatures, once powerful, now lost. Perhaps it is simply demarcating its territory. Perhaps it is merely acknowledging a shiny thing.
Whatever the case, it is sufficient.
”HO-“
In the prison beneath the waves, a slender, exhausted fist is raised in triumph. Three spent voices find it within themselves to let out a triumphant yell.
And in Duskvol, the goose’s black eyes glow gold. Within it, the Horned One surveys their surroundings with fresh eyes.