Sleeping Gods Quest #40

>This is about Fawn, isn't it? You think you can fix her
>Perhaps they were close, but isn't following in their mistakes only going to end as far as they got? What if the key is looking at what they've done from a perspective that isn't clouded by THIS DAMN WHISPERING

>>This is about Fawn, isn't it? You think you can fix her
>>Is Fawn still here? I need to see her
>>Other
Any tests he tries will just end up hurting more people. Maybe even killing them.

There is a whole board just for quests now, why don't you try it out?

This is about Fawn, you ask, isn't it? This is all some attempt at fixing her, at setting right whatever is wrong – whatever is different – with her mind.

“Are you saying that I'm wrong to do so?” Argas counters, a trace of life – of anger, perhaps – flickering back into his eyes, “I'm a doctor, stranger, but I can't do a damn thing to help the only person that matters to me. Don't you think that I have a responsibility to do everything I can, if there's only the slightest hope of success?”

And what if there isn't a chance of success? Those old books he's been using, you tell him sternly, they're garbage. Outdated garbage that does more harm than good – look what happened to Moln's father, after all. All that “ancient wisdom” he's been reading, it's just plain wrong.

“Wrong?” Argas whispers, his hand freezing halfway towards his cup, “No, they can't be...”

Perhaps they were close to something, you admit, to some great revelation. Following their mistakes, however, will only lead Argas to the same dead ends, the same endless parade of failures. If there is any worth in that old research, it would be in studying it from a new perspective, one that isn't clouded by that damn whispering!

A flash of fear – of base terror – touches Argas' eyes then, and you realise that you had shouted those last words. This place... it's too easy to lose control. Drawing in a deep breath, holding it in and forcing yourself to calm, you watch as the panic bleeds away from the scrawny doctor. Did he even ask, you spit, did he even ask what Fawn wanted?

“She's not... capable of making decisions,” Argas mutters, looking away from you in shame, “She doesn't know what's best for her, don't you see?”

And he knows best, does he? Perhaps you should ask Moln's father that – if the old man can still string two words together, that is.

[1/2]

“That was a mistake,” the doctor insists, a growing tremor in his voice, “A fraction of an inch off, that's all. With a little time, a little practice...”

Practice, you repeat scornfully, and how many would need to die before he gets it right? Assuming, of course, that there IS a right way to do it. He's got a whole village full of people, just desperate for any hope of respite – is that enough meat for him to practice his butchery on?

That finally gets a reaction, one that reaches beyond token resistance and protest. Argas slams the flat of his hand down on the table and stands, his eyes flashing with offended anger. “That's not it!” he snaps, “I'm doing the best I can, the best anyone can do! You don't... you don't know, you don't know anything! How long have you been here, less than a day?” His other hand, the one that he's kept hidden all this time, twitches out from behind his back – a scalpel clutched in his shaking grip. Just as you're reaching for your knife – too close for a sword or a pistol – the door behind you creaks open.

“I heard shouting,” Fawn, standing in the doorway, announces. Her voice is flat, her eyes as plain and vaguely unfocussed as you've come to expect from her. “Is there something wrong?” she adds, looking between the pair of drawn weapons.

“No... no, there's nothing wrong,” Argas shakes his head, lowering the scalpel to the table, “We were just... talking. Why don't you go back upstairs?”

“I was going out,” the girl insists, in her own toneless way, “I won't be long.” As she says this, her eyes flick back to you, lingering for a moment as they reach out to you. Her book must be finished, ready to present to Murmur.

Time for you to leave, then.

>I'm leaving. Remember Argas - do no harm
>Fawn doesn't need fixing, see?
>Let me ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>I've had my fair share of eye-opening experiences
>Make sure you don't end up more "broken" than the one you're trying to "fix".

>I'm leaving. Remember Argas - do no harm

...

>>I'm leaving. Remember Argas - do no harm

>I'm leaving. Remember Argas - do no harm
>Fawn doesn't need fixing, see?

>Let me ask you something... (Write in)

Do you pray to any of the gods? And has Fawn ever seemed unhappy with who she is?

> Get him to come with us

> "Fawn doesn't need fixing. She needs a father who protects her. Did you ever ask who's been writing these books? Hurting the children until they use their own fingers and blood to make it stop?"

> "If Murmur could be trusted to help Fawn, or knew how, then why have all these books been written that didn't work?

I think you're on the right track, but I think having Argas there might muck up the talk with Murmur.

Then let's tell him we're going to save her, and to be ready to fix us up when we get back. Or get Howa and Koa to babysit him.

Oh and don't forget
> She's the one who asked me to come help her. So that's what I'm here to do.

Some words of advice, you tell Argas in a more polite voice than you thought possible, you've had your fair share of eye opening experiences so you know what you're talking about – don't end up more broken than the one he's trying to fix. Something to keep in mind, perhaps, in future.

“You've got no right to tell me what to do,” the doctor growls, trying to fill his voice with strength and resolve. Before he can continue, however, Fawn speaks up.

“He's right,” she says, “I don't want to see you broken. You're not going to get hurt, are you?”

Seems to you that Fawn doesn't need fixing, you remark, she seems to have a good idea of her priorities.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Argas whispers, his face more pallid than ever. Fawn's words seem to have wounded him deeply, cutting straight to his heart.

You wanted to ask him something, you begin as you take advantage of his shocked silence, does he pray to any gods?

“No, I... I refuse to,” Argas pauses, a note of pain entering his voice as he looks across at Fawn, “The gods have mocked me enough already.”

Maybe it feels that way, you counter, but has Fawn ever complained about her life? About who she is?

“I... I don't know,” Argas mumbles, shamed. Perhaps he's simply never asked her such questions. “A-anyway,” he stammers, “I'm no judge of such things, I'm just a simple man. I don't know what you're trying to accuse me of!”

Simple, you tell him, he's been so focussed on his idea of “fixing” Fawn that he hasn't thought to protect her. Those books he's been using, you point out, did he ever stop to think about who wrote them?

“Who wrote them? They... they're ancient, how should I know that?” the doctor retorts, “It's a library, of course there are books there – I just found them, that's not a crime, is it?”

He doesn't even recognise his daughter's own handwriting.

[1/3]

He also apparently never noticed in how good shape they are for ancient books?

Probably too fixated to notice something like that.

If he wants to see who really wrote those books, you press, he should come with you. Perhaps it isn't the being that actually made the markings, but it was the mind that drove the children to do it instead. The mind that drove them to scrape their fingers raw and bloody, just to put a halt to the flood of knowledge being forced into them. Knowledge, you add, that offered no hope of ever fixing Fawn.

“No,” Argas protests, “I won't go in, not past the entrance. Once was enough, once was bad enough.”

Fine, you shrug, but whatever happens you're going to help his daughter. She asked for your help, after all, and you're not about to turn away from her now. Then, leaving Argas to wilt down into his seat, you turn and march out. Fawn hastily steps aside for you to pass, only to fall in behind you once you're past her. It's only when you're outside that she speaks up.

“Wait,” she says flatly, hurrying off without waiting for a reply. When she returns a few moments later, she has that skull mask of hers dangling from one hand, a very serious look on her face. “I need this,” she explains, “There's a way of doing things.”

Rituals and ceremonies, you muse, as if she was Murmur's faithful priestess. Perhaps that isn't too far from the truth.

“He'll be fine,” she says suddenly, “He doesn't like it in there, not like I do. He says it scares him, but it never scared me.”

You wonder about that as she takes the lead, moving purposely into the library. It might be similar to the humming sound, something that differs between children and adults. Children are drawn to the library, but those old enough are repelled. Yet, neither you nor Howa were driven away. Still more unanswered questions. They still haunt you as you enter the library, meeting up with Howa – nervous looking – and Koa, who seems still half asleep.

[2/3]

>Yet, neither you nor Howa were driven away
Maybe because we are touched by the gods? Murmur trusts us a bit more than the other adults?

“We're really going to do this?” Howa asks, “I don't mean to cast doubt, but...”

It's the best plan you've got, you tell her, so far at least.

“That's what worries me,” she murmurs as she begins to lurch along with you. Her cane clicks against the stone tiles, the sound bouncing back from the rows of empty shelves in a way that turns it into something terrible, as if some great insect was stalking you. Every sound seems twisted like that, your breathing warped into graveyard moans and Fawn's occasional hum coming back as a droning wail. No wonder Argas was spooked by this place.

“Up,” Fawn tells you, pointing to a looping staircase. As she leads the way, you take Howa's arm in case she falls, holding her close.

“You know, Ira,” she confides, “The quickest way to solve this problem would just be to destroy this thing. It's caused enough damage already, I'd say – I don't think I'd lose any sleep over its death.”

Maybe so, you agree, but not before you know what you're dealing with. The role of executioner is not one you take on lightly.

“Quite so,” Howa nods as you reach the next floor, stone tiles replaced by creaking floorboards. Fawn has already moved ahead of you, into a clearing formed where the shelves have been pushed aside. It almost looks like there should be an altar in the middle of that hollow, something to lay out sacrifices.

“Are you there?” Fawn calls out, “I brought you a new book...” As soon as the words have left her lips, a dark wind seems to sweep through the library, one formed of dust and ancient decay. Like a shadow taking form, Murmur rises up into the air. Like a man, but one shorn of both hands and feet, he could almost pass for human – save for the leering goat head that crowns his shoulders.

“So,” he brays, his voice uncommonly cultured, “Who stands before me?”

>A student. I wish to learn
>A master. You need to listen to me
>An executioner. Prepare yourself, demon
>Other

>Other
"A Wanderer of the Nameless Temple here investigating why the hell kids are being compelled to write your books to point of mauling their own fingers on wood. It would be in your best interest to start explaining what you are doing and why."

This

>An investigator.

>Other

"A Warrior. Sometimes a judge, sometimes a petitioner. Usually a tired old man, hopefully a friend. And this is Howa, who is definitely a Scholar"

Let's let the boom lady talk to the book god?

I don't know why I wrote this. You start early and I am quite drunk from getting off night shift.

Don't do any of this.

...

You're an investigator, you tell the creature, a Wanderer from the Nameless Temple. Sometimes you're a warrior, and sometimes you're a judge. You're an old man all of the time, and a friend as often as you can be. Now, you're just here looking for some answers. You're here to find out why the children here have been compelled to write, even to the point of mauling their fingers down to bloody stubs. It would be best, you add coldly, if he explains what he is doing here and why.

“A grand introduction,” the creatures muses, “Then, shall we begin with the introductions? I am Murmur, the daemon of the great library. I won't offer to shake hands.”

Probably for the best, you think as you look again at those ragged stumps. This is Howa, you say aloud, who is more of a scholar than you'll ever be. In the back is Koa, who is a student – but perhaps he knows that, having taught the boy a few things already.

“I'm... very pleased to meet you,” Howa offers, a trace of uncertainty in her voice, “And, yes, what Ira says is true. We're here for information, for answers – I think you know what we wish to learn.”

“Shall I start from the beginning, then?” Murmur offers, “Not the beginning of everything, I should say, but the parts that are relevant. Context, I feel, might shine a light upon what has transpired here already.”

You get the feeling that this might take some time. Glancing across at Fawn, who has already sunken into a kneel, you sit down on the dusty floor. Go ahead, you tell Murmur, talk.

“I can't say exactly how I came to be – there are some secrets, even to me – but for as long as there has been a library here, I've been here as well,” Murmur begins, gliding around in a slow and aimless path, “I was... different back then, not as I am now. Things changed when HE arrived – my master.”

[1/2]

Wait a moment, you interrupt, just what is he? He doesn't seem quite right to be a god, but his presence hasn't lit a killing rage within your heart – not an abomination of sorcery, then either. He seems to exist between worlds, neither divine nor profane. Plus, this talk of having a master...

“An astute observation,” Murmur chuckles, “Yes, I am a rather unique being. I was a god once, before my master used his sorcery to... change me into the creature you see before you. A god still, but one that was brought under control, made into an obedient servant. My master, he took the name Baphomet when he became a sorcerer, wished for a way to store his research. A normal library wasn't enough for him, and so he performed his ritual. As I understand it, it took a terrible amount of power to achieve – it murdered every other god in the region, and reduced this place to the state you now see.”

“All that, just to put shackles on you?” Howa says, half to herself, “That's terrible!”

“I can't complain,” Murmur shrugs, “Literally, I can't – one of the conditions put upon me. So, I was made into a deep well of information, every secret that Baphomet ever uncovered burned deep into the fabric of my being. A backup copy, if you will. When the original texts were lost, I ensured that replacements were created.”

He made someone write a new copy, you guess, a child.

“Like many sorcerers, my master was slow to trust,” another shrug of those shattered arms, “He feared that men, grown men, would use his secrets against him. Children, though... they wouldn't understand what they were writing. As I recall, he kept many of them around just in case. When they got too old, well...”

You... don't need to know that, you decide, you don't need to hear their exact fate. You can guess.

“I imagine you can,” Murmur pauses, “It wasn't particularly pretty, though.”

[2/3]

Focus, you tell yourself, focus on the task at hand. So, even now, Murmur is being shackled to the commands of his ancient master?

“That's right. Since people keep trying to burn this place down, it's quite the task I've been given. Why, it just never ends!” Murmur sighs, “Not complaining, mind, just stating the facts.”

Is there a way to break him free, you ask, to get rid of these shackles?

“I could die, I suppose,” Murmur decides, “I believe that would free me – eventually, when I can return to this world. However, there's an issue with that... I don't really want to die. Everything I knw would be lost forever, and that's just not acceptable!”

Neither is what he's been doing to the local children, you point out, so you've reached an impasse.

“That's not my fault,” Murmur points out, “If their parents hadn't locked them away like that, they'd be perfectly fine. Busy, perhaps – there's a lot of work to do before this place is complete once more – but they wouldn't kill themselves doing it. That's the problem with people these days, they're all so ignorant and superstitious! I dearly wish everyone could be as... helpful as Fawn here.”

A thought strikes you, then – this noise that you hear, it's a defence mechanism isn't it? Something to drive away adults who might profit from Baphomet's research.

“Not quite,” Murmur corrects you, “It doesn't drive them away – it destroys them. Linger too long, and it gets hard to leave here. You are compelled to stay, even as you fall into madness. Quite devious – my master was a cruel man. Most sorcerers were.”

>But Baphomet must have been immune. Did he have some kind of protection?
>You can't turn it off, this defence mechanism, can you?
>Why did you choose Fawn, just because she was easy to manipulate?
>Other

>>But Baphomet must have been immune. Did he have some kind of protection?

>But Baphomet must have been immune. Did he have some kind of protection?
>You can't turn it off, this defence mechanism, can you?
>Other
"All of Baphomet's secrets are here right? There must be some kind of instructions to unbind you here somewhere in case of some unknown right? The man seems to cover all his bases."

>Why did you choose Fawn, just because she was easy to manipulate?
>Do you hold knowlege on dismantling sorcery? Maybe it could break the shackles

>>But Baphomet must have been immune. Did he have some kind of protection?
>>You can't turn it off, this defence mechanism, can you?
>>Other
Are there any sorcerers out there with proper names?

>Other

What other restrictions does he have? Is Baphomet still alive?

Does he have any books that would help us change him back or realease him from the compulsion to get children to write? Or to move him?

I mean, with supervision this could be a pretty awesome school.

>I mean, with supervision this could be a pretty awesome school.

Minus all the sorcery shit in here. Rather not have all that spread around.

>But Baphomet must have been immune. Did he have some kind of protection?
>You can't turn it off, this defence mechanism, can you?

>>But Baphomet must have been immune. Did he have some kind of protection?
>You can't turn it off, this defence mechanism, can you?

But if he could come and go as he pleased, you reason, Baphomet himself must have been immune to this maddening curse.

“Unless he was mad already...” Koa mutters in the background, causing Howa to hold back an outburst of nervous laughter.

That's a possibility, you admit, but really – did the old tyrant have some kind of protection against it? Maybe something he wrote into the bindings put around Murmur...

“He bore a sigil, one branded onto his very skin,” Murmur laughs bitterly, “A dramatic touch, really – a medallion would have done the job fine enough. In theory, anyone bearing that mark would be immune, proof against whatever harm my presence might inflict – children need not write, adults need not... well, you know.”

They wouldn't go mad, you finish. So, what he's saying is that you'll need to take a good long look at Baphomet's bare chest, is that it? Is the old sorcerer alive somewhere?

“He made very sure to keep his sigil secret. I cannot tell you what it is – that particular knowledge has been erased from my being. Rather, it would be more accurate to say that I cannot learn that sigil. I know OF it, but not the mark itself,” Baphomet sighs, “Quite frustrating really. The old man took that particular secret to his grave. Again, literally – he gave instructions for his body to be preserved and stored away in his tomb. It might be a little leathery by now, but the sigil should still be there. Well, unless someone found his corpse and burned it since he died. That's doubtful though, it was fairly well hidden.”

So, you're going to need to go grave robbing. That's... a new one for you. Where, exactly, is this tomb?

“Beneath his fortress, to the north-west,” Murmur tells you, “Assuming the old wreck is still standing.”

“North-west...” Howa thinks aloud, “The Stone of the North-West!”

Kurasu's fortress. Wonderful.

[1/3]

>Kurasu's fortress. Wonderful.
fucking

This just gets better and better

Pinching your brow to ward off a headache – just being this close to Murmur is starting to rub your nerves raw – you let out a heavy sigh. He can't just turn it off, you ask, can he? There's no chance that he can just stop this defence mechanism from blighting the land around, is there?

“Can you stop your heartbeat?” Murmur asks in response, “No, it's a simple facet of my existence, something that Baphomet did to me. I used to be able to control it, but... well, he didn't like that much. I'm a far more effective guard dog this way.”

What other restrictions did his master put on him, you ask, can he leave here?

“I can't leave,” Murmur shakes his feral head, “But really, I don't much care for the idea of leaving. I have my duties to attend to here, and I simply cannot shirk them.”

Is that what he thinks, you ask in response, or is that what Baphomet's conditioning makes him think?

“I... don't know,” Murmur pauses, “Hmm, interesting. It's been so long since I had control over my own mind, I don't know where his will ends and mine begins. Curious – I'll need to think about that one. A riddle for the ages, indeed. I suppose I'll never get an answer to that one, not without breaking the shackles he put around me.”

And how, you ask, might you go about doing that?

“I can't say,” the shackled god shakes his head, “Again, if that knowledge exists, I cannot know it. Logical really, otherwise I would have broken free as soon as I found myself an obedient partner. I'm sure Fawn would have been more than happy to help...”

[2/3]

More like she doesn't know any better, you counter, but isn't that why he chose her? She's easy to manipulate, and she doesn't complain about being forced to write those awful books.

“I suppose it's cruel of me to do so,” Murmur admits, “But it's just so easy. It's like-”

“-Plunging my fingers into wet mud,” Fawn blurts out, “It doesn't hurt her, you see? Really, it makes a lot of things more convenient. Like this...” Pulling her strings like a puppet, Murmur forces Fawn to make a complicated gesture with her fingers, crossing them to form something not unlike the bars of a cage. “Remember that, you'll need it to get into Baphomet's tomb,” Fawn – Murmur – tells you, “He taught it to his apprentice, in the hope that his student would come and pay his respects. Ha! It never happened, obviously – his “loyal” student took as much knowledge as possible and fled north, never to be seen again. Now, what was his name again?”

Old Worm, you guess, right? Just why do all these sorcerers have such strange names, anyway?

“Names are powerful things,” Murmur tells you, his voice coming out of his own body again, “It became tradition for sorcerers to take false names upon learning the art. Theatrical names, as well, but that's just a matter of taste. Bad taste, mostly.”

Yeah, you nod, you've noticed. So, you might not be able to break the shackles, but if everyone in town carried this sigil on them...

“I would be harmless,” Murmur nods, “They would have nothing to fear from me. So, you see, there's really no need to kill me.”

>Maybe not, but it makes my job a lot easier
>Fine. Looks like I'm heading to the Stone of the North-West
>I'll let you live, but only if you leave Fawn alone
>I need to ask something first... (Write in)
>Other

>I need to ask something first... About Black Rock and the War Serpent
>I'll let you live, but only if you leave Fawn alone

>Maybe not, but it makes my job a lot easier
"And start this land on the road to recovery. Getting the Sigil only stops a symptom, not the cause."
>Other
Get Howa and Koa's opinion.

Our own library of ancient knowlege would be a tremendous asset.

>Fine. Looks like I'm heading to the Stone of the North-West
>I'll let you live, but only if you leave Fawn alone
Murmur's something of a victim too. This sorcerer was a dick.

>Fine. Looks like I'm heading to the Stone of the North-West
>I'll let you live, but only if you leave Fawn alone
"And if I find a way to break your shackles you need to keep that knowledge to yourself for the rest of time. The last thing I need is some random ass trying to learn sorcery."

The Library will still be here. We'd lose what's isn't yet written and still in Murmur's head. He's a victim yes, but his Master's taint is making this land Makai-lite.

I'm not saying do it. I'm just saying it's an option and it might be for the greater good if we can't find a way to unshackle him.

Maybe there isn't a need, you agree, but it would make your job a lot faster. He's lucky, then, that you've never been one to rush through a job. Killing him would also set this land on the road to recovery, something that it direly needs. The knowledge here is valuable, yes, but it's also dangerous. The choice, though, isn't yours alone. Turning, you look to Howa and Koa – what do they think about this, then?

“It's not right what he's doing to us, to Fawn,” Koa argues, with a trace of petulance in his voice, “But... I don't know. He said it himself, how much of this is his doing, and how much is the sorcery?”

“The knowledge here is not just dangerous, but profane,” Howa says quietly, “It bothers me, the thought of keeping it around. But the alternative is worse, I fear – I cannot condone destroying it unless there is no other option. If there is a chance to free Murmur from these shackles, we need to follow that lead. If not...”

“If I may?” Murmur asks, “Baphomet was entombed with his greatest treasures – if he ever wrote down a way to break my chains, it would be with him, with his body. I urge you to check. I can be useful to you, after all – go on, ask me a question.”

Fine, you shrug, you'll give him a test. What can he tell you about the Black Rock, and the warrior god found there?

“Last known as the Lord of Swords, he has been known to change his face with the times, always reflecting the mode of warfare,” Murmur replies immediately, “It is said that every battlefield death is an offering made to his name. Even sorcerers of the era were wary of challenging him, for fear of the warrior cult gathered around him. As such, there is little recorded in my archives, and my information is limited – sorry about that.”

Apology accepted, you grunt. Fine, you'll let him live for now, but on one condition – he needs to leave Fawn alone.

[1/2]

Or he could communicate with us through Fawn.

Just saying.

“Deal,” Murmur replies immediately.

That was easy, you remark with a note of surprise, is he more worried about losing his life or his knowledge?

“The latter, I believe. I'm the backup copy, after all – I need to keep myself alive at all costs. At least, that's what Baphomet would say,” the shackled god sighs, as if he wishes for the freedom to complain, “Well then, is there anything else I can do for you?”

There is one thing. If you broke his shackles, he wouldn't be compelled to tell anyone anything, would he? He would have the ability to keep some information secret, correct?

“Correct, yes,” Murmur nods, “I'd have nothing forcing me to reveal the depths of my knowledge.”

Then, if you can break his chains, you need him to keep a few things secret – the land is in a bad enough state as it is, without knowledge of sorcery flooding back. He can't speak of sorcery – ever.

“I cannot promise that now,” Murmur shakes his head slightly, “Ask again later, if Baphomet's tomb reveals anything. Then, and only then, I might be able to give you the certainty you seek.”

Good enough, you decide, then it looks like you'll be heading to the Stone of the North-West. Maybe you'll get lucky, and Kurasu will still be skulking about in the capital. After all, he's not the type to flee the comforts of city life. Quite the contrary, in fact.

“You're leaving straight away?” Howa asks, “It might be best to move quickly, and maybe I'd... I...” Her voice trails off for a moment, before she forces herself to meet your eye. “I'd just slow you down,” she forces the words out, “Go on, go ahead without me. I'll be safe enough here.”

>Right. I'll leave Koa with you just in case
>I need to take Koa with me. This place is no good for him
>I'll leave soon, I had something to do here first... (Write in)
>Other

>>Right. I'll leave Koa with you just in case

>Right. I'll leave Koa with you just in case
"You two could ride out to the edge of Murmur's influence to actually get some rest. I'll meet up with you two after I get the Sigil."

No reason for them to be here I don't think.

Seconding this

This might be for the best

this

Right, you agree, but you're leaving Koa here just in case. The town itself is safer than you first thought – short of asking Argas for a headache remedy, at least – but there's no point in taking a senseless risk. Depending on how things play out at the Stone of the North-West, you might be better off on your own anyway. Sneaking might be involved, and such matters are always easier to do as a solo mission.

What might be a good idea, you tell the others, is if they ride out to the edge of Murmur's influence with you. Once they're free of his dread song, they might have the chance to get some rest. They might have to camp out in the woods, but anything is better than another sleepless – dreamless, rather – night. On the way back, once you've got hold of Baphomet's sigil, you'll meet up with them and you can put an end to this miserable affair.

“That sounds like a damn good idea,” Koa tells you, his relief plain upon his face, “I don't mind sleeping rough for a night. I mean, anything would be better than having to endure this... place.”

“Return here, Wanderer, and I shall reveal myself,” Murmur assures you, “And, should you manage to break my shackles, I will gift you a portion of my power – a valuable skill to possess, I assure you.” With that offer made, Murmur vanishes in a gust of wind, flooding the air with the scent of old paper and ink. When he has gone, Fawn clumsily rises to her feet.

“Murmur?” she asks as she holds up her finished book, “Where was I supposed to put this? You never said, and...”

“I'll put it with the rest of them, dear,” Howa says gently, holding her hands out to take the book, “Just let me take care of it.”

“She'll know,” Koa adds, “She's got a library of her own, back home.”

“Wow...” the girl breathes, looking at Howa with something approaching religious awe. Taking the book, Howa glances over at you, shaking her head sadly.

Poor girl.

[1/2]

Leaving Fawn back with her father, you all take your horses and ride out towards what you presume to the north-west. As you ride, the dreadful hum begins to fade out until it only dances around the very edges of your mind. Another stretch of grey, withered forest later and even that has cleared completely.

You never thought silence would sound so good.

Leading the others a short distance on, just to be sure, you steer them towards a nice clearing. There's birdsong here, you realise, the first birdsong you've heard in what feels like a very long time indeed. Murmur's strange aura even torments animals, it seems, driving them away from what would otherwise be their natural homes. Pausing just long enough to make sure Howa and Koa are dug in to their temporary camp, you prepare to head on your way. Even so, even knowing the important of haste, you can't bring yourself to rush away. You linger a while, taking far longer than necessary to leave and making the most out of every extra second. Just being here, away from cursed Voile, feels like a blessing from the gods.

When you finally tear yourself away, the rest of the ride seems to pass quickly. Before long, you're leaving the forest behind and entering into a landscape that manages to be, somehow, bleaker than the one you came from. In the distance, the Stone of the North-West looms up like a great block of stone, ruling over the desolate land. They burned the trees here, you realise, to deny any attackers the advantage of cover. It's such a military thing to do, something brutal and pragmatic, with no care given to the gods that might have once ruled over this corner of the land.

Here, in this wasteland, you stop to plan out your approach. Sneaking in might be possible, but if you were caught, you'd be treated as thief or a spy. Not that marching up and asking is that much better...

>Try to sneak in
>Approach openly and ask permission
>Other

>Having some internet troubles, sorry for any delays

>Approach openly and ask permission
I'd imagine (hope) that Kurasu would want to get rid of us quickly so he be somewhat 'cooperative' to get us what we want so we can get out.

>Try to find out whether Kurasy is here (from local vilalgers or something). If he is, sneak. If not, try for an open approach.

>>Try to sneak in

this

Yeah, this. We can make a better decision when we know the situation.

This isn't a decision you should be making here, just looking upon the fortress from the distance. You need to get closer, to really get a feel for the mood before you can plan out your approach. If Kurasu is here, holding court over the place, it'll make your attempts to talk your way in a lot harder – or, at the very least, a lot riskier. Maybe he's comply quickly, just to get you out of his sight, or maybe he'd use it as an excuse to set his pet duellist on you. A hard man to predict, Kurasu. Whatever he'd end up doing, though, he'd be a grumpy tyrant about it.

So, guiding your horse towards the fortress at a slow and careful pace, you keep an eye out for anything that might offer you an advantage. If not for the high walls and the iron gate, it could pass for a particularly fine manor house. As it is, it looks more like a prison than any den of luxury, just about as grim and austere as a building can be. Except... not so. Clashing against the dull stone, bright crimson banners flutter from every window you see, and a pristine flag – newly raised, you're sure – flaps above the structure.

It looks, you consider, as though there is a festival taking place within. An incredibly out of place festival. Riding closer still, you soon learn the reason for the festivities – Kurasu's name, written in formal characters rather than simple letters, is splashed across the largest of those banners. A festival, celebrating his promotion, perhaps?

The arrogance of it all is sickening. However, it presents you with a rather unique opportunity – Kurasu himself might be in a good mood, and the guards might be disrupted, drunk even. With a little luck, and a lot of bravery, you might just be able to walk right in without anyone batting an eye.

Interesting. The tomb, you assume, will be beneath the castle, about as low as possible.

>Seek out Kurasu and make your intentions known
>Explore the fortress some more
>Sneak in as best you can
>Other

>Explore the fortress some more
If Invisible Inc. has taught me anything, it's that intel and planning are invaluable in stealth ops.

>Sneak in as best you can
Normally I'd be all for just telling him were doing it and not taking any lip from him, but I;d rather not risk someone like him learning of ways he learn about sorcery.

>Explore the fortress some more
Guard placements, a way into the lower parts of the castle, etc.

Then
>Sneak in as best you can

We have a bunch of Water Spells and others available if we need them.

>>Explore the fortress some more

As you guide your horse into the stables, acting as if you have a right to do so all the while, you reach your decision. Consulting Kurasu about this is a last case scenario – you'd rather do everything you can to keep the sum total of his knowledge of sorcery at zero – but you're not quite ready to sneak in yet. You need to know more about the fortress, about the guards and a likely way down into the subterranean sections. Once you've got as much information a possible, you'll work your way down. If you need to talk your way out of trouble, your magic will serve to smooth things out.

It becomes apparent, as you enter, that discipline is at an all time low. There are soldiers scattered, more or less at random, everywhere, and just about every single one you see has a drink in their hand. They barely even notice you, and they definitely don't sound the alarm when their eyes do fall across you. It's shocking really, a sign of Kurasu's apathy towards his new position. For all his many sins, Takino wouldn't stand for this kind of sloppy behaviour.

Perhaps that's a good thing – this will be a lot easier, with the guards in such a worthless state.

In the centre of the foyer is a great stone pillar, a brass map bolted to it in imitation of the smaller maps you saw at the Imperial palace. Approaching it with an easy, casual stride, you take your time in studying the map. The dungeons aren't below you as you first expected, but situated in a separate building. No, what lies directly beneath the fortress is...

Ah. The treasury.

That won't be lightly guarded. Even when the festivities were in full swing, rather than the sad aftermath that you seem to have come across, the treasury would have been locked up tight.

This could require some planning.

[1/2]

With that same, measured pace, you work your way down to the bottom level and flatten yourself up against a wall, peeking around at the treasury door. Thick wood, you'd guess, barred with iron and a formidable lock. Two guards, one on either side and both looking incredibly bored. Bored, maybe, but also sober – no drunkard could keep their back so straight, or their posture so unwavering. With the treasury scoped out, you return to the foyer to plan your next move.

Just as you're coming up from the basement level, you just barely avoid bumping into a particularly unsteady soldier. He still has a few flecks of dried vomit on his uniform, and his eyes can barely stay focussed upon you as you brush past him.

“Here!” he grunts, grabbing you by the arm, “You came from down there, did you?”

You say nothing, focussing instead on trying to pry your arm away from his surprisingly strong grip. Not even registering your attempts at escape, the guard rambles on.

“My buddy, see, he got guard duty. Poor bastard, right?” he chuckles, without even a trace of sympathy, “I bet he's dying for a drink right about now, him and that stiff idiot partner of his. Shame, right? Still – more for us, friend!”

Sure, you say with a cold smile as he finally releases you, more for everyone. Your words are wasted, however, as the soldier is already wandering away towards an improvised bar. Behind the crude table, a worried servant is filling mugs with ale as fast as he can.

So, how to play this...

>Please suggest a plan

Find a passed-out soldier. Steal his uniform. Pretend to relieve the treasury guards.

Get those treasury guards a drink. Something REALLY strong.

This could work. We could try bringing them some ale as well as a bribe.

Maybe we can add a sleeping aid to the drink or something similar?

Or we could, after getting them the drinks 'order' them to go enjoy the festivities and have more alcohol with
>[Lapis] Draconic Authority

Aha! This is pretty good. I forgot we had that so quickly.

You saw plenty of passed out soldiers on your way in, some of them sprawled out in quite improbable places – how do you even pass out on a roof, anyway? Regardless, you can't imagine any of them complaining too much about you borrowing a uniform. You'll be putting it to good use, after all – you've got guard duty to take care of.

A quick search of the fortress grounds reveals a soldier of your rough build passed out in a pile of hay. It almost looks like the fool jumped from the roof, only surviving because the hay broke his fall. When a few slaps across the face don't rouse him, you settle into the unenviable task of stripping his uniform off and shaking out the loose hay. Apologising to the slumbering soldier, you take your prize back to the shelter offered by the stables and quickly change. Your clothes, you carefully hide out of sight.

With your new, and fairly uncomfortable, uniform, you return to the fortress and join the line for ale. You blend in perfectly with the crowd, even with your eyepatch and... veteran appearance. It seems that the only person to actually notice you is the weary servant, and that's only to sigh when you ask for two jugs of ale. Taking the foamy mugs, you work your way back down to the treasury. This time, you approach them openly.

“Here, you!” the first guard barks, “This place is off limits, especially to off-duty soldiers. Don't make me throw your drunken backside out of here!”

But that's the thing, you reply, you're here to take over. They've been on guard duty long enough, have they not?

[1/2]

“Reckon we were supposed to be relieved long ago,” the second guard puts in, his eyes drawn to the ale you hold, “You, uh, you won't be needing those if you're on guard duty though, right?”

Not at all, you agree, you brought these for them.

“Praise the gods!” the second soldier blurts out, drawing a sharp look from his comrade. Ignorant of the glare, he take the first mug from you and begins to chug down the ale. “Hits the spot, that,” he gasps when the mug is half empty, “Ah, see, I can't be on guard now, not after drinking that. I reckon I'll need to go.”

“Where's your partner?” the first asks slyly, looking hard at you, “This is a two man job.”

He'll be along in a moment, you reply, he just needed to take a piss. Nobody wants to stand guard with a full bladder, do they?

“No,” the guard admits, “That's true. Listen, these are troubled times, and we've all got to stay on our guard. No hard feelings, right?” He starts to smile, and you begin to think that you've got away with it. Then, he opens his mouth once more. “So... I don't recognise you, at all. You're not from Kurasu's battalion, are you?”

Swallowing hard, you give the first excuse that comes to mind. You were transferred, you explain, from Takino's unit.

“Takino, right,” a note of sympathy enters the guards voice, “Caught a lucky break getting out of that mess, didn't you? Listen, I'm not expecting much trouble tonight, but stay on your guard no matter what.” With that dire warning, he pulls a ring of keys from your belt and hands them over. With that done, he starts to head away to join his friend.

Go on, you tell him with a sting of Lapis' magic in your voice, enjoy the festivities. Drink as much as he can. Why not? It's a party, after all.

“Right,” he nods, “I'll do that, but... I need to check back in a few minutes. For your partner, you see?”

So you'll be on the clock. Damn.

[2/3]

As soon as both guards have gone, you lunge at the door and unlock it, heaving the wooden slab open as quickly as you can. All too aware of the urgency – your order should have bought some time, though, with the guard too busy drinking to return right away – you turn your attention to the treasury, or rather, what was once the treasury. Now, it's a museum of warfare, with racks of rifles lining the walls and crates of cartridge ammunition stacked everywhere.

Cursing softly, you press on to the far wall, a dark marking catching your eye. It almost looks like a handprint, one drawn in some cloying decay. Something to mark out the hidden tomb, perhaps?

Standing before that blackened smudge, you fold your fingers into that strange cage like gesture, feeling vaguely foolish as you wait for... what, for the wall to vanish? Just as you're about to give up, something deep within starts to rumble. The crumbling bricks that make up the wall seem to... retract, turning inwards to form an extension to the corridor. Ahead of you, the air reeking of ancient times, lies the tomb of the sorcerer Baphomet.

>Get in and out quickly. You're on the clock here
>Examine the place carefully, you'll only get one chance at this

>>Get in and out quickly. You're on the clock here
Use our sense magic card to single out points of interest. But otherwise we just need a way free murmur and the sigil from Baphomets leathery ass.

>Examine the place carefully, you'll only get one chance at this
We need to make sure we get the Sigil and anything that can point us to unshackling Murmur. Detect Magic to make it go faster. Baphomet is the kind of guy to hide shit.

>>Examine the place carefully, you'll only get one chance at this
Use detect magic to speed things up.

>Examine the place carefully, you'll only get one chance at this
We can use magic if we have to break through to retreat.

How often does someone get the chance to poke around in an ancient tomb, let alone one buried deep in the treasury of an Imperial fortress? Even if you didn't have a damn good reason to pry every last secret out of Baphomet's leathery corpse, simple curiosity would slow your pace. You're going to take this as slow as you need to, if that's what it takes to break Murmur's shackles. With that thought in mind, you enter the tomb and cast an eye about.

Quite naturally, the first thing that draws your eye is the naked man sleeping on the long stone slap. A drunken soldier, you mutter in disbelief, here? But then, as you get closer you realise that the man isn't sleeping at all – he's as dead as dead can be. It's only the fact that his skin is as cold and firm as ancient stone that tells you he is a corpse – a perfectly preserved corpse. On his breast, burned into the pallid skin, is a very particular mark. Fixing it into your memory, you also sketch it out into your notepad. Better safe than sorry.

Then, taking a step backwards, you take in a deep breath and allow your senses to expand, filling up the tomb and searching out any trace of magic. Viewed through this enlightened filter, Baphomet's corpse is a reeking monstrosity, a blasphemy formed from sludge and blackened bones. With the stink of decay pressing in on you, it would have been easy to miss the other source of magic, one sealed behind a thin layer of tile.

It smells like a key. You couldn't exactly explain what that smells like, but it does.

Breaking through that false tile is easy enough – you can do it with your bare hands – but the contents tell you little. A small ivory box, that's all.

[1/2]

That little token had better be what you're looking for. Grabbing it and burying it deep in the pocket of your stolen uniform, you turn and hurry from the tomb. Normally, you'd bow to a corpse – it's the decent thing to do, after all – but this time you don't bother. After all, why bother paying your respects to a sorcerer, to one who scorns even the gods?

Leaving the tomb, you hear the stone grinding back into place behind you, once again forming that blank and near-featureless wall. Patting your pocket once more – the ivory box makes a small but noticeable lump in your uniform – you rush back towards the entrance. With the keys in your hand, you haul the heavy door open once more and step through it, bumping straight into a solid obstacle.

It's your sceptical friend, back to check on your “partner”. Shock turns to anger as he realises what you've done – what he thinks you've done. There's no good way to interpret this, no way for you to look like anything other than a thief.

“Soldier, give me your name, and the name of your commanding officer,” he snaps, his voice thin and hard, “Or... maybe you're not a soldier at all. One of those bastard cultists, are you?” His hand drops to the sword in his belt, his other reaching down to touch his pistol.

>Negotiate. Make him listen to reason
>Bargain. He's got the whole treasury open to him, if only he lets you go
>Attack, but don't kill him
>Kill him, as quietly as you can
>Other

Does he still have his ale with him Moloch?

>No, this time he's all business, no pleasure. He did drink it though, so he's a little slow and uncertain.

>He did drink it though
Okay good enough.

"I thought I heard something from inside so I checked it out. You won't believe what I found!"
Use the Water Trusting spell if need be,

Back up inside the treasury let him follow you in. Then Vine him, having the vines choke him out, we can assist the vines with a solid punch to the stomach too if need be,

Toss the keys on him, leave the treasury, and close the door behind us.

Then exfiltrate.

He got drunk on duty and locked himself in the treasury.

Vines? What vines? Must have been a drunken hallucination.

>>Negotiate. Make him listen to reason

This is pretty good. Is he too hostile for the spell to not work though? I'll support it.

Also, a quick and dirt way to do this is to issue a command using dragons authority. Might come back to bite us in the ass somehow though.