Clockwork Sun | City of Glass

The full story of City of Glass. This story was run from July 26 2025 to March 19th 2026 and was originally posted on the Clockworksun Stories Discord server.

This story is 95 updates long, plus an epilogue, spread over 331 standard pages with a total of over 110k words.
Note that some reaction counts may not be exact, as voters may have changed their reactions between the close of voting and the time this story was scraped from the server.

@Story Notifications ALRIGHT EVERYONE IT'S WRITING TIME AGAIN YEEHAW! ... Right, yes. There are three prompts on the docket this time, so vote for however many you want. Note that two of them are estimated to be full novels, while one is only estimated to be a novella, if length matters to you (although we all know how accurate my length predictions tend to be: "not very"). As usual, the prompts not chosen may come back, be rewritten, or disappear into the abyss forever. Without further ado:

️ [NOVEL?] Gilded Blood Mystery / Relationships Near-modern - Manor grounds, surrounding town [Part of the Kronwae canon] The Hane family resides in a large manor on the outskirts of town. Mysterious and with members of the family not often seen in public, rumors swirl about where they get their wealth, how they wield so much influence, and what secrets the manor holds. Luckily for your curiosity (and wallet, as you’re just about broke), a staff position has opened up at the manor and you were quick to apply. Hopefully your application goes well, but do be careful if you’re considering snooping around. The family wouldn’t take kindly to invasions of privacy, especially from within. And if you do get hired, be equally careful amidst the rumors of magic, rituals, and sacrifice that are whispered darkly about the less-scrupulous Hanes. Perhaps you could use your position to unravel these secrets for your or everyone’s benefit. Or perhaps you should just keep your head down and earn that paycheck.

6:50 PM

[NOVEL?] City of Glass Exploration, Mystery Modern day The City of Glass is where the dregs of the universe end up. Lost treasures, faded dreams, forgotten thoughts, and dead gods all find their eternal slumber beneath the City’s tranquil waters, never to be dredged up. But “never” comes quite frequently in the City of Glass. While the waters are completely impenetrable to most inhabitants and visitors, a special handful are known as Divers and can pass into the depths in search of treasure. Being a Diver guarantees a lucrative life, so long as you stay on the right side of the dangers below... and the sometimes more perilous dangers above. Maybe you were born here; maybe you came here from afar, or by accident. But one thing’s for sure: you are a Diver. And Divers, well, they dive. So slip beneath the surface and dig up something that will change your life.

[NOVELLA?] Last Stop Adventure / (Post-) Apocalypse Near-future - The train, stations and their environs When the world began to end, you awakened near an idling locomotive. Cities and towns lie empty, baking beneath the fatal heat of a swollen sun during the day and roamed by the monstrous remnants of those who once inhabited them at night. The train travels autonomously during the day, allowing you refuge from the bloated sun, and stops at night, allowing you time to scavenge for the supplies needed to survive just a little longer in this dying world. But the railway isn’t endless. There is a last stop; a destination: “Ascension,” states the schedule. Must be that gigantic mountain on the map. You can only hope something there will let you fix everything. Better make sure you’re prepared before you arrive. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications City of Glass, huh? Wanting to dig up forgotten secrets buried so deeply they should certainly be left to rot? If so, you’re in good company. Let’s learn a bit about you and the setting, shall we? How did you arrive at the City of Glass?

- You were born here. You are well aware of the City’s existence and culture.

- You traveled here or were brought here intentionally. You likely know the City exists, but your understanding of it may be incomplete.

- You arrived here accidentally. You probably know nothing about the City. From what perspective shall we view you? 1️⃣ - First person past tense. “I dove underwater. Tiny, shimmering fish darted curiously around me.” 2️⃣ - Second person present tense. “You dive underwater. Tiny, shimmering fish dart curiously around you.” 3️⃣ - Third person past tense. “He dove underwater. Tiny, shimmering fish darted curiously around her.” Tell us something about the denizens of the City.

- They’re human. Despite all the magic, secrets, and occasional horrors, they retain their humanity as well as anyone could hope. From a certain perspective, it’s inspiring. From another, it’s weak.

- They’ve been changed. Living in the City twists you, slowly modifying Body and Mind into a hybrid of the depths. Some retain their Soul; others aren’t so lucky. Take care to avoid a terrible fate yourself.

- Humans aren’t the only intelligent lifeforms in the universe, and the City is coterminous with all reality. Monsters, aliens, and strange, fragmented almost-gods can be counted among the City’s inhabitants. Pick a card. The first one’s free.

- The Nebula.

- The Key.

- The Tended Grave.

- The Feast.

- Decline the card. (Winners:

, 2️⃣ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications “Broadly speaking, the Key symbolizes opportunity. When drawn as part of a true fortune, the recipient can expect a positive development to become available, as long as they can recognize and act on it. Drawing the Key right-side up indicates a straightforward result: a job offer, a lottery, a literal unlocked door, or the like. An upside-down draw indicates more effort will be required, as the opportunity will be hidden within hardship. However, an upside-down Key usually presents a stronger result overall.” - Joseph C. Redmarsh, Symbology and Magic You have traveled to the City of Glass from afar, a feat of which few are aware, fewer dare envision and even fewer actually accomplish. But who are you, specifically?

- Arthur, a seeker. Perhaps you are an academic, an inventor, or a magician. Whatever the case, you came to the City seeking a truth, and nothing will stop you from finding it.

- Vivienne, an apprentice. Perhaps you aren’t the seeker yourself, but rather your master is. However, when you wake up the next morning to find him mysteriously gone, the goal of your journey immediately changes.

- Iris, a thief. The City’s secrets are valuable beyond belief, and if you can steal the right one, you can trade it for riches or power beyond your wildest dreams.

- Victor, a relative. Delving into your family history has been a deeply unnerving affair, but the shocking ultimate truth of your lineage remains out of reach. At least, it did until you managed to find your way to the City.

8:53 PM

You are originally from Earth. An Earth. What kind?

- High tech, low magic. [Fairly futuristic technology, but things like the metzmatan likely don’t work.]

- A normal modern world. [“Normal” for the Kronwae canon. Modern technology, plus a dash of gold and silver.]

- Low tech, high magic. [Less-than-modern technology, but more common magic makes up for it.] Pick a card. The second one bears a cost. [The cards in this set are more powerful than the first, but they all include a downside as well.]

- The Doppelganger.

- The Asylum.

️ - The Unlit Candle.

- The Dog-eared Page.

- Stop drawing cards. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications “The Dog-eared Page indicates a connection to some element of the past. It is a powerful but fickle card, able to effect a return to the familiar when all seems lost, but also able to revive problems previously thought solved. When drawn right-side up, the effects will be largely external, perhaps involving chance meetings with former friends or enemies, or the unexpected recovery of a lost item. An upside-down draw, then, tends to involve internal effects. Maybe a key memory will resurface, or an old trauma will recur.” - Joseph C. Redmarsh, Symbology and Magic Vivienne, is it? I see. Would your family name happen to be “Redmarsh?” ❤️ - “... Yes. How did you know?”

- “No, but my master’s is...” In addition to your standard preparations, what extra item did you bring on your journey to the City?

- Something dangerous.

️ - Something protective.

- Something valuable.

- Something investigative.

- Something comfortable. How big is the City rumored to be?

️ - Large. Similar to the very largest metropolitan areas on Earth.

- Enormous. Country or even planet-sized. ♾️ - Infinite. None have yet definitively found an end. Pick a card. The third one carries a curse. [The cards in this set are among the strongest in the deck, but their power is heavily slanted towards the negative. Still, knowing your fate is a powerful thing...]

- The Burnt Glade.

️ - The Fanged Well.

- The Crown of Thorns.

- The Gallows.

- (Try to) stop drawing cards. [Somehow, it’s difficult to move your hand away...] (Winners: ❤️ ,

(selected by random tiebreak),

️ ,

(selected by random tiebreak)) (edited)

@Story Notifications Despite the oracle’s warning - and your own hesitation - somehow your hand still reaches out for a third draw. It takes another resurfaced memory from your ancestor’s book to finally snap you out of it, allowing you to physically grab your misbehaving hand with the other and stuff them both safely back into your pockets. “True fortunes are a topic of some contention among academics. No scholar of divination seriously doubts their efficacy, but there is debate over whether the draws reveal a future, or create one. This is of course quite difficult to test; regardless, several prominent figures in the space argue that answering the question is of highest importance in order to ensure we, as oracles, strive to do no harm to our clients first and foremost. If the first two draws of a fortune, for instance, indicate a horrible fate may await in the third, an honest oracle should discontinue the rite immediately. Others, of course, argue that knowing of an oncoming calamity is the only way to defend against it.” - Joseph C. Redmarsh, Symbology and Magic You hardly have time to pull yourself together before the oracle has stowed his cards with a jeering nod and begins to waddle away. “Wait,” you call softly, unsure if you actually want him to. “How did you know my name?” All you receive in response is a harsh, stilted laugh. Within moments, you’re alone on the ferry’s upper deck. City of Glass

12:49 PM

Scene 0 You find Arthur where you left him: sitting somewhat uncomfortably on the next deck down. He too is watching the horizon, so he too will have seen the same thing you did that caused you to hurry back down from your uneasy meeting with the strange oracle. “Feeling any better?” you ask, sliding into a battered chair beside the wispy, grey-bearded professor. “Still a little green about the gills, as it were,” he admits. Arthur had, to his chagrin, gotten quite badly seasick less than a day into the voyage. He’s recovered somewhat since that first night, but not entirely. “But not for much longer! I expect you’ve seen the City from above?” “Yeah; I was just coming down to tell you.” Coming into view out of a thick, salty mist is a shoreline of crystal and stone, adorned with reflective glass quays and lying beneath the tall, thin glass spires of an enormous metropolis. “It looks... crazy,” you decide. “Even from here, I feel like the pier’s just going to break when we dock.” Arthur chuckled a little, still sipping his water. “Have some faith. The glass will hold.” “What’s the plan when we get there?” You could tell him about the oracle, but you’re not really sure what he would say to help. Plus, you don’t want to worry him when he’s still feeling ill. Later. “I know you said this will take a while, so just go find somewhere to stay?” “That’s right. We have months to seek out what we came for. Today, I declare, will be a day of relaxation - and of getting off this blasted boat! We’ll want to get lodgings and find a source of local food. Ideally one that’s edible for people who aren’t wraiths.”

12:49 PM

“... Yeah, those things creep me out too.” Some of the passengers on the ferry are normal humans: you, Arthur, the oracle (although you’re not sure about him, honestly), and a handful of other travelers you’ve seen or spoken to briefly. The vast majority, however - and all of the crew - are strange, human-shaped clouds of dark mist that wander harmlessly around and through the ordinary people on board. “You’re sure there’s nothing that says what they are?” “Unfortunately not. Records of the City of Glass are frustratingly hard to come by, and they’re all missing vast swathes of important details. Or are couched in so much metaphor and parable as to be nearly useless. If anything, I would expect your approach to yield better results in this matter than mine.” You know he didn’t mean it like that, but you can’t help but feel a little ashamed that you haven’t found anything either. Dr Arthur Rosenset is a distinguished professor and antiquarian - famous in certain circles for his study of occult history and folklore - as well as an actual, real magician. Not just stage tricks: real magic, though he keeps his skills hidden for safety. You, on the other hand, have barely any credentials to speak of. You just graduated with your bachelor’s degree in history this past May, but beyond that you sometimes wonder darkly if Arthur only took you on as his student due to your family name. He would expect great things from a Redmarsh, of course, but are you really capable of delivering them? Yes. You are; you have to believe that. “The best I found was a passing reference in a Marnosan story about... er, time travel. I’m not even sure it’s related.” “Hum! Well, we set off on this journey knowing there would be mysteries to solve, and these wraiths are simply another. There will be plenty of time to study them.”

12:49 PM

“I think they can understand gestures a little,” you offer, moving your arms in a demonstration. “But it has to be really exaggerated or they don’t even react.” “Curious. We don’t know how they see, I suppose. They could be nearly blind.” “And totally deaf,” you agree. One of the first things you had both tried with the wraith things was to talk to them, but no matter how much you raised your voice or what language you tried, they hadn’t reacted at all. You had also tried asking some of the other passengers about the wraiths, or even of their travels generally, but were uniformly rebuffed by everyone on board aside from the oracle. Who, well, he wasn’t exactly the talkative sort either. The ferry makes good time and you and Arthur gather your things to depart. The City of Glass looms ahead of you, dozens of unearthly towers piercing deep into the mist and clouds above. Bridges tie buildings together, and you can even spot something that appears to be an elevated railway winding between structures. Lights glow from every corner - and they’re sorely needed: between the thick mist and the enormous height and interconnectedness of just about every structure, true ground level is steeped in twilight even at midday. As you disembark alongside a stream of wraiths, you quickly notice one more oddity. The City streets are made partially of glass, yes, but partially of stone and - strangely - partially of water. Cloudy vehicle-shapes of the same dark mist as the human-shaped wraiths flow along canals of soft, clear water, but they don’t look or move like boat shapes. Similarly, the wraiths have no trouble moving over the water just like land, although you’ve never seen them fly while on the ferry.

12:49 PM

Curious, you approach the nearest canal and press your foot against the surface, trying to see if maybe anyone can walk on water here. But, as expected, you just get wet. You shake your shoe dry and resolve to stick to the sidewalks as best you can, which do seem to be almost entirely solid materials. Arthur, grateful that you tried before he fell in, follows your example. What a strange place.

- Arthur finds lodgings in...

- You find lodgings in...

- One of the tall, thin spires that together define the skyline.

- A smaller midrise building closer to the true ground level.

️ - A lower structure crammed beneath the overhang of a taller spire. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 1 The two of you make your way deeper into the City. Gloom deepens as those massive towers cluster close and block out the hazy sunlight filtering down from some nebulous source far above. The light seems too dispersed to be coming from just a single point. It quickly becomes obvious that crossing the street will be a problem. While the sidewalks are mostly concrete, stone, or glass, the centers of each street are primarily water. Every few blocks, there will usually be a section of some solid material to bridge the gap, but beyond that you can only rely on the crosswalks to stay dry. The first one you come across confuses you initially, as it’s made of a series of floating strips of white-grey material like a path of thin stepping stones set into the water’s surface. There’s no obvious way for any of the strips to stay in place; they’re just hovering above a deep abyss. You manage to hop across regardless, though the strips move when you step on them... which throws your balance off and very nearly drops you into the water. When you look back, the crosswalk is disordered: some of the strips have sunk somewhat and they’re no longer perfectly aligned. You wonder how anyone manages to use these things if they get that messed up after a single person crosses. “Er, maybe you should cross somewhere less-” Arthur, having been absorbed studying the peculiar lettering on the nearby glass street sign, didn’t notice the strips moving as you jumped and now takes his own leap. You brace yourself to fish him out of the water - the older man is nowhere near as nimble as you - but somehow he makes it across with way less trouble! The strips didn’t move at all for him; they’re still in the exact same disorder as you left them! “...?” “I’m still plenty spry for my age,” he nods proudly, misinterpreting your confusion. “No, that’s not-” You hesitate, wanting to hurry along, but your curiosity wins out. “They didn’t move for you.”

7:39 PM

“Hum?” He glances around the intersection, noting the perfect condition of the other three crosswalks. “I presume that statement means they did move for you?” You hold his arm to steady yourself and reach out one foot to press onto the nearest strip in response. It begins to sink immediately, but stays fairly stable just under the surface as soon as you pull back. “Now you try?” Arthur repeats the experiment, holding onto you this time and pressing on the same strip. Or not, because his shoe stops on the water’s surface before even touching the solid material below. “Oh? Well, that’s unusual.” He crouches down, knees popping briefly, and places his hand on the water. It doesn’t go in. “Curious! It feels very much like smooth glass!” “W-wait; I tried that earlier-” You kneel beside him and place your hand on the surface too, but - just as before - it passes straight through. The water reacts differently to you than your mentor. Arthur looks at you. Stands up, popping his knees again. Then, he very casually steps off the sidewalk and straight onto the water. You stare at him. He’s perfectly dry and gives you a grin. You take a step and, of course, your foot goes right in. The water is only solid for Arthur. “That’s not fair!” you exclaim somewhat jokingly as he walks here and there across the water before returning to you. “I wonder why it acts solid to me, but not to you. It could be any number of factors, or it could even be random or time-based.” You half-sigh, resigning yourself to more difficult crossings while Arthur gets to just walk across normally. You could swim, you suppose, but you’d prefer not to get soaked in this outfit. Did you bring anything waterproof? Actually, that thought brings up another question. “What about objects?” you ask. “Like - here, let me...”

7:40 PM

You rummage through your bag as Arthur watches cheerily, his lingering seasickness clearly cured or forgotten in the excitement of discovery. Thankfully, neither the wraiths nor the shadowy vehicles seem to notice or care about you doing experiments in the street; any mist-built figures that get close simply pass through you. In a few moments, you pull out a small bag of ordinary trail mix and pick out four nuts. Two go to Arthur; you take the other two. “Okay, first, I just want to make sure this works. I think it does, because of my shoes, but...” You hold one nut in your fingers and carefully push it into the water, then let go. It sinks into the depths. “Right, okay. Then...” You drop the second nut from a few feet up and watch it bounce off the water’s surface. When you touch it to pick it up, it sinks into the water and settles in your palm. “Now you try?” Arthur does the same, pressing a nut onto the surface (but not through it) and then dropping the second. When you reach down to pick one of them up, it sinks just like before. “It’s something unique to you, it seems,” he notes. “Or proximity, perhaps. I suppose the next question would be whether this proximity can affect myself as well?” It’s a good question. You take his hand and together try to push it into the water, but his hand stops even with yours right there. You can’t even get any water droplets to stay on his skin; anything that drips from your hand slides right off his like it’s coated in one of those hydrophobic sprays. “With this, I suppose I could lie down and act as a bridge to help you cross?” he jokes. “It seems that the rules are different for objects and people.” “And they’re also different for different people.”

7:40 PM

“Indeed! Ah, we’ve barely begun and already there’s so much to discover! Vivienne, I’m so very pleased you agreed to accompany this old man on his foolish trip. I’ll certainly need the assistance to properly document everything, and I’m certain you will find your studies progressing immensely here.” “Come on, ‘old man.’” You smile a little, stepping away from the water. “We still have to find somewhere to stay, remember?” The two of you continue into the City. You are certainly pleased you came here with Arthur, and you do intend to help him with his studies while progressing your own. But he doesn’t know the full extent of your reasons for wanting to travel to the City of Glass, and if at all possible, you’d like to keep it that way. You really do like Arthur, and you’re pretty sure he also appreciates you beyond just your family name or research value. No, you are sure. Maybe he would understand if you told him, but... you’d hate to ruin your relationship by revealing the whole truth. The tightly-rolled scroll in its sealed tube seems to weigh down your bag. You’d better make sure you get separate rooms so you can set it up properly. ... You’re not entirely sure how, but Arthur manages to negotiate with a wraith staffing something that appears to be a check-in counter at something that appears to be a hotel. It’s a midrise building tucked between several of the massive slanted towers that define the skyline, and your rooms are on the fifth floor. Aside from the unusual architecture and everything being made of glass, you could be in an ordinary hotel back on Earth as you step into the elevator and select your destination. The near-normalcy is almost uncomfortable. “What did you pay with?” you ask as the doors close. “I didn’t see that closely.”

7:40 PM

“Secrets!” Arthur seems quite proud of himself, and with good reason: he had to communicate both his request and the secrets with gestures alone. “We knew that knowledge would be valuable in the City of Glass, so I had a hunch before even arriving.” “What kind of secrets?” “Nothing too secret; it was rather difficult to make it understand,” he admits. “To start with, just our names and where we came from. That seemed to be enough for it.” “So that’s what the paper was for. I didn’t think it would help because they don’t speak English, but you wrote down our names.” “That’s right. I expect us to prioritize finding some better way to communicate with these creatures shortly, however. If we intend to trade secrets for secrets, it would be enormously useful to be able to speak aloud. Ah, here’s the rooms.”

‍

- Go search for food together with Arthur.

- Go search on your own; he should rest.

- Just settle in tonight and go search tomorrow. (Winner:

‍

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 2 You agree to meet back in the hallway in fifteen minutes or so, then enter your separate rooms to explore. Immediately, your impression is that it’s strangely normal, but also plainly strange. The room is made primarily of glass, just like everything else. There seems to be a standard sort of lightly textured, mostly-opaque, frosted glass that serves as the main interior surface, though its color varies throughout the structures and rooms you’ve seen. This building is primarily formed of swirled blues and greens, and your room in particular holds an especially vibrant spiral of teal and seafoam green starting on the ceiling and trailing along the walls. However, despite the differing colors, you don’t note any seams or breaks in the structural glass - aside from doorways and openings for windows of more traditional, translucent glass. In fact, the shape of the room is peculiarly organic - it curves and flows in gentle waves and flourishes almost like water. But it’s definitely not fully natural: the room has been purposefully shaped, squared off, and arranged for a conscious purpose. Furniture - permanent or mobile - is made mostly of smoother, glossier pieces. Tall, thin lamps remind you of the spires outside, tipped with soft, squishy globes that seem to answer for lightbulbs. Upon sliding a switch-like lever you find on the side, the globe illuminates with a calm, warm radiance. There don’t appear to be any traditional overhead lights set into the ceiling. You also don’t find an electrical cord anywhere on the lamp, though it does abruptly shut off when you lift it off the floor. Maybe the structural glass is conducting some sort of energy to it? You’ll have to assume that’s safe here.

7:13 PM

When you get to the bed, you finally find a material that isn’t glass. The frame itself is glass, of the same glossier texture as most of the furniture, but the bedding itself is thankfully soft, normal cloth just like you would expect. There’s also a panel of thin brown wood-like material attached to the wall apparently as artwork. It depicts a series of diagonal stripes meeting together in a “V” pattern. You drop your bags nearby and head to the bathroom, curious how the water situation works here. After all, if there are people like Arthur who can’t touch the water, how do they drink or shower? Well, there’s one way to find out. The bathroom is in much the same glass style as the rest of the room, with the notable inclusion of a massive, pristine mirror that takes up the entire wall above the angled counter. You pause a few beats to look at yourself, pulling at the skin below your eyes to see if anything’s visible. No, you don’t think so; you just look a little tired. Just a few dark bags like anyone might have after traveling for a few days with limited sleep. Aside from that, you look about as normal as you could expect. The same wavy dark hair; the same unfortunately pallid complexion that hasn’t improved since you were a child, no matter how much time you spend outside. The same- You scoot a little closer to the mirror, pressing up against the counter. Stare at your eyes again. Breathe out a sigh of relief. The same perfectly normal dark brown irises and perfectly normal whites surrounding them. You’re being paranoid. You’re fine.

7:14 PM

A slight shake of the head as you pull back to finish examining the room. There’s one of those fancy on-counter sinks made of a bowl of ruffled, pebbled, deep blue glass, along with some bars of lightly-scented soap. A thin tap behind it works exactly as you’d expect, dispensing cool or warm water. It’s clear, it smells fine, and you’ve already taken a few sips to test it before remembering that maybe you should be a little cautious. ... Whatever; you can interact with the water normally. If anything, you’d be more concerned about what might happen to Arthur if he drinks any. You examine the dark-glass toilet next, messing with the controls until you get a sense of how to work it. The hinges for the lid are very strange - everything’s glass, so you’d expect them to grind against each other, but somehow it smoothly, slowly closes when you let go. It works normally, though something about the acoustics of the water when you flush feels strange. You can’t put your finger on it; maybe because the pipes are presumably glass too? The last fixture in the bathroom is the fixed-door shower located opposite the mirror. You have to step inside to operate the glass showerhead, but you’re curious and impatient enough to do so right away. Which, predictably, results in dotting your arms with droplets as the shower works exactly as you’d expect it to. Great water pressure, too. Again, there’s that strange acoustic sensation as the water drains away, but you can’t quite explain what’s odd about it. Did the sink sound like that too? You try it again, noticing the recurring strange quality now that you’re listening for it - though it’s much fainter here. Beyond that, the main room holds a small desk, a chair with smoothly frictionless balls for feet and a stretchy mesh material for the seat and back, and an assortment of smaller tables, counters, and the like. Finally, you slide aside the dual curtains of thick and gauzy cloth and peek out the window.

7:14 PM

... You’re a little disappointed. All you can really see from here is the lower portion of one of the great glass spires, plus a bit of the street below. You’ll probably keep that closed; you can see other windows on the opposite building that could definitely see into your room if you left it open. Overall, you’re pleased and excited. The room is immaculately clean and perfectly functional while still feeling exotic, and you even have room to set up your scroll. Which... you hesitate, checking the time. Maybe you should leave it in your bag for now. You’ve spent a lot of time looking at things and need to meet up with Arthur soon.

- It doesn’t take that long; you have time to set it up now. ⏱️ - You’ll have time later; you don’t want to be late now. [Your primary goal will be food. But while you’re out exploring...]

- Make an effort to stay by this building so you don’t get lost.

- Wander wherever you want, as long as you can find your way back.

- You swear you saw an elevated railway; go find out what’s up with that.

- What’s with all these wraiths? What are they doing; where do they go? ❓ - [Or explore something else...? Suggest in #story_discussion.] (Winners: ⏱️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 3 Arthur’s already waiting in the hallway when you emerge from your room, so you’re glad you didn’t spend the time to set up the scroll. As you walk back to the elevator and street together, you chat about the various things you found interesting in the rooms. “How did the water work for you?” is one of your first questions after you’ve verified his room also has a bathroom, given his experience with the street. “Entirely as normal,” he declares. “No issues whatsoever.” “You... could touch it just fine? Like normal water?” “Indeed! I must admit it took several minutes to recall that the mere ability to use a sink was unusual. Perhaps the drinking and cleaning water is composed of a different substance than the street water? Perhaps the streets are actually made of a gel or compound similar to concrete, that simply looks like water?” “I don’t know if I buy that,” you muse, tapping your foot into the street and watching ripples spread. “What kind of concrete behaves like that? Although maybe it is just a different kind of liquid.” “Yes, the true confounding factor is how it behaves differently to each of us. If it were simply a solid that looked like water, that would be easy to explain. But the same substance exhibiting radically different properties when presented with nigh-identical stimuli is certainly more on the side of magic than science.”

4:56 PM

“Well, this is a magical City,” you note, trying to prompt him further along that line of thinking. Arthur doesn’t like teaching you applied magic; he prefers to stick to the history, mythology, and theory behind it (including a lot more math than you’d prefer). Everything practical he’s shown you so far has been more out of necessity than anything else: to help you protect yourself from magical threats. He always says it’s too dangerous to dive deeply into the magical arts, but sometimes you wonder if that reluctance has more to do with your family name as well. Your life would be a lot less complicated if you didn’t have the ancestors you do. “Have you heard of anything like this from a magic perspective?” “Hum...” He whistles softly as he thinks. “Your comment about Marnosan legends has got me thinking about their acocitls, I suppose. Semisolid creatures that would dissolve into ordinary water, though that property was treated more as a weakness than as a building material!” “And of course, nothing about this in the stories about the City itself.” You know that for sure; Arthur had shared the work of figuring out how to come here with you more fully than any previous project. “Just that the water is important to the City because it holds secrets.” “It is one of the best-kept secrets of occult lore, I believe! Although I suppose I wouldn’t know of any better-kept secrets, nearly by definition...” You continue in this vein, chatting about the City and your guesses about how its various components might work, as you make your way through the nearby streets without much of a definite destination.

4:56 PM

Off the main roads, the City’s atmosphere changes. Before, you could still see the sky and the faint, reflected sunlight through gaps in the canopy of thin, cloud-piercing spires. Once you take a few turns into the warren-like maze of alleys off the main network, however, sunlight quickly diminishes to near-absent. Buildings are often built at angles, with overhangs, or simply atop the street with only a narrow tunnel available for traffic. You often have to climb or descend ramps, stairs, or even ladders to avoid blocks of nonsensical architecture. Occasionally, the street even dips below water level into dingy, dark tunnels of frosted structural glass. Unnerving lights glimmer from somewhere far below the floor, their shapes and true distance impossible to discern through the near-opaque glass. “Big fish?” you wonder concisely. “Big fish,” Arthur agrees. Still, you’re never actually scared. Nervous, yes, but not afraid that any harm will come to you. Aside from the handful of fellow travelers on the ferry, you’ve so far yet to see a single living thing in the City aside from the wraiths (although you’re not sure they’re “alive,” exactly), and you know from experience that those creatures can’t even touch you. Eventually, you find your way into a larger semi-open area strung with cables of smaller light globes. Although there is a ceiling overhead, formed by three or four buildings linking their overhangs together, the warm lights lend a more cheerful tone, like a christmas tree or blanket fort. Hundreds of wraiths mill about the area, and a gentle susurrus comes to your ears like the echoes of a crowd from a far distance. Stalls around the edge of the square look an awful lot like food stands, so you pass through the mass of wraiths to investigate. “Well, the pictures look promising, but...” Arthur doesn’t have to finish his sentence; you’re seeing the same thing.

4:57 PM

Most of the stands do depict different types of food: mostly sea-based to some degree or another. You can’t read any of the words as they’re in one of the near-extinct glyphic languages of ancient magic you don’t understand, but Arthur can eke out a bit of meaning and tells you what you already suspected: they’re just the names and prices of the menu items. However, despite this promising start, all of the actual food seems to be merely more dark mist similar in appearance to the wraiths themselves. “... At least they’re enjoying it,” you offer after you’ve stood there for a while. The wraiths, indeed, seem to be queueing, ordering, and paying with more portions of dark mist. It’s hard to fully track an individual in the mess, but you’re pretty sure the mist-food is being consumed by its purchasers. “Arthur, what if all the food is like this? I mean, we haven’t seen anyone but wraiths so far.” “Then... we may have to cut our trip short, unfortunately. But we still have several days of travel provisions to go through before needing any external food, so we have several days to find out. There must be some way for visitors to sustain themselves; several of the accounts were quite clear they spent months in the City.” A few minutes later, after walking further around the square, a steep staircase catches your eye. The stairs themselves aren’t unusual, but the amount of signage - and the turnstiles you see at the top - are. Come to think of it, you did think you saw an elevated railway from the ferry. “Arthur, what do these signs say?” Although you hardly need to ask, now that you’ve noticed some of the icons set into the glass.

4:57 PM

“Hum... ‘Metro,’ I believe. Ah, it does resemble a station! Care to investigate?” You’re already making your way up the stairs.

- Obey the rules: if you can’t pay a fare, you can’t enter the station.

- That sign can’t stop you if you can’t read. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 4 Arthur follows at a slower pace as you approach the upper floor and look around. Glass ticket machines and glass gates to accept the tickets. Of course, you have no way of purchasing one as the machines seem to both accept and dispense dark mist of the type you cannot touch. So, after poking at them a bit regardless (to no success), you lift yourself over the gate and into the station anyway. It’s not like the wraiths care and you’d like to look around. “I’ll wait out here,” Arthur decides, resting a hand on one of the gates. “Didn’t you say you’re really spry for your age?” you ask, a little teasingly. “I bet you can make it over!” “Hum; perhaps...” He doesn’t seem fully convinced, but luckily, a group of wraiths arrive while he’s pondering. With some quick thinking, Arthur is able to simply walk through the gate basically inside one of the wraiths as it opens for the legitimate passenger. “Nice,” you compliment as he makes it through. “I wonder if the train’s going to be made of glass too.” “I expect not, actually,” Arthur ponders as you head for the platform. “The vehicles below were made of mist; this one will likely be similar.” “But the boat was real,” you counter. “Maybe it’s like that?” “The ferry may have been different due to its sojourn in our world. As this station appears to be local to this City...” “I get it,” you agree. “If it doesn’t leave, it doesn’t have to be physical. I guess that makes about as much sense as anything else here.”

8:46 PM

You wait around for a minute or two until Arthur is unceremoniously proven correct. With a dull, distant rumble almost too quiet to catch, a long cloud of dark mist bellows into the station along the tracks, slows to a stop, and hovers there as wraiths board and depart. You can almost make out some of the train’s features if you look at it from certain angles - head-on seems to be the best, so you’re looking through as much mist as possible - but by and large it’s difficult to distinguish it from the wraiths it carries. And of course, you can’t even touch it, let alone ride it to wherever it may go. The train departs not long after, blowing past another arriving from the opposite direction. You can feel a little bit of the breeze that would be created by such massive vehicles, but only enough to rustle your hair. All the sounds and sensations here seem to be deadened, like you’re hearing and feeling them from very far away. The trains, the crowds. Like their misty forms are just windows into a distant place where they actually exist. Still, the fact that you can feel anything at all from the mist-trains is interesting on its own. Maybe it’s a matter of scale? ... You and Arthur wander around the City of Glass for another few hours, observing and cataloging and discussing all the odd architecture you see. Eventually, though, the wan, misty sunlight trickling through the clouds dims to a foreboding blackness and you decide to return to your rooms. The wraiths on the street after dark seem different somehow from those about during the day, though you can’t articulate exactly why. They look very similar; maybe it’s how they’re behaving? Or maybe it’s just that the dark clouds of mist seem to blend into the night, appearing like sudden ghosts when illuminated?

8:46 PM

Memory of the oracle’s fortune resurfaces from some dim memory in the elevator and you consider telling Arthur again. But he’s excited and theorizing about the purpose of that sharp, peerlessly tall spire you spotted just before dusk, and you don’t want to bother him just before bed. You’ll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow; you can explain then. Plus, it’s not like you even took the third draw, where some serious risk could have arisen. So, instead, you simply offer a few more observations about the spire before you reach the point in the corridor where you’ll split off to your separate rooms. “Early to bed, Vivienne!” Arthur instructs. “I anticipate a much fuller day tomorrow, now that we have gotten our bearings. Let us meet up at, say, 8 AM sharp?” “... How about 8:30?” You are not a morning person. Arthur knows this, which is why he didn’t suggest 7. “Sold! Ah, I do hope I’ll be able to rest properly with so much to consider and plan. I had better get to bed myself; we older folks need our sleep.” “Says the guy who’d hold class at 6 in the morning if any of his students would show up.” A grin; he had actually considered proposing that to his undergrads before you reminded him of the typical student’s sleep schedule. “Night, Arthur. See you in the morning.” “Adventure anew then! Good night.” Thus, you retire to your room and immediately fail to prepare for bed. Instead, you dig through your pack for the sealed tube near the bottom. Retrieving it, you take it to the desk and sit down on the orb-footed chair to remove the scroll from its case. Smoothly roll it out to its full length, arrange it on the foldable board marked with the appropriate symbols in the appropriate spots, and clip it tightly so it’ll stay in place.

8:46 PM

“Hmmm...” You remove the clips and move the scroll a few times, adjusting its position minutely to make absolutely sure the bind-points bored into its corners align as precisely as possible with the equivalent markings on the board. You’d love to make this assembly more permanent - and you do have one like that at home - but sacrifices must be made in the name of portability. The whole thing is nearly 2x3 feet wide, and that’s just too unwieldy to carry around on a trip like this. Finally satisfied, you clip it into place again and retrieve the linked stylus, wax paper, and pot of ink from their separate pockets within the tube. The ink, you place to the upper right, unscrewing the top to check on the thick, deep purple substance dotted with lighter specks before sealing it again. The stylus, you hold in one hand and place - un-inked - against the upper portion of the scroll. You don’t need the ink to send; only to receive. The wax paper, you... leave alone for now. That’s another thing only used for receiving. A deep breath as you grip the stylus. You brought the scroll so you’d have the ability to contact your family, and - particularly - your brother. It was meant to be a means of comforting yourself; of making sure he hadn’t done something stupid or dangerous while you were away. But, as far as your family knows, you’re still on Earth. Arthur was supposedly taking you for a summer expedition in northern Europe, where you would be assisting his archaeological pursuits. Instead, you boarded a ferry instead of a plane and ended up somewhere that definitely could not be mistaken for Europe. You could probably tell your brother where you really are by now; he probably can’t get here on his own. Not your parents, though; they don’t know anything about your investigations and you intend to keep it that way. “...”

8:46 PM

You don’t like lying to your family, and especially not your brother. But you have very good reasons to do so; you just have to remember that. And as long as you can keep him from figuring out you’re doing anything strange, you’ll be able to tell if he is. Unless he’s lying to you, too, of course.

- Be vague about your trip. Try to focus on what he’s up to. Ask about your parents.

- Make up details based on what you’ve actually seen to make it more believable. ❓ - Ask or tell him something specific. [Specify in #story_discussion.]

- Tell him you’re in the City of Glass. [Whenever you write a letter to your brother, you may decide to reveal the truth. Doing so will of course have consequences, but keeping the charade up will certainly have consequences of its own if he ever discovers the truth...] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 5 “Victor,” you write at the top of the scroll, though without any ink, you can’t see the word. It can be annoying to pen long letters like this - sometimes you’ll use actual ink and the wax paper so you can see what you’ve written - but all that’s required is simply the impression the stylus leaves in the scroll itself. This one should be short enough that you don’t need any help remembering what you’ve already said. “We arrived today and are getting our bearings in the city. Should be able to begin research tomorrow. I’ll share any important results by letter every few days. How are you, mom, and dad doing? Have you left on your trip yet? Please confirm receipt.” You pause there, tapping the stylus on your chin. The wording seems stiff, but you can’t edit anything now that you’ve set it into the scroll. You can’t undo it aside from just sending the thing, and you doubt Victor would appreciate receiving a fully scratched-out letter. You could scribble out what you have and start over - you’ve got plenty more room to work with - but you’re well aware you could stay up for half an hour or longer tweaking your sentences if you let yourself. And Arthur’s right; you should get to sleep before too long. So, instead, you just add “Hope you’re doing well. Please be safe,” then sign your name below. After that, it’s a simple matter of running your fingers along the sides of the scroll to metaphorically “seal” it (like an envelope, you suppose - the rite didn’t really explain why). Lastly, holding your fingers to the top two bind-points for several seconds is sufficient to send it off. Deep red lines wash across the page, filling in the grooves you left with incredible speed and clarity, before everything vanishes and the scroll returns to its previous, totally smooth surface.

9:25 PM

You feel a little light-headed, but it passes quickly enough. You’re pretty sure the scroll takes some of your blood when you don’t use ink to send, but the ink is so expensive and so annoying to make that you don’t really mind. You could probably use blood to receive as well, in a pinch, but it takes so much more than sending that you’d be a little worried for your health if you tried. That’s what the ink is for, anyway; you’d hate to deprive it of its purpose. “...” You find your thoughts turning to your brother as you bustle about the room preparing for bed. Victor is four years older than you and just as enamored with history, the occult, and your shared family legacy. He’s a little aloof and frustratingly stubborn, but he’s still your brother and the two of you were very close throughout much of your youth. You shared many of your discoveries and comforted each other against failures. Even as little as two years ago, you wouldn’t have dreamed of hiding something as big as the City of Glass from him. But your family line bears a curse. Victor was the one to discover it first. A seemingly harmless search of genealogical records led to the startling discovery that, since the mid-1800s, not a single man of the Redmarsh line had lived past the age of 60. Most hadn’t reached 50, and many died even earlier. Women fared only somewhat better, with the oldest outlier living to 71 and the vast majority dying less than half a decade older than their male contemporaries. This alone wouldn’t have been enough to claim “curse.” Perhaps your family bears unfortunate genetics, or is particularly predisposed towards certain illnesses. Not so. All the deaths that you could find recorded reasons for were far from natural. Fires. Hunting accidents. Inexplicable poisonings. Unlucky falls. One particularly unbelievable case involved a Redmarsh ancestor being crushed to death beneath a falling piano. Really: like in a cartoon.

9:25 PM

Pursuing evidence of this sort is what eventually led you to Arthur, and Victor to his own teacher of occult lore. He’s a magician-in-training just like you, studying the source and cause of the curse you’re both sure exists, and - of course - how to break it. Your search eventually led you to the City of Glass, while his led him to rumors of a particular ancient ruin in southeast Australia. So, why haven’t you shared your success with him? Why haven’t you told him that you made it to the place where the dregs of the universe end up; where secrets are more abundant than currency? Well... That has a lot to do with why you keep checking your eyes in the mirror. You do a double take as you pass by the scroll on your way to the shower. A symbol in the top left has filled with color, indicating Victor has already written you back. A bit of relief that the spell actually worked in the City mixes with concern over why he responded so quickly. But you’re not going to figure it out just standing there, so you hurry over, clip a sheet of wax paper atop the scroll, and dip the brush end of the stylus in ink. From there, painting a thick line across the top of the paper and pressing your finger to the colored-in symbol drains the ink into grooves formed by Victor’s stylus a world away. And that, finally, leaves the wax paper inked in a near-perfect copy of the letter he actually wrote. It’s pretty brief, matching yours. “Vivienne,” you read. “My trip was delayed. Father is not well; he had another attack and injured mother during it. I’ve been needed at home to care for him. She’s starting to think he should be put in a facility, but he’s still lucid enough to convince otherwise. I believe his end is not far off, so I’ve hidden his ritual tools as best I can. At least I can stop him from taking anyone else with him. You should hurry with your research and return home quickly if you wish to see him again. - Victor.” Hell.

9:25 PM

You were worried this might happen. Your father is turning 50 this year, meaning he’s well into the range where the curse will take effect. You had been hoping it might be a good while longer, but with Victor’s note and your own recent observations... You really don’t want to cut your trip short, though. Many of the legends seem to indicate you can’t return to the City of Glass if you’ve been there once before - or if you can, it’ll be much harder or require a steep price. And you’re still certain you’ll be able to find the secrets of your family curse here. Maybe even a way to stop it. If dad can just hang on a little longer... This damn scroll isn’t comforting at all. You should have brought a teddy bear instead. [The skin around your eyes itches.]

- You get up early. Maybe you couldn’t sleep, or maybe you just set the alarm wrong.

- You get up late. Maybe you slept in, or maybe you just set the alarm wrong in the other direction.

- Your dreams are bad.

- Your dreams are terrible.

- Your dreams are agonizing.

- Your dreams are too fragmented to remember. [Requires

.] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 6 You try to psychoanalyze yourself in the shower. Predictably, it doesn’t work very well. You should want to go home; your dad is dying. You sort of have an excuse given that you’re here trying to find information about the curse that you think he’s suffering from, but you don’t know that for sure and any decent research will surely take months. You have another excuse that you might not be able to come back later, and that one is much stronger. But, you muse, the key word is “excuse.” Even if you weren’t in the City of Glass, you... you can admit to yourself that you probably still wouldn’t want to come back. Your relationship with your family has soured over the last few years. Probably not enough to stop you from returning home if you were on Earth right now, but here... it’s enough. “...” There’s an itching sensation around your eyes, but you’re able to convince yourself it’s just the soap or something. There’s another aspect to the Redmarsh family curse beyond just early death. Or at least, you choose to attribute it to the curse instead of just generations of overzealous obsession with the occult. Namely, people in your family have a strong tendency to overfocus on work - particularly academic research, occultism, or actual magic - often to a degree nearly analogous with insanity. As with the deaths, men seem to be affected more than women, at least in the records you managed to find, and it intensifies with age. This overfocus has made the name Redmarsh synonymous with hundreds of scholarly publications in a variety of magical and magic-adjacent fields - but at the same time, it’s led to a number of distressing bouts of madness or horrific ritual disasters contributing to the death total. You feel it too, or so you assume. It had never been a question that you would focus on history, occultism, and eventually magic. Even if you hadn’t discovered the curse, it’s just what calls to you.

5:54 PM

Anyway, the point is that your dad is... intense at this point in his life and studies. His love for his children is still there somewhere, but it’s often buried beneath mountains of research and devotion to archaic rites and symbols. Your mom isn’t as invested as your dad - she’s not a Redmarsh by birth - but she can often still be as bad as him. And your brother... Well, that’s why you didn’t tell him where you are. He can get obsessed with data on your family and the curse, to the point where he might actually be dangerous. Once, a miscommunication made him think you had found some data you actually hadn’t. When he questioned you about it, you of course told the truth. But he didn’t want to hear it. Repeated questions turned to demands, then physical threats. The shock of actually hitting you snapped him out of it and he apologized many times over, but... that wasn’t the last similar incident. You - and Victor, in his saner moments - agreed that for your safety, you needed to be careful what you told him and when. You feel like you’re still sane. You don’t have these outbursts and you can focus on other things when you need to. But every so often, you can feel some ancient shadow from years past lurking behind your eyes. Sometimes you can see it. Not today; not often. But sometimes you can, and it terrifies you when you do. Still, you almost prefer the shadow. The idea that there isn’t a curse is nearly more terrifying still. ... Your dreams get worse when you’re stressed, anxious, or tired. It’s no wonder that tonight’s are bad.

5:55 PM

You step through one of those watery crosswalks in the City of Glass, and sink like a stone. Bubbles fountain up around you and the pressure begins to rise. You find yourself able to breathe, though it’s extremely difficult - like forcing thick gel into your lungs. Somehow, the pressure never grows strong enough to injure you; just enough to bring a constant, dully painful reminder of its presence. Of your alien-ness below the surface. Threads of faint green, blue, and gold drift through the water as you fall faster and faster. They’re all emanating from the same source: a tumbled ruin of unbearably ancient, unbearably massive stone blocks each the size of a room. Some sort of current pulls you into an opening in the broken masonry, dragging you through a long, steeply descending tunnel adorned with carvings nearly effaced by long immersion in the water. Occasional dim flashes of recognition are triggered by some of the less-damaged specimens, and you find yourself unaccountably glad that most are beyond repair. At last, the current slows and deposits you within a gargantuan chamber lit by those luminescent green, blue, and gold threads hanging in the water and clinging to most surfaces. A throne of green-blue stone looms overhead, too vast for any but a titan or god to occupy. Here, it sits empty and forgotten. You drift for a minute, quietly nervous about the state of the throne. Something is supposed to be there. It can’t lie abandoned; nothing good will come of that. Yet you just don’t know what’s missing. A god, perhaps, but what kind of god? The skin around your eyes itches. Instinctively, you bring a hand to your face - only to realize that you are carrying a key. Thick, heavy, and made of a green-blue stone to match the throne before you. The current, previously holding you in place, hesitates before the force of what that key represents.

5:55 PM

A blasphemous idea occurs to you.

- Sit upon the throne.

- Float, idle. Listen. ↩️ - Swim against the current, back towards the tunnel. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 7 You could sit upon the throne. Claim it as yours; become the new god of this weedy, sunken palace. The key makes it clear that you hold the authority to do so. The current will not stop you. ... But you will. Something about the idea scares you. Picturing yourself sitting or floating above that gargantuan seat, insignificantly tiny against the backdrop of forgotten grandeur... No. Something isn’t right here. There is something missing from the throne, but you aren’t it. Making that decision brings a certain sense of relief, but also a renewed sense of dreadful anticipation. If you won’t fill the throne, something else has to. Do you truly want to be here to meet whatever will claim the symbol of lost divinity? Distant echoes of some massive object reach your ears from afar, muffled through the water, and you wonder anew what sort of beings might have constructed such a throne. Something about the size of the blocks and the nearly-obscured carvings upon them plays upon a deeper, primal part of your consciousness. You’re certain you wouldn’t want to meet anything that built or dwelt upon the throne. The distant noise draws closer; louder. You feel it as much as hear it; waves of pressure vibrate through your bones. With a rising sense of unease, you glance down the two titanic corridors that extend to the left and right of the throne. So tall and so broad that details are lost in the murky water. Somehow, however, you can still see far longer down the halls. Drifting silt to the left indicates something is approaching. You consider returning to the ocean above via the long tunnel from which you entered, but the current has recovered its strength and will not let you leave.

10:02 PM

The unease intensifies as whatever it is gets closer. Anxiety transitions to actual fear, then builds higher still. You swim at a rapid pace, pushing against the current and getting nowhere before giving up and moving around to the right side of the throne to put something massive and solid between you and the approaching thing. You can’t explain why you’re so convinced something horrible is going to happen, but it’s not even a question. There’s a little divot in the cracked, weed-covered floor. You squeeze inside, pressing up against the back of the throne as you try to be as small and unobtrusive as possible. Then, the pressure builds to an unbearable degree and you’re buffeted by streaming water as the Thing finally arrives. It’s all you can do to stay quiet and still, listening with painful acuity to whatever you can hear over your too-fast heartbeat. And then you wake up. You’re awake before your alarm, but you don’t really have any intention of getting back to sleep. Instead, you rise from bed, turn on all the soft, warm light-globes you can find, and slightly part the curtains to look outside. No throne, no horrible gigantic Thing. Just the opposite building and the watery-dim rays of early morning. Only a dream. You have a lot of practice making that excuse. After calming down a little by organizing your clothes and picking out something to wear, you go through a fairly normal morning routine and step into the hallway almost twenty minutes before 8:30. Half-expecting to see Arthur already present and waiting for you while taking notes on the lamp holders or something, you’re surprised to find someone completely different standing by his door instead. You don’t recognize them from the ferry, and they seem just as surprised to see you, so you ask what they’re doing as politely as you can reasonably manage so early in the day.

10:03 PM

The reedy, awkwardly gangly man gives you a brief explanation - “Just waitin’ for m’partner” - without explaining what he was actually doing at Arthur’s door, then latches onto the arm of an even taller, soundly muscular woman with a distasteful expression who comes walking by a minute later. You try to ask him a few questions in the intervening time, but he doesn’t respond in any useful way. “‘Scuse us,” she says roughly, still offering no real explanation. She hardly slows as she passes, carrying a jangly bag of tools. You briefly wonder if they’re just maintenance staff before remembering any such staff would be wraiths. “Excuse me, are you from the ferry?” you ask again, taking a few steps after them but not really willing to leave this general area. “I didn’t think anyone else had come this way.” There’s a pause. A few mutters between the pair. Then the woman turns back towards you with a smile that seems more forced than friendly. “Nay, but you are? Visitor?” “Er, yes. Sorry, you’re not from the ferry? Are you a local?” The woman seems to have some trouble understanding you; she whispers with the man again. “Yes, local. From the City. What are you needing?” You can’t place her accent. The man hasn’t spoken above a whisper since the woman arrived. “Um,” you begin, not really sure what you need. But even just knowing there are people here besides the wraiths is important! Arthur will be so disappointed he slept in - wait, people besides wraiths? “Do you know where I can get any food for people like us? Not for wraiths?” Another whispered colloquy. “Yes, yes! Good food this way; come, follow.”

10:03 PM

You may be a little out of your depth here, and you’ve never been particularly good at social cues, but even you can tell something isn’t quite right with the pair. Her expression and abrupt change of heart, their refusal to explain what they were doing, all this whispered exchanges... something is telling you this is a scam, although you’re not quite sure of what kind. It’s not like you have any money worth anything in the City. Honestly, it’s a good thing you got up before Arthur, if these two were going to stick around much longer. He can be credulous to a fault.

- Decline; wait for Arthur here.

️ - Try to get a bit more out of the pair, but don’t leave the hotel or anything. ✅ - You’re feeling unaccountably confident. You’re a magician and occultist; you can protect yourself. Or maybe you misread the situation. Go with them. (Winner:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 8 Despite your misgivings, you don’t want to just flatly reject them. “Sorry, I shouldn’t leave,” you say. “I’m waiting for someone too; it might be a few minutes. But, um, I didn’t expect - I thought everyone here would be wraiths. How common are people like us?” You try to indicate your and their non-ghostliness with gestures, since it seems obvious she’s struggling to understand you, but it’s unclear if the meaning gets across. The reedy man whispers something else and they both laugh. “No ghosts,” she declares. “Ghosts are only at the start. Everyone is like this.” Now you’re struggling to understand. “At the start? Everyone? I don’t - we walked around for ages yesterday and only ever saw wraiths! Everyone was just dark mist!” “Come with, you’ll see.” “Well...” After some deliberation, you decide that it can’t hurt to go with them to the lobby at least; you’re still in a public hotel, after all. You can smell a peculiar floral scent while in the elevator (maybe perfume or something, though you haven’t seen any flowers around to inspire it), but nothing particularly threatening has happened by the time you make it downstairs and your eyes widen. The wraith at the desk is an old man today. Wraiths you had seen in the lobby are now people, not ghosts. Oddly shaped but definitely not mist-built cars and vans trundle down the watery street outside, and even more normal (non-wraith) pedestrians fill out the sidewalks. There isn’t a wraith anywhere you look. You can even hear the proper soundscape now, instead of feeling like everything was coming to you from far away. The City of Glass has come alive overnight. “See?” the woman asks. “No ghosts.” “Yeah,” you agree. “No ghosts.” A pause as you take it in. “So, how does this work? You said ‘only at the start,’ but what does that mean? The start of my visit? Some unit of time in the City? Will these people turn back into wraiths later? How does - er-”

7:27 PM

Your questions are obviously a little too rapid to be understood. After one more whisper session, the woman repeats her initial offer. “Come with, you’ll see. Good food, ghost secrets.” You’re maybe a little less suspicious by now, but you still can’t go running off like that. “Sorry,” you reiterate. “I have to stay here.” The woman seems to consider the conversation over after your second refusal; she and the reedy man whisper back and forth a few more times before abruptly turning away and leaving the hotel. You stand nonplussed in the lobby for a few moments before deciding to walk up to the desk and ask some questions. You’ve still got a few minutes before 8:30. “Good day; how can I help you?” Great question. You’re not fully sure how to phrase it, but you walked over here to force yourself to say something instead of just standing around crafting the perfect sentence. “Um,” you begin. “Were you a wraith yesterday?” Stellar performance, Vivienne. “Beg your pardon? A wraith?” “Um, like a ghost that’s made of mist.” At least this guy seems to speak your language fluently. “Dark, quiet, see-through; that sort of thing?” “Ah, I see! You must be one of the pair of visitors who checked in yesterday. Let’s see... which room...?” “514?” “So you must be Ms Redmarsh. Pleasure to meet you; my name is Scillis.” “Er, likewise...” “The wraiths, then? All visitors go through a similar process when they enter the City. To you, we were made of mist, but to us, you were. It’s only after you sleep within the bounds of the City that everything equalizes and we can see each other as we actually are.” “... Oh. So, all the wraiths were actually just people? ... Why does that happen?” “It appears to be, as I stated, equalization of some sort, but I’m afraid the particulars of magic are beyond me.” “So, the cars and trains and food and all that stuff that looked like mist...?”

7:27 PM

“Mist no more! As you can see.” He gestures to the street, where - as you had noted - cars trundle along. “Okay, that’s... that’s really helpful. I’m really glad we can actually just talk to people normally, and find normal food, and...” You trail off. “Sorry; thanks for the answers. I should get back upstairs.” “Certainly. Do remember to return here to check out or extend your stay before midday, however. Of course, last night is an exception due to the communication issues with new visitors, but further nights will need to be paid properly.” “R-right.” You hesitate, turning back towards the desk despite your words. “What kind of currency does the City use? Is it ‘secrets’?” “Hum! Some do trade directly in knowledge of all sorts, but most legitimate businesses will deal in remembrances. They are individual, standardized fragments of forgotten memories and can be used to purchase nearly all ordinary goods and services.” “...” Despite your long, thorough research on the City of Glass, it’s starting to dawn on you that you really don’t know anything. “How-” “You can acquire remembrances through all the usual means of gainful employment, or by selling secrets, knowledge, or artifacts rich in history at certified remembrance brokers. If you need further information on the City’s basic operations, I recommend one of the pamphlets just below the counter, there.” You crouch a little, spotting a rack of dreary brochures that seem like they haven’t been touched in months. Still, even on the first page you can tell it’ll be a huge help as it goes into moderate detail on what a remembrance looks like and how to tell the denominations apart. “Thank you so much,” you decide to say, not complaining that he was definitely going to let you leave without one just a minute ago. “You must be really prepared for visitors here.”

7:27 PM

“This establishment is close to the outer sea; it receives a higher than average number of travelers from the outside. We appreciate your patronage and hope you will choose to extend your stay.” Predictably, you almost run into someone on your way back to the elevator, as you’re already eagerly reading through the dingy pamphlet. You look like such a tourist, you assume. Anyway, time to find Arthur; he’s going to be so excited!

- Arthur’s waiting for you in the hallway as agreed.

- He’s not there. And he was warning you not to be late! (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 9 You’re still a little early, but as previously expected, Arthur is already in the hallway examining one of the light fixtures as he waits for you. “Vivienne,” he calls as you approach, seemingly not noticing that you came from the elevator instead of your room. “Good morning! I had just noticed these odd reflective threads set into the glass. What do you have there?” You show him the pamphlet briefly, then take him downstairs to get him one of his own - and a view of the City as it should be, rather than in yesterday’s ghostly, mist-echoed form. Another chat with Scillis at the desk is cut short by someone else needing actual help, but with the pamphlet and a whole new City to explore, Arthur is hardly discouraged. He leads you back into the streets with the intention of returning before midday with enough remembrances to afford a second night - or if not, to retrieve your things and find somewhere cheaper to stay. To that end, your first task is to find a remembrance broker. You quickly find yourself desperately missing your phone and its associated ability to just tell you how to get places - you still have it with you, but it’s not like there’s GPS here. Instead, you have to rely on physical maps, street signs, and Arthur’s willingness to ask people on the street. You do note a few of these people consult their own phone-like devices - palm-sized tablets of opaque glass - to answer his questions and file that information away for later use if you can gather enough money to buy something similar.

6:30 PM

Thankfully, you find your way to a broker in less than an hour, despite taking an unreasonable number of wrong turns in a confusing tangle of alleyways that you swear can’t geometrically exist the way they seem to. It’s even more frustrating because most of the alleys in the tangle have water as their primary surface, meaning you have to leap over wide chasms over and over every time you backtrack. At least you manage to avoid falling in. But finally, you enter the long, squat building tucked beneath a wide row of apartments, themselves tucked beneath an elevated railway station. A glass train rumbles past as you approach, allowing you to get a proper look at its smooth, sharply-angled sides. It seems to be a different kind than the one you half-glimpsed yesterday in the mist, though you can’t fully explain what the difference is. Well, aside from not being made of mist, of course. A weathered, wrinkled, leathery man calls a hoarse greeting from somewhere in the store as you enter. Dozens of oddly contoured artifacts leer grimly from shelves and cases, alongside less overtly malicious manuscripts bound in all sorts of unusual materials. Previous objects the broker has purchased, you presume, now up for sale themselves. You’re a little unsettled by one in particular that catches your attention as Arthur speaks to the leathery man: a bulbous assemblage of oddly irregular ellipsoids wrought from iron or some similar metal. It feels like a trio of potato-esque shapes near the top of the figure are faintly rotating to follow you around the store, but close inspection confirms they aren’t moving. You’re probably just imagining it.

6:31 PM

Anyway, the broker is friendly enough, though certainly coarse and prone to casual profanity, and he explains the process to the two of you. It’s as simple as you would expect if you’re selling physical objects: the man appraises the object, offers you a figure, and you can accept, decline, or negotiate. For secrets, knowledge, and memories, however, you have to use the store’s Leitman device. The broker shows you the machine with a grin you’re not sure you like. It consists of a chair like you’d see in a dentist’s office, combined with a series of flexible pads on supports that are designed to fit around various parts of your body. The pads are marked with symbols you partially recognize from your magical studies, all designed to unerringly record the recalled memory with the fidelity of all your senses. The recorded memory, then, is stored on a round glass disc of thickness corresponding to duration and detail, and can be played back using a Leitman player. This second device is much more portable and only consists of a stout, capped metal rod designed to fit through the holes in the center of each Leitman disc, a single flexible pad designed to attach to your forehead, and a thin wire connecting the two. After some prompting, the broker does admit that the Leitman device does have a major caveat: it’s more of an extractor than a recorder. In short, the memories you focus on while in the device will be removed from your mind and transferred to the disc, not simply copied. You can of course use the disc to remember what you just forgot (and advanced devices can do this for you, simultaneously recording and playing it back so there’s hardly a gap), but it will be less immediate than before: the memory of reading or watching what happened, not experiencing it personally.

6:31 PM

Uneasy about the device (and the broker’s unaccountable grins regarding it), you and Arthur try to come up with any physical objects you would be willing to part with that the broker would actually want. Unfortunately, as he says, “The things worth th’most are the things dredged outta the depths b’low.” You don’t have anything like that; just stuff brought from Earth. Although... “How hard is it to find these artifacts?” you ask while Arthur is perusing the shelves for an idea of what kind of thing you might be able to sell. You assume it’ll be pretty tough, if they’re so valuable, but it’s worth a try. “Heh,” he cackles. “Easy ‘nuff if’n you’re a Diver, I s’ppose. City’s so big there’n all sortsa little nooks no one’s thought’a check a’fore. But outta reach for s’normal folks.” Something about the way he pronounces “Diver” catches your attention. “Sorry, Diver? Is that a special job?” He seems to find that funny. “New here, heh? But even th’newbies’ve walked on water a’fore long. Get th’idea, aye? Can’t get at th’depths if’n ye can’t get in the water at all!” You blink. Some instinct tells you to be cautious. “Er, yes. So the water is solid for almost everyone? Not just us?” “REALLY new here, hey? Aye, only precious few c’n Dive, so only precious few things c’n come up. That’s a famous ‘n secretive lot, them Divers, but ye can’t get stuff from th’depths without’m. S’how brokers like me c’n make a business, appraisin’ th’things they bring up. As’fer ye lot, better come up w’some thoughts ye don’t mind givin’ over!”

6:31 PM

- Sell some secrets, knowledge, or memories. [You can specify who and what, if you have ideas.]

- Dive. See what you can find. [You can specify additional details or preparations, if you have ideas.]

- Sell some of your more magical paraphernalia. It must be worth something. [You can specify if you want to sell the scroll or not.]

- Get a job. It can’t be that hard, right? [You can specify what kind of job to look for, if you have ideas.]

- Tell Arthur about your fortune.

- Don’t. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 10 Well... “Yeah, that’s what he said,” you confirm, standing with Arthur in that confusing tangle of alleyways from before and looking into the deep water below. “‘Precious few,’” you quote, using finger quotes for emphasis. “Fascinating,” he replies, tapping his heel on the water’s surface as if he were testing the thickness of ice. “So you may in fact be able to recover some of these valuable artifacts rather than resorting to selling off memories!” “That’s the idea.” You tap the water’s surface as well, though with different results. “I just didn’t really bring a swimsuit...” “Of course not; why would you have?” “And we can’t really buy one without any money...” “Somewhat of a carriage and horse dilemma,” Arthur agrees. “I’m certain I could find some secrets in this dusty old head of mine to get us some starter capital and get you some proper equipment.” “No,” you tell him. “It’s just some water; I’ll dry out. I don’t want either of us putting our heads in that ‘Leitman device.’ Did you get a good look at the runes on those pads?” “Recording and transfer symbols, primarily,” he says. “Although the entire arrangement would take much longer to decipher. I do somewhat share your apprehension, but imagine it must be primarily safe if it’s as well-known and well-used as described.” “Yeah, if. I don’t know if I trust him.” “Whyever not? He seemed a perfectly jovial fellow.” “... His smile, I guess. I just didn’t like how he was looking at me.” Arthur pauses. He’s not the type to dismiss your concerns out of hand, even if you don’t have much beyond a vague hunch. “Perhaps it would be wise to locate a second broker. Get a second opinion, as it were.” “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” Another brief pause; you sit down on the narrow lip of concrete and start taking off your shoes. “You intend to Dive right here?” Arthur asks, somewhat surprised.

9:38 PM

“It’s out of the way, we haven’t seen anyone in the past however long we’ve been talking, and I can see the bottom down there. So it’s not as, um, intimidating as some of the main roads.” He peers into the depths. “Understandable. Oh, look, a little fish!” You look. There’s a little fish. Several, in fact. “Cool. Hope they’re friendly.” Thoughts of the oracle’s fortune weigh on your mind as you prepare to Dive. It’s almost too obvious, isn’t it? The Key: an opportunity. Being a Diver is certainly a dramatic opportunity in this City, allowing you to personally recover artifacts instead of having to purchase them from others. The Dog-eared Page: the past. What could be more of a historical pursuit than literally pursuing history? Was this really all it meant? Just a warning - a single day in advance, that’s all - of your abilities? You consider telling Arthur again, now that he’s healthier and you’ve had time to adjust to the City. But, somehow, you get the feeling that doing so would be a mistake. It’s not like you don’t trust him to keep the secret. It’s not like you expect him to do something irresponsible, or even get too worried. He’s a practiced magician; he knows fortunes. But something holds you back. Feels like there’s something in your eye. You blink it out. “Okay, I’m not a master swimmer or anything, so I’m just going to go take a look around to start with. If I look like I’m drowning, um...” You sort of trail off. It’s not like he’ll be able to help you below the surface. “Don’t drown,” Arthur advises you. “Right. I’ll do my best.”

9:39 PM

You dip your feet into the water purposefully for the first time, submerging your legs up to mid-calf. It’s cool, but not uncomfortably so. Clear, pleasant. There’s a pale shelf only a dozen or so feet beneath you, teeming with calmly waving plants and the colorful little fish Arthur had spotted. It’s inviting, but even going just that far down would strain your lungs to their limit. You don’t have any dive training or anything. Er, Dive training. Either kind. “Don’t push yourself,” Arthur advises, seeing you hesitate. “But I do think it would be wise to at least try it.” He’s not the type to fling you into danger, but he’s certainly also not the type to tell you to give up. He has to be just as curious as you as to what’s down there. You give him a nod, then cautiously slip into the water. Holding onto the sidewalk to keep yourself in place, you notice an odd difference in your weight. “I’m... huh.” You let go of the sidewalk, slowly sinking into the water at a gradually declining rate. “Usually I float in water, but here I’m sinking. That’s a little concerning.” “Can you bring yourself back up without issue? Er, test that before you can’t reach the sidewalk!” You kick your legs and shoot back up, hauling yourself back onto the concrete with some effort. “Yeah! And it was... weirdly easy? Hang on, let me try something else.” You hop back into the water and sink fully below the surface, figuratively buoyed by the ease of your last experiment enough to dunk your head in. Instead of trying to go anywhere, you just float for a while, letting the air in your lungs slowly seep out. As you had sort of expected, you don’t move at all. You don’t float or sink, and even as you kick up or down in the water a few feet, that doesn’t change. “I’m neutrally buoyant!” you exclaim as you emerge from the water again. “It’s so easy to move around down there it’s almost like flying!”

9:39 PM

“That’s very encouraging! Is it easy enough you think you could reach that shelf?” You look down. It seems a lot further than you could swim normally, but here...? “Maybe. I’ll try.” “Be caref-” With quick, powerful strokes, you rapidly drive yourself into the depths. Water glides past almost frictionlessly, although you can definitely feel some drag from your clothes and loose hair. It doesn’t take long at all before you reach the pale, sandy shelf and scare away a swath of colorful fish. Some of the kelp-like plants wrap gently around your limbs, startling you for a moment, until you realize they were just disturbed by the currents from your passing and they’re so weak you can snap their fronds with hardly any exertion. Curious, you look around to see if there’s anything obviously relic-like in the general area. There’s the shelf, plants, and fish, and the foundation of a large glass building not far ahead. The shelf continues to either side, sloping gently down and interrupted every so often by more foundations, while behind you it drops off more steeply until the natural opacity of the (really quite clear) water blocks your view. You don’t see much else in a few seconds of scanning, before a tightness in your lungs indicates it’s time to return above. Curious how the sidewalks don’t seem to have any foundation: the slabs just float on the water’s surface. ✨ - Hey, is that something shiny? ⏫ - Don’t drown on your very first Dive; don’t get distracted!

- You make it back up with plenty of air to spare.

‍

- Despite your best efforts, you cut it a little close. (Winners: an all-way tie. ✨ and

‍

chosen by author discretion) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 11 Something catches your eye as you glance back down to determine how far you’ve risen: something glittery or reflective half-buried in the sand about halfway down the slope. It’s hardly visible and not near any landmarks, so you stop in place indecisively to debate whether you should go back or if you’ll be able to find it again on a second dive (Dive?). But it’s pretty obvious you need to decide immediately if you’re going to go, so you make a snap judgement that you probably have enough air left and swim back towards the bottom. It’s further than you thought and you have several painful seconds to begin to realize the probable miscalculation, but by then a hidden reserve of stubbornness (or something!) has kicked in and you’re committed. The glittery thing appears to be a tarnished sheet of coppery-looking metal engraved with some symbols you definitely don’t have time to read; you snatch it out of the sand and frantically aim for the surface. You’ve never drowned before. Really, you only know how to swim at a hobby level from some PE classes in school and occasional vacations to your parents’ cabin by a lake. Sure, you’ve accidentally inhaled some water before, but you’ve never felt the desperate, urgent need to breathe. You’ve never literally seen your vision dimming as your body begins to shut down. What an educational trip this has been. You’re only a few feet from the surface now but you can’t take it any longer; you have to breathe. So you do, unconsciously inhaling a lungful of water while consciously knowing full well it won’t help at all and will definitely hurt... a... lot... huh?

9:25 PM

Your upward momentum slows. You could break the surface now, but choose to stay below. Nervously, you take a second breath of water. And... it’s fine. You’re fine! You feel all your muscles relaxing in relief as you rotate onto your back and wave cheerily up at Arthur through the wavering surface. He’s clearly quite agitated, but calms down a little at your bright smile. You’ve got some real superpowers here! A minute passes as you float in place, trying to acclimatize to the sensation. It’s a little harder to breathe water than air, but it seems you don’t have to do it as often to make up for that. You don’t feel sick or bloated or weird; it’s surprisingly easy to adjust to the difference. Plus - you had already noticed this earlier - it’s equally easy to open your eyes and look around without need of any goggles or the like that you might have used back home. The water feels... friendly, you suppose. It fits you, like two puzzle pieces locking together. Once you feel pretty comfortable, you finally pull yourself out of the water. There’s a few seconds of awkward coughing and spitting as air mixes with water in your windpipe, but it seems to work itself out without issue. Nothing’s sloshing around in your lungs and you’re able to breathe normally up here, too. “Goodness, you gave me quite a fright!” Arthur complains, doing his best to scold you. “It was very irresponsible to turn around! Unless you already knew you had the ability to breathe underwater, in which case it was somewhat cruel to not tell me in advance!” “I didn’t know. You’re right; it was really irresponsible. I thought I was going to die.” A pause; you give him a thumbs up with one hand and brandish the copper sheet with the other. “Buuutttt I didn’t, and everything’s fine, and it’s really cool to be able to swim around down there! And I found this thing, which I didn’t think I’d be able to find again on a second visit. Which is why I went back for it.”

9:25 PM

“Please be more careful,” he sighs. “A good magician is always well-prepared and cautious. The proper place to test your underwater breathing abilities would have been up here where I could have pulled you out if anything went wrong. Honestly, what would I have told your parents?” “...” Arthur doesn’t know about your complicated family situation. You’d really prefer it stays that way. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.” A less frustrated sigh. “You can’t, because now you know you have nothing to fear from drowning.” “I could extract that memory with the Leitman machine!” He chuckles, just once, then accepts the copper(?) sheet from you. “Hum...” “What’s it say?” “Patience; patience... It’s written in a very old dialect even I’m hardly familiar with.” “Older than the one we’ve seen all over the City? How old?” “I would guess at least 6000 years. I’ve only seen this particular glyphic form connected to those islands off the coast of Greece that sank beneath the waves around that time. You know, one of the competing proto-Atlantean theories?” “Hey, the City of Glass sure feels a lot like Atlantis,” you comment. “There’s a lot of water, a lot of advanced magic and technology, and it’s definitely hard to get here.” “I’m still of the opinion that the myths inspiring Atlantis must have a basis on Earth, rather than whatever off-planet locale this City inhabits, but it’s a reasonable guess.” He taps a finger on the sheet. “Ah; it’s a recipe!” You crowd a little closer to see what he’s pointing at. “This block is an ingredient list, while this is the instructions. This section up here, I’m less certain of, since it uses these markings I’m unfamiliar with. Something like ‘<???> highest sky <???> deepest pit <???> calling, or speaking.’ It almost feels like the prelude to a ritual chant, but as best I can tell, the instructions make soup.”

9:26 PM

“The soup ritual,” you echo. You’re feeling energised and unreasonably happy after your swim, unable to provide much useful analysis. You can’t read the glyphs anyway, except for - “Wait, isn’t that the metzmatan?” “Hm? Oh! Goodness, what’s that doing there? Perhaps it is a soup ritual. I certainly wouldn’t expect to see that symbol outside of documents on magic...” Arthur leans closer to the sheet again, rereading the magic(?) soup(?) recipe. Somehow, the arrangement of the scene and the contents of the sheet just make you want to laugh. So you do, startling Arthur out of his soup-induced daze long enough to catch your laughter as well and chortle to himself. “Ah, I do suppose it seems rather ridiculous when studied so urgently. And regardless of the precise contents, we certainly have obtained a genuine artifact; something so old will hold value regardless of its precise nature! I wonder how much would be a reasonable price...?”

- Go Diving again. See what else you can find.

- As

, but dare to go a little deeper. Maybe there’s better stuff down there, and it’s not like you can drown.

- Take this thing to a broker right away; you’ve still got to pay for your room before midday, at minimum, and it’s getting pretty close to then.

- Have Arthur pawn the artifact while you go Diving again. [If you go to a broker...] ⏪ - Go back to the guy just a block away. It’ll be fast, but he might figure out how you got it.

️ - Find some other broker. Get a second opinion, plus they might be less likely to clock your Diving ability. (Winners:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 12 The next few hours pass quickly. You and Arthur pick your way across the City to find another broker while also trying to stay close enough to the hotel to not get lost. There don’t seem to be a lot of brokers around, which sort of makes sense as most of them would primarily be buying from Divers and there aren’t a lot of those either. You’re not really sure how many Divers exist, but based on the little tidbits you hear on the street, they seem to be of similar rarity to minor celebrities back home. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help you much because you don’t really know how many celebrities there actually are on Earth, nor how big the City of Glass truly is. You know where it ends in at least one direction, where it borders the sea, but you’re not sure about the others. You tried to dry off before leaving the alley, but there was only so much you could do - it’s not like you brought a change of clothes with you. Hence, you get a lot of odd looks. Not many people are wandering around dripping with water. Not many people even could be - not without putting in some effort! You wonder how many people will guess you’re a Diver. Probably at least a few. You wonder how long you should try and keep it a secret. Probably at least until you figure out what that might mean. Eventually, you find a second broker not far from that open-enclosed area with all the food stalls you found yesterday. This time, instead of a dingy store compressed beneath a row of apartments and a railway station, the building is actually below the waterline, off one of those dark, spooky tunnels. You’re a little more nervous today, now that you can be touched by the City’s denizens, but nothing scares you badly enough to abort the trip.

5:15 PM

The proprietor here is an older lady, tall but stooped, and wearing an unusual blue lens over one eye. She and Arthur quickly get to chatting about various matters of history and scholarship, but you know you’re on a timer and interrupt to ask about the sheet. “Interesting,” the broker hums, inspecting the sheet with the blue-lensed eye. “Not an artifact from afar, but rather one of this very City near the beginning of its current era.” She glances over the two of you, deciding to address her next question to you. “Where did you Dive to find this?” “Oh, no, I’m not a Diver,” you lie, still feeling vaguely that letting your abilities get out would be a mistake. “We just found it in an alley somewhere... over that way.” You don’t know enough landmarks to be much more specific. “Not a Diver, mmm? Really? I’m afraid I don’t do business with non-Divers; too much risk of forged or stolen goods. You’d be hard-pressed to find a reputable broker who does, unless you have a receipt or some way to prove the artifact’s authenticity and ownership.” You look at Arthur; he looks at you. He won’t say anything; this is your secret. “Unless you would care to revise your story?” the broker continues. “...” It’s pretty obvious she knows; you won’t gain much by holding onto that particular lie. “Fine. It really did come from somewhere over there, but it was on the sea floor, not on the street.” “That’s better.” The broker types something into a large, antique-looking machine that resembles an old cash register. “You must be quite new to this, trying to pass as an ordinary thief. What were you hoping to gain from your deception?” You don’t like her tone; it’s like you’re being chastised. “I don’t know enough about how Divers are treated to know if I want to present myself as one,” you answer honestly despite your annoyance. “It could be dangerous, or someone could try to take advantage of me. Like maybe an unscrupulous broker.”

5:15 PM

She smirks at that last comment. “At least your apprentice has some sense,” she comments to Arthur before returning to you. “It’s a reasonable concern. There are many in the City who will use you for their own ends, if you let them. I, as an ‘unscrupulous broker,’ am of course no different and will happily use you to procure interesting artifacts at reasonable cost, should you let me.” A pause. “300 membra. It’s not worth that much - conservatively, maybe 200 - but perhaps we’ll consider the extra an investment in an up-and-coming Diver who will provide additional artifacts in the future.” You’re really not sure if that’s a good deal or not. (Though you’re relieved to at least know that “membra” is short for “remembrances” - thanks, pamphlet!) Maybe you should have asked the first broker to appraise it too, or maybe you should go to a third for another opinion. But you’re short on time and this will be enough to pay for your rooms. Arthur shrug-nods. You feel about the same. “Okay,” you say. “We’ll take it.” ... The rest of the day passes with similar speed to the morning. You return to the hotel and spend most of your membra to retain your rooms for another night, then head back out to buy some food (a lot of the cuisine here seems to be seafood, which you find odd given that hardly anyone can actually get under the sea), figure out how to take the trains so you can stop with the interminable walking (despite the frequency being every few minutes on most routes, the stations and vehicles are still very busy), and finally do some actual research for Arthur’s work. He’s here to learn about the City of Glass, sure, but the original legend that drew him here in the first place isn’t the City itself. It’s the scattered fragments, collected and collated, of a tale weaving just out of sight throughout much of the planet’s history. The crystal hearts.

5:15 PM

Legend holds that these powerful artifacts fall from space throughout the ages, never more than once a millennium or so. Found by curious humans, the hearts offer incredible power, knowledge of strange magic, and deep, tragic corruption. At least three nations collapsed in the immemorial past due to misuse of the hearts, or perhaps the hearts always intended to bring about such devastation. More recently (about two years ago), the city of Chicago suffered enormous damage in a freak storm that was explained by the authorities as simply that: inexplicably powerful weather. But some parts of that story didn’t exactly line up and there were rumors of all sorts regarding what actually caused it: irresponsible government weapons testing, the old standby of aliens, or even a truly ridiculous story involving an interdimensional office building. Arthur, at the time, believed the crystal hearts were involved, and he wasn’t alone. Various occult scholars concurred to varying degrees, though always with disagreements on the specifics. So at length, he came to the City of Glass to finally sort that out and understand what the hearts truly are. You don’t get far today - just a few passing references here and there - but it’s enough to confirm the hearts are known in the City. You had been a little worried they wouldn’t be, since they’re from space and the City of Glass hoards earthly knowledge, but Arthur told you to have faith. He seems to have been right again.

5:15 PM

Anyway, it’s late and you’re very tired after all the walking and researching. You occupy yourself for a bit by jotting down some notes about the City’s commerce system and how Divers might fit into the secret-based economy, but it’s not long before you catch yourself scribbling nonsense and decide it’s bedtime. You didn’t even agree on when to meet Arthur in the morning, you belatedly realize. That means you can sleep in!

- Take advantage; sleep in and get nicely well-rested. ⏰ - Get up early despite your tiredness. You’ve got stuff to do. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 13 Your dreams start out uneasy with strange emotions, but lack the previous night’s element of weedy, sunken terror. Arthur is there, in his office back at the university, and you’re delivering a stack of papers to him. He starts to mark the papers with a red pen, ticking off errors as he finds them. You protest at the markings - surely he’s mistaken - but he waves aside your criticisms. For unclear reasons, you stand in the doorway as he continues. Minutes go by and resentment builds. You’re not even sure they’re your papers, but you delivered them so they must be important to you. How dare he correct them like this? How dare he consider himself better than you? You clench your fists; demand he stop. Demand he admit the papers are without flaw. He laughs, coldly. Of course the papers are flawed, he insinuates as he waves his pen. How could you produce anything else? Your eyes burn, as if you’ve been holding them open too long. A blink; a pulse of deep vibration. Like a tower bell has just sounded within your chest. When you open your eyes again, Arthur lies dead on the desk, impaled through an eye socket with his pen. Blood pools onto the floor and coats your hands. You didn’t do this. You didn’t. You couldn’t. You must have. You did. Blood conceals the red pen markings on the papers. Flawless, as you envisioned. ... Groggily, you awaken from a deep, heavy sleep; one of those sleeps where your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, there’s drool on your pillow, and you hardly know what day it is. You’ve thrown off the covers sometime overnight, presumably in some unremembered dream. All you recall is being frustrated about something, but no details remain.

7:17 PM

Uuugghhh... Your vision throbs with static for a few moments as you sit up, but once you stand and stretch you’re able to shake it off. You’re feeling really good, actually. Energized and eager to start on some of your own research. How long did you sleep to have this much energy? ... 10:40? Really; Arthur didn’t wake you up? Or maybe he tried, but you were just so out of it he gave up. Well, you’d better get ready quick. You hurry through your daily preparations, but it’s still past 11 by the time you finally get out to the hallway. Arthur’s not there, but you’d hardly expect him to stick around. You knock on his door, receiving no answer. He probably left the hotel to explore on his own. It’s too bad you don’t have any way to contact him, as your phone - though chargeable via the glossy glass panels in the room - doesn’t have any service in this alternate dimension. ... That was kind of a serious oversight, you admit now that you think about it. You should have set up some sort of charm to let the two of you communicate at a distance, like your scroll but more portable. It just never came up on Earth because cell phones are so much easier than the fiddlier and more restricted magic methods of communication. You originally only set up the scroll with Victor because he started to become paranoid about wiretapping or the like, and you had wanted to learn more rituals anyway. The fact that it’s actually useful now is just a bonus. You head downstairs and see if Arthur left a note at the front desk. Scillis is on duty again today; though there isn’t a physical note left for you, he still has some information to share. “Your traveling companion? Yes, he left at around 9 this morning, accompanied by two other individuals. He indicated he would be back before noon.” “Two...?” Your mind immediately flashes back to the reedy man and muscular woman from yesterday. “Can you describe them?”

7:17 PM

“Not in any detail, I’m afraid. There was a man and a woman, and both were quite tall, but that’s about all I noticed.” “...” They were both pretty tall. “Did they look like the people I walked downstairs with yesterday?” “My apologies; I did not notice any individuals with you yesterday.” “Right... thanks...” You step away from the desk and linger indecisively in the lobby, now definitely worried. Is Arthur with those people who had seemed so suspicious yesterday? Would it be any better if he’s with some other pair? ... It’s not like rushing out to look for him would help. The City of Glass is so huge that you wouldn’t have a hope of finding him without some sort of lead. Plus, it’s always possible everything is actually just fine and he’ll come back. It’s still before noon, after all. “Calm down, Vivienne,” you whisper to yourself. “He’s just gone exploring. He’s fine. He’ll come back.” It really does seem like something he would do: run off to chase some exciting relic and forget how worried you’ll be when he’s not here. You’ll wait until noon before getting too concerned, you decide. Plus, you need to pack up before checkout anyway. Even if you wanted to stay here another night (which you’re getting less sure about by the minute), you don’t have the money and there’s no way you can earn enough in a half-hour or so, even if you went Diving in the street just outside. So you return anxiously upstairs and put everything back into your backpack, doing your normal checks around the room to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything. No worries on that front and you emerge from your room at 11:50 ready to depart. Another knock on Arthur’s door goes unanswered. If he’s not back by now, he won’t be able to pack in time either.

7:17 PM

Downstairs; desk. No Arthur and no sign of him. You check yourself out to spend another few minutes while you wait for noon. It would certainly be just like him to come charging in at the last possible minute, having gotten distracted by something terribly exciting out in the City. “...” The glass clock embedded into the wall above the hotel desk clicks over to noon without ceremony. Arthur is not here. Scillis beckons you over. “Ordinarily, if a guest hasn’t checked out by now, we’ll automatically charge them another night. However, since you’re on the same reservation, I could print you a key for his room so you can clear it out and check him out too. I’ll even waive the fee if you do it with haste.”

️ - Agree; check Arthur out for him.

- Decline. You’ll need to come up with some money, then. [After that, how will you look for him? Not necessarily mutually exclusive; some options can be blended.]

- Stay near the hotel. He’ll probably come back at some point, right?

️ - Question the brokers you met yesterday.

- Try to find that suspicious pair. [How?]

- Retrace your steps from yesterday.

- Listen. Maybe someone’s noticed something? ❓ - Or something else? [Suggest in #story_discussion.] [Also...]

- Go Diving sometime today. You’ll definitely need the money for somewhere safe to sleep. Plus, more resources can’t hurt.

- You don’t have time for that! Gotta find Arthur! (Winners:

️ ,

️ , a tie between

and

chosen by author discretion) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 14 So that’s how you end up in Arthur’s room, both packing up his stuff and searching for any clues about where he went. You notice a few concerning things pretty quickly. He didn’t take his backpack, for one, and in fact never even packed it up despite surely knowing he’d need to check out after failing to wake you up. That on its own isn’t too strange if he intended to come back before noon, but you also find his trail snacks, water bottle, and phone left behind on the table next to the door. You could maybe buy him leaving his phone intentionally since it isn’t of much use here, but it’s not of zero use: he could use it to take pictures and notes and such. The food and water is definitely unusual. Arthur likes to snack and he gets thirsty easily... although maybe he can’t drink out of a bottle here? At least there’s no sign of a struggle or that anyone besides him (and now you) have been in here. Just an unusually hasty departure without some items you’d have expected him to take along. Honestly, you were (and probably still are!) at least half-concerned he had been kidnapped somehow. After one more once-over of the room, you return to Scillis and check out properly. Your course of action after that takes a little more thought, but not as much as you had initially feared. You want to investigate nearby, but you’re way too conspicuous carrying two heavy backpacks. Plus, you need to go Diving again if you want to afford somewhere to sleep tonight, and you don’t really want to leave all your stuff sitting unattended while you’re down there. In short, you’ve got to find somewhere to put the bags.

9:21 PM

But that’s not as difficult as you feared either. Remembering your trips up and down the east coast during college, you decide to head to one of the nearer train stations and see if you can find some lockers that won’t be too expensive to rent. Thankfully, the search doesn’t take long - it almost takes more time to cram your two giant backpacks into the slightly-too-small locker you end up selecting. Now unburdened (physically, at least) and also nearly broke, you return to the area around the hotel to listen for anything anyone might have seen. This, on the other hand, is every bit as difficult as you feared. You start out by walking around a while, trying to listen in on random snippets of conversation and intending to change course if anything catches your attention. Predictably, nothing does. You hear about jobs, appointments, transit directions, and friends debating pointless topics. No one’s talking about a trio of two tall people and one scholarly man. Obviously; why did you even think that would help? Unfortunately, asking people about Arthur goes even worse. The most common response you get is some variation on “no; I haven’t seen anything,” but some people are rude, some people are weird, and some people definitely want you to follow them into a dark alley. By the time you finally give up and sit down for a while to eat and rest, you’ve learned nothing of use despite spending... over an hour, apparently. It’s now well into the afternoon and Arthur still hasn’t returned to the hotel, either, which was your other motivation to stay nearby. Even he wouldn’t have gotten distracted enough to still be out there of his own discretion. Something must have happened.

9:21 PM

Reluctantly, you turn your thoughts elsewhere. You need membra, and you’d also like to talk to that second broker again. She and Arthur kind of hit it off, so even if she doesn’t know anything, maybe she’d be willing to help you somehow? In order to save a trip, you should probably go Diving before heading over there, though, which means you’ll need to find somewhere promising and a little out of the way. You could just drop straight through the main street here - and you nearly did by accident a few times during your walk - but you’d really like to be a bit more discreet. Plus, it’s... um... very deep here. You can’t see the bottom, which does scare you just a little. How far down would you have to go in the dark? So you make your way through a similar tangle of alleys to the one near the other broker’s store, though with a tiny undercurrent of nervousness this time that was absent the day before. You’re alone now, for one, but the number of people that had asked you to leave public view is... disconcerting. At least you can probably just jump into the water if it seems like you’re in danger. Nothing accosts you in the alleys - though you do jump a little when some guy in a tattered coat passes aimlessly by - and you eventually find somewhere that seems promising. A gap in the buildings to your right lets in enough sunlight to keep things bright, you can see the bottom not far below, and there’s a dumpster or something you can hide your shoes behind. Without taking too long to think about it, you hop straight in and sink towards the sand below. It takes some serious effort to consciously let go and breathe in a lungful of water, but you do it. Just as before, it’s no problem at all.

9:21 PM

There are fewer tiny colorful fish here and the plants are different. Shorter, bushier towards the base, and brown instead of green. The strands are much coarser and tougher to your touch than the kelp from last time, but at least the fronds don’t wrap around your limbs in the current. You swim around some of the building foundations for a bit, brushing plants out of the way and scraping away sand. No copper sheets or anything of particular note, really. Vaguely, you wonder how artifacts from the City of Glass even get down here at all, since it seems from your experience that objects can’t pass through the surface without the aid of a Diver. Maybe it works differently than you think, or maybe there are just a lot of careless Divers? After a while, you sigh into the water with annoyance. Apparently you had just gotten lucky last time, as you haven’t found a single thing here besides sand, fish, and those brown, scrubby plants. You eye the moderately shallow drop-off nearby, watching the slim, darting silver fish that gather there. You could go deeper. Intuition suggests you’ll probably find more valuable things further down. But it gets dark quickly as you descend, and you don’t particularly like the size of the fish. Sure, they’re only a little larger just at the drop-off, but if that trend continues... You could also resurface and try somewhere else, you suppose. Maybe this alley just isn’t out of the way enough. Although wandering through back streets dripping with water doesn’t really strike your fancy either... ⬇️ - Descend. You should be fine until the sun goes down, at least. ➡️ - Try elsewhere.

- Give up for now. Talk to the broker. (Winner: a tie between ⬇️ and

- ⬇️ chosen by physical coin flip) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 15 “Maybe just a little farther,” you mouth to yourself, remaining unable to speak articulately while underwater despite being able to breathe. You don’t want to go back up empty-handed after all this time and effort, and although you know that’s a fallacy, just because an argument contains a fallacy doesn’t mean it’s wrong! So, having convinced yourself with your flawless logic, you head towards the drop-off. The silver fish here are larger than their colorful brethren above, but they’re still only a little bigger than your hand and they still scatter at your approach. They’re thin and move with quick, darting motions that make you just a little uneasy - if you blink, it’s almost like they’re teleporting. Their... snouts(?) jut out a little and kind of remind you of a pike’s... which doesn’t make you feel any better, because you’re at about 90% sure pikes are carnivorous. Still, these guys are too small and too timid to bother you. As you pass through the silver fish zone and start following the steeper portion of the drop-off into the depths, you begin to feel the water pressure. Not as pain or even a sensation that you immediately recognize as pressure; rather, it’s more of a constriction. It’s as if the water through which you’re swimming is slowly thickening, making it cost more effort to move your limbs and drive yourself forward. The effect is minor - for now - but as with the fish, it just leads to more concern over how that trend may continue even further down.

5:17 PM

The sea floor levels out just a bit lower, forming a sort of shelf ahead of a much steeper, much deeper drop-off. You swim the hundred yards or so to the edge of this lower shelf and peer over the edge, feeling a bit of vertigo despite your inability to fall. It’s just a yawning pit of complete pitch darkness, with nothing but the rapidly fading view of the cliff-like wall to provide any sense of scale. You can only see down another dozen or so yards before the light fades away, but it definitely feels like this second drop-off must descend for miles. So, instead of swimming into the utter darkness below - without a light or any clue what might be down there - you intelligently decide to stay on the lower shelf and poke around here to see what you can find. The light is dim, but you can still faintly make out watery sunlight somewhere above and can thus still see a reasonable distance around you. Nothing’s going to sneak up out of that abyss without you noticing, you reassure yourself. As long as you make sure to keep facing in that direction. The lower shelf seems to meander around in a roughly donut-shaped pattern, surrounding the higher area you just came from. It’s like you descended from the top of a mountain and are now circling its flanks. There’s a lot of debris down here, mostly organic or not very interesting. Dead plants, tiny bones from tiny fish, and rocks of all sizes. The kelp has made a bit of a resurgence, though it seems to be a different variety as it grows much taller, with much larger leaves(?), and it’s much tougher: almost leathery to the touch. You consider harvesting a bit - maybe it’s a useful material or something? - but you can barely tear it by hand and something about the fronds makes your fingers tingle unpleasantly. Afraid it might be coated in some sort of contact toxin, you leave it alone and your hands slowly return to normal.

5:18 PM

Finally, maybe about a third of the way around the massive donut, something interesting melts out of the murkiness ahead. In fact, it’s so interesting that you almost immediately stop in place and prepare to frantically backpedal, but almost ten seconds passing with zero movement convinces you the thing isn’t actually alive. It’s a large, anthropoid mass of stone and metal, primarily formed of oddly fused blocks of dark, rough rock. Its metal components include thin purple-tinted rods that pin stone blocks together, plus flexible mechanisms at the joints that would have provided the ability to move in a mostly human-like manner. The construct would have been seven or eight feet tall standing up, and is much thicker in most of its proportions than an ordinary person. As it is, it’s lying on its back, partially buried in muck with one knee and an arm locked pointing up towards the surface. “... Whoa.” You let some awed bubbles escape your mouth (wait, bubbles? Aren’t you breathing water; where’d the air come from?) as you approach the golem. You’ve heard of such constructs before, but you’ve never seen one in person. Especially not one as tidy as this! The golems in your books of magic and history are crude figures of clay or wood; not sleek, almost technological works of metal and stone. In fact, it’s so well-preserved that some of your previous fear begins to filter back in; what if it’s just deactivated? What if it comes back to life, seizes you with its giant hand, and crushes you right here? “...” No, you’re being paranoid. If it was going to move, it would have already; you’ve been swimming around it for the past minute or two. Instead, what you should really be focusing on is if there’s anything portable here you could bring back to the surface. You definitely can’t take the entire golem - come on; the thing must weigh thousands of pounds - but maybe if there’s an energy core or control block or something particularly valuable...?

5:18 PM

It does occur to you as you get closer and fumble around the golem’s torso for anything you might be able to disconnect that you might accidentally reactivate it, thus leading to the previously considered crushed-to-death scenario. It’s not like you’re a golem expert. But somehow, that particular idea fails to take hold in your mind. The chances of doing that must be really low, right? It’s probably out of power or magic or whatever it runs on by now anyway, right? You’re only considering it might get back up because that’s what would happen in a cheap drama about the situation. In reality, there’s basically no chance of anything like that, right? Hey, this thing looks important. It’s an assembly of purple metal rings connected around a polished chunk of purple crystal. Thin metallic wires connect the crystal and rings to nearby blocks, which are etched with tiny glyphs you can only barely make out in the dim light. “... MOTIVE? ... SEALING? ... is that one ENERGY?” It’s too dark to be sure, but you are at least able to identify the language. This is a long-obsolete runic symbol-set used among magicians in western Europe around the 11th or 12th century. This golem, if the runes are any indication, is a very long way from home. And a very long time from home, too, you suppose.

- Take the thing.

- Maybe leave it alone. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 16 “...” With a few careful yanks, you pull the ring-crystal assembly free of the golem’s body. Snapped metal wires wave forlornly in the water like strands of hair. Then, with surprising suddenness, the golem’s raised arm collapses to the sea floor, narrowly avoiding clobbering you and even more narrowly avoiding giving you a heart attack. You catch your breath(?) a dozen feet away. You had really thought the thing was coming to life to punish you for stealing the core, but in actuality it had just collapsed without the energy the core must have still been providing. But that raises questions of its own; if the core had been providing enough energy to keep the arm upright... why? Why not get up and move? You have a hard time believing the available power could have been in the narrow range between “total collapse” and “actual motion” where all it could accomplish was raising an arm, and fail to see what point it would serve even if so. Maybe the golem was just broken? In any case, you’ve certainly had enough of the deep sea for today, so you swim straight back towards the surface. The golem’s dead, inanimate corpse regards you silently as you speed away, or at least you feel like it does. It’s hardly even a corpse, though; more like a wreck. It’s not like the thing could think, even when it had been functional. One thing this does prove, at least, is that the standard scholarly assumption that European golems in the middle ages were universally crude and unsophisticated is way off. Well, actually, maybe it doesn’t. It’s using the script from that time period, but couldn’t that have been someone later on with better methods just using the old script? After all, you know it, which means it can only be but so rare. But... why would a modern builder choose to use such an archaic language instead of the more convenient glyph sets of today?

10:13 PM

You debate with yourself for a while about the historical ramifications of this discovery before realizing with a start that you’ve gotten a little lost on the way back up. That probably makes sense, given that you’ve gone in a pretty wide circle and all the alleyways look basically the same from below - not to mention your recent distraction from the imaginary argument. After popping your head out of the street in five or six different places and not finding your shoes - or indeed anything that looks familiar at all - you frustratedly give up and sit grumbling on a sidewalk while squeezing water out of your hair. Did you somehow end up in an entirely different part of the City? The underwater mountain didn’t seem like it was that big. It takes you so much longer than you’d like to find your way out of the tangle of backstreets again. Not that you can’t find a main street at all, but somehow there’s always some wall or fenced-off passage that prevents you from continuing. You just dried off so you didn’t really want to get back in the water in order to swim under the obstructions, but after a third false start, you resign yourself to your fate. You just want to get out of there. You’re tired, you’re hungry, your feet hurt, you’ll probably never find your shoes or jacket again, and it’s getting late enough to see the golden reflection of an approaching sunset on the taller buildings. Such is the situation when you exhaustedly stumble back into the second broker’s shop, having at last managed to orient yourself using one of the elevated train stations and its convenient map. “Goodness, you’ve gotten yourself into quite the state,” the blue-lensed broker comments. “Poor luck today?”

10:13 PM

There’s someone else in the store currently - a haughty-looking gentleman perusing a rack of Leitman discs who seems to find you distasteful - so you don’t go into any detail yet. Just, “Yes.” Then, because you kind of need some excuse to be here so the haughty man will stop staring (and also because it’s heavy and sharp and you’re getting really tired of carrying it), you plop the golem core on the counter. “I’m looking to sell this.” You’re still watching the man out of the corner of your eye, so you notice his manner immediately change when it becomes clear you’re a Diver. Instead of disdain, his gaze becomes calculating before returning to the disc display. You wonder if you’ve made some sort of mistake. “Where did you find it?” she asks, twisting some of the rings and watching the crystal chunk’s reaction with her blue lens. “...” Yeah, you have no idea where in the City it was. So, instead, “In the chest of a stone golem.” You feel a need to prove that you’re a scholar as well as just someone who can swim, so you continue a little further. “It was etched with European glyphs from the 11th century, the stone was dark and rough, and made of individual blocks connected by rods of the same kind of metal as those rings.” “Interesting.” She messes with the mechanism a bit more, eliciting an odd hum from the crystal for a moment before stopping. Is that really all she has to say? “So, um...” “I did not expect such immediate returns on investment,” the broker says dryly, looking back up towards you. “I take it you don’t know the history surrounding constructs like this?” “You mean golems that seem to be too advanced for the time period of the script that’s written on them? ... Not really.”

10:13 PM

“Good. I don’t either, and it would annoy me if someone so new to this did.” A pause. Was that a joke? “715 membra. And there’s more where that came from if you can get me the whole golem, or at least some clear memories of it. If you’ve already got some, you can sit down in the Leitman device right now and see what we have.”

- Agree to sell your memories of the golem.

- You want no part of the Leitman device. ⌛ - Maybe you’ll go back and get some better ones; your existing memories are pretty dark and hard to make out much. [After that...? Not FPTP; votes determine priority. But be careful losing track of time if you choose too many activities...]

- Talk to the broker about Arthur.

- Talk to the broker about Diving.

- Talk to the broker about herself.

️ - Talk to the broker about the City.

- Go find your shoes! You’re still mad about that, and you can probably find your way back from this direction.

- Go buy more shoes. And maybe a swimsuit? You’re getting tired of Diving in your street clothes.

- Find somewhere longer-term to sleep. [Suggest any priorities you have for such a location in #story_discussion.] (Winners: ⌛ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 17 Still uncomfortable about subjecting yourself and your memories to the Leitman device, you mumble through some excuse about it being dark and that maybe you’ll go back to get some better memories later. Maybe you actually will, but first- “Wait, the whole golem? How do you expect me to get it out of the water?” A shrug. “It would likely be quite difficult for a Diver of your standing, but individuals with more clout sometimes work with machinery and a crew to man it. It is possible to dredge up large objects, though certainly very expensive. Too expensive for this unscrupulous broker to consider funding, I’m afraid.” A pause; she nods towards the haughty man in the background, who seems to have decided on his purchase. “It’s a shame about your memory, though. I would remain interested if you do return for a second, clearer trip.” “Right...” You still want to talk to her about Arthur, so you stand awkwardly to the side while the haughty man works through his purchase. He doesn’t speak to you, or even really look at you, but somehow you feel like he’s still examining you regardless. It’s a relief when he finally pays for the two selected discs and returns to the street. “Still here?” the broker asks after the man leaves. You swallow your formless anxiety about the haughty man and turn to the topic you actually wanted to ask about. “Do you remember my mentor, Arthur? He was with me last time we were here, just yesterday.” “Certainly.” “He... disappeared sometime this morning.” You provide what little information you have to go on - the mysterious pair, the timing, and what scraps you gleaned from asking around - and hope that she’ll have something useful to share. “Have you seen him today? Or know anything?”

9:31 PM

“Unfortunately not. Though if you intend to be a regular provider here, I can certainly do some investigating for you. Every broker has a network, and the information shared through it is one of the services we provide back to the Divers who supply us.” “... Yes please,” you decide. You’re still not 100% sure you trust this broker - you don’t even know her name yet, somehow! - but you are 100% sure you need some help. You won’t be able to find Arthur on your own. “Anything you can find will be useful.” “Give me a few days, then. It can take time to work through all my sources.” “...” “Chin up. If someone took him, either he’s dead already or they’ll keep him alive a while yet.” That doesn’t make you feel better. “You think someone really did kidnap him?” A shrug, though not necessarily an unsympathetic one. “Happens often enough around here. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got a ransom note before too long, especially if whoever did it clocked your abilities. That’s another reason to not assume the worst yet: it’s always risky to mess with a Diver’s associates, so anyone who does will want to make sure they’re well-compensated for it. A dead hostage doesn’t help with that sort of thing.” “Don’t you think he might have just gotten lost...?” “Would you be asking me if you really thought that was what happened?” “...” “So, like I said. Chin up; you’ll find him. Come back later and I should have some information for you.” “... Thanks.”

9:32 PM

Yep, you forgot to ask her name before you left. Again. Next time for sure. But for now, you want to get your shoes back. You’d like at least something to go right today. From here, you know where the hotel is, and thus you can angle yourself correctly to retrace your earlier path. It’s a good sign that it actually doesn’t take long to find the entrance to the alleyway maze this time, but you sure did take a lot of weird turns in here. Does this building seem familiar? That wall? The patch of kelp visible beneath the street? It doesn’t help that the vague, diffuse sunlight is at a different angle now, so you can’t rely on the same lighting conditions to match up locations. But in the end, the alleys are only so confusing and you have a lot of stubbornness to burn through before giving up. You claim victory in the dusk of gathering twilight, finally recovering your shoes and jacket unharmed and still where you left them, even after hours apart. Now you just have to find your way out again, without having to swim. But thankfully this doesn’t pose as much of a challenge from here as it did from wherever you resurfaced earlier. There aren’t nearly as many barriers blocking you out of larger streets; you return to an intersection you recognize before twenty more minutes have passed. Finally free from the back alleys, you turn your thoughts to practical matters. You’re sick of Diving in your street clothes and losing your shoes and not having a light. You need some equipment, and you... don’t really know where to get it. It has occurred to you that swimsuits might be rare here - to say nothing of more specialized Diving equipment like underwater lights - simply because no one but Divers would conceivably need one. But the fact that Divers do conceivably need that stuff (evidence: you) means that someone will be selling it. You just hope the limited clientele doesn’t mean it’ll be super overpriced.

9:32 PM

Your suspicions about the special Diving equipment turn out to be well-founded, but surprisingly, regular old swimsuits seem to be available at regular old stores for regular old prices. You assume, at least - you’re basing your understanding of the value of a single remembrance on how much it costs to buy food, which puts it roughly (and conveniently) within the same ballpark of the dollar you’re familiar with from Earth. Assuming that value extrapolates to clothes as well, the prices you’re seeing aren’t absurd. Does that mean non-Divers can swim too; just not in the streets? Are there lakes or swimming pools around full of a different kind of water? You should probably find that out before long. But, while you’re looking for a good waterproof light, you do find that Diving suits exist as well. A lot of them seem to be mostly swimsuits, but with extra attachment points for various gadgets like lights, bags, tools, and the like. Some have reinforced fabric, and a few even have built-in armored plates. “To protect you from the terrors of the deep,” according to the label. Great; good to see your fears of going further down aren’t wrong, you suppose. Anyway, these things cost thousands of membra and are way out of your price range, so you’ll probably want to start with just a normal one. Even if you could finance something like that, you really don’t want to be in debt. Just in case.

9:32 PM

[What will you buy? Not FPTP; votes determine priority.]

- A plain, practical, ordinary swimsuit.

- Okay, maybe something a little prettier or cooler.

- Shoes you can take underwater without ruining them.

- A light that’s rated for “limited underwater use.”

- A light that’s rated for “deep underwater use.” This thing costs just about all your money, though.

️ - Some sort of weapon. Just in case.

- At least go to the super expensive Divers-only place. Just to look around? ❓ - [Or something else? Suggest in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 18 Your shopping trip goes well. You buy a plain, practical swimsuit (not one of the Diving ones; just a normal one), some water shoes that mean you won’t have to repeat the problems of earlier today, and a handheld light that claims to be good for “limited underwater use.” You’ll be the judge of that, you suppose. The light’s by far the most expensive thing on that list, and although you didn’t get it from the fancy rich-looking Diving store, the clerk still gives you a second glance when she sees it. But no more than that, thankfully, and you escape into the night without having to hold a conversation. Yes, the night. The sun has well and truly gone down by now, and the streets have a totally different feel in the dark. Now illuminated only by lit windows and the warm, soft globe-lights hanging occasionally overhead, the faces of the people still around seem to possess a subtly sinister cast that you definitely don’t like. More populated areas are immune to this effect - busy train stations, open plazas, businesses - but the empty streets between are certainly creepy. Plus, it’s a lot harder to see what parts of the street are water and what aren’t now, which means you’re doubly at risk for a dunking with every step. You definitely need to find somewhere to stay, quick. As you’re making your way back towards that station where you stored your stuff earlier, you briefly wonder if you could sleep underwater. It seems like a stupid idea on the surface, but if you think about it a bit more, maybe it isn’t? You’re neutrally buoyant here, which means you wouldn’t be at risk of drifting away. No one could possibly get at you beneath the surface - except other Divers, presumably - so you’d be pretty safe. You’ve heard that sleeping while weightless is really restful (where did you hear that?) - it might even be more comfortable than a bed. You’d be missing a sink and shower and stuff, but if you brought some soap into the sea...?

5:44 PM

You almost convince yourself to try it, until you remember the slim, carnivorous-looking silver fish. The armored plates on that Diving suit. The fathomless, unplumbed abyss that you’d be naively floating above. What if those little fish would be bolder if you weren’t moving? Would they nip in close to nibble a bite or two? What if something massive and horrible were to slink out of the depths to swallow you whole? Heck, you haven’t met any other Divers; what if someone dangerous were to happen upon you overnight? Okay, so maybe it actually is a stupid idea. But in an emergency... well, you’ll keep the option open. Just in case. So it’s back to looking for a normal place to stay. You wander around the general area for a while, checking at various hotels or hotel-adjacent buildings, but at this time of night most places seem to be full, sketchy, or prohibitively expensive. You spent most of your membra on the new equipment, so you don’t even have enough to go back to that hotel from before if you wanted to. You really need to find somewhere moderately cheap that doesn’t feel like someone’s going to stab or burgle you overnight. That’s apparently a tall order around here. But, having a sudden thought just before midnight, you decide to take the metro a half-dozen stops away from the shore, in hopes that you’ll find a different pricing environment further inland. This, bluntly, works. The City doesn’t physically seem much different here - the towers of glass still climb towards the sky at all angles, the streets are still half-paved with water, and the alleys are still as dense and confusing as before - but maybe there’s just a location premium close to the main sea? You’re able to find a rickety but pleasant enough motel-type place just a block and a half from the metro station that doesn’t cost an arm or a leg, and finally flop exhausted onto a mattress after another very long day.

5:44 PM

But you can’t just pass out now. You should unpack enough to find some essentials... and the scroll. You hesitate a little as you peek at the corner that would signal Victor has a message for you. Empty for now, but you certainly have a message for him, if you dare. Should you tell him about Arthur? Surely not, right? No, that would be a bad idea. You don’t know why you even thought of it. This new room is smaller and lower, with only one light globe hanging from the ceiling to provide meager illumination. At least it’s nice and diffuse, but it sure is annoying if you’re facing away from the center of the room and trying to see something in your shadow. The room is made primarily of the same sort of structural glass as the last one, though of a simpler “plain blue” coloring compared to the pretty swirls of before. It’s also accessed by a third-floor door directly to the outside instead of via a lobby, which grants you access to a narrow backstreet made almost entirely of water. You could probably go from your door to underwater in less than ten seconds, if you wanted. Sure was inconvenient trying to get to the stairs while carrying all your stuff, though. “...” You know there isn’t much you could be doing to help Arthur right now, but you still feel a little guilty that you don’t have any plan at the moment besides just waiting for that broker to get back to you. You’ll have a few days to work on whatever you want in the meantime, but it really feels like you should be trying to save him. It’s just that you have no idea what you can do without any significant leads, except wait for said leads to come in. ... You really hope that broker knows what she’s talking about. If you don’t get anything useful, you’re going to lose it. Your eyes itch a little. You should get some sleep.

5:44 PM

Until the broker gets back to you, you should focus on...

- Diving. You’ll have to do some anyway to pay for stuff, but it absolutely won’t hurt to get more experience and more membra.

- Your project: the Redmarsh family lineage... and curse. It’s why you came here at all, and you really want to get started. ❤️ - Arthur’s project: the crystal hearts. If he’s... not around, it’s the least you can do.

- Networking and general City knowledge. Get to know more useful people and better understand how things work around here.

- Acquiring or creating some more equipment. For one, a magic storage bag would be super helpful in letting you bring more stuff up from Dives. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 19 You stay in that room another three days, though you do pay several visits back to the area around the original hotel to see if Arthur turns up. He doesn’t. Between those trips, you spend your time learning about the City of Glass, Diving, and trying to gather enough materials to make a bag that’s bigger on the inside than out. To start with, you’re moderately surprised to learn that there is actually a government here. Well, of a sort. Not really. Hold on, you’ll start over. The City of Glass is very large, but it’s not infinite. In shape, it’s sort of a wiggly oval “island” lying in the midst of a massive, looping sea. If you leave the City to the west and keep going straight for hundreds or thousands of miles, you’ll eventually return to it from the east. That is, unless you stumble into one of the occasional routes that link to various Earth seas at certain times. Or get eaten by a sea monster. You’re pretty sure that’s not a joke. That “certain times” part, by the way, makes you a little nervous when you first learn about it. The ferry you arrived on won’t be able to bring you back to Earth for another seven-ish years when the cosmos are aligned properly again, and it seems to be as difficult here to find routes back to Earth as it was to find a route from Earth to here. You don’t really believe you’ll be trapped for that long - you’ll find some other route - but leaving the City will definitely be more complicated than just returning the way you came. Anyway, that’s a problem for later.

9:06 PM

The reason you said (thought? Who are you talking to?) “island” instead of just “island without the quotes” is, of course, because of all the water everywhere. But the sea is much shallower under the City of Glass than anywhere else, and it also has that strange property that lets (most) people walk on it. Yes, water works normally again a dozen miles out in the main sea. But don’t get any funny ideas about trying to swim back into the solid-water zone from out there if you’re not a Diver; apparently a few people tried and they all ended up stuck in place after a while, surrounded by solid water until they drowned. (Suffocated? It’s hard to tell.) Okay, hold on. You were talking about the not-government; don’t get distracted. (Thinking? Writing? Is that why you have this journal out?) The reason you mentioned the City’s physical shape is because that means it has a center. And at that center rises the Glass Tower. It’s just a big skyscraper, really. You actually went to visit it; there’s a train station just across the square. There are, however, a few reasons for its Capitalization compared to its fellows. For starters, it’s huge. The Glass Tower rises deep into the apparently endless cloud layer, further than any other building in the City. Although flying machines do exist here, no one has yet seen the top of the Tower - it rises taller than anyone has been able to fly or climb, and endless mist shrouds whatever roof might exist from view. It also extends similarly indefinitely below the water, descending into one of the deepest trenches in the City before sinking into mucky bedrock to an uncertain ultimate basement.

9:06 PM

Next, it’s impossible to get in. No one enters or leaves, and all possible entrances (including breaking a hole in it) have proven not-so-possible after repeated attempts. The Tower looks like it’s made of ordinary structural glass, but it’s absolutely impervious to all known forms of damage. Also, no one knows who built it, unlike most of the other structures around. (Another tangent: you learned a little about how structural glass is made - it’s poured! - and construction here must be a wild career.) Now here’s where the “government” comes in. Every so often, usually once or twice a year, a notice will be posted on the Tower’s street-level entrances. The notice remains there for exactly one week (down to the minute, at least, and probably even more precise) before disappearing as suddenly as it appeared, and then whatever the notice said will immediately become true. That’s how the Tower “makes” “laws” for the City. It’s just that they aren’t, like, zoning requirements or noise ordinances. Rather, the Tower manipulates more fundamental laws. The latest notice - posted five months before you came here - said “The Harmonannalogis no longer exists.” No one knows what a Harmonannalogis is or what it might have been if or when it existed. Some people believe the Tower erased all memories and consequences of the mysterious... creature(?) entirely, while others believe the building is just messing with everybody. The notice before that set the minimum size for ice crystals to just under six inches. Hence, if anything ever freezes here, it gets huge very fast. It’s definitely a good thing winter seems to be very mild in the City, and you can always just dump the giant snow in the sea to get rid of it.

9:06 PM

Other previous notices allowed for the manufacture of Leitman devices, caused all glass in the City to glow brightly for two very annoying years before being reversed by another notice, and even updated the rules on water potability. Before, any amount of water more than a trickle was solid to non-Divers, making it very frustrating to drink or bathe or basically exist, but that long-ago notice changed it such that only water near or below sea level is solid. That, you learn, is why all the residential buildings start on the third floor or so: that’s the height where water starts working normally for people! So, yeah. “Government.*” Honestly, you don’t know what to make of the Tower. Hardly anyone else does either, though there are many competing theories of varying degrees of implausibility. At least it doesn’t seem malicious; it could easily write a notice to kill everyone with its level of displayed power, but it seems more interested in erasing the Harmonannalogis from existence. Whatever it was. Wow, this journal entry is getting long. And very rambly, and surprisingly informal. Come on, you’re an academic; pull yourself together! Why did you write down your own admonishment too? There’s still so much more to tell. The weird religious cult type thing that claims to influence the Tower’s notices, the actual municipal service that runs the trains and deals with trash and stuff, the increasingly concerning and contradictory ways Divers are treated... and you’re barely scratching the surface. Honestly, maybe you could stay those seven-ish years until your original ferry comes back. There’s a lot to study. (edited)

9:06 PM

... You wish you could tell Victor. You should probably send him something at least; it’s been a few days and he’s probably getting worried.

- Be vague. Ask what he’s up to. You’re cool. Chill. Everything’s fine here.

- Admit to some trouble, but play it down.

- Admit Arthur has gone missing.

- Tell him you’re in the City of Glass. [You can reveal the truth at any time.] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 20 “Victor,” you write, then pause to think. You’re using wax paper and regular ink today so you can actually see what you’re writing, since you have a feeling it might be a longer letter and you’re not worried about being able to buy more supplies. But that just makes the vast expanse of empty space more obvious. What are you supposed to tell him? You can’t say that Arthur’s gone missing; he’ll drive himself mad with worry! Worse, he might try to come help you. Victor doesn’t know about the City of Glass, but it’s not like you took all your research notes with you. He could probably figure something out if he digs through your stuff, and he definitely would if he thinks you’re in danger and hiding it from him. You probably shouldn’t pretend everything’s fine. Especially after his last message. “There are some challenges here. I’m learning a lot, but I constantly feel like an outsider.” Yeah, that’s no exaggeration. The brokers you’ve spoken to treat you fairly normally, but with anyone else, it’s a toss-up between admiration, exploitation, or jealousy. “I still think it’s worth it, though. There’s so much history here to uncover.” To hopefully give your letter a better sense of truthfulness, you go into minor detail about some of the neat or weird things you’ve learned, like the anachronistic golems inscribed with that old script. It’s hard to avoid mention of Diving or the City, but you feel like you do a decent job of conveying that your trip is going in a “tough but satisfying” direction. Then you have to address dad. “I’ll try to come back before too long,” you vaguely assure him, “but I still have a lot to finish before returning. A second trip will be very difficult to make, so I want to get as much done now as I can. Hoping to start on the curse soon, now that I have some leads.”

9:16 PM

Another pause. You consider saying more, and something about the last few sentences bothers you, but without the ability to easily undo them, it’s very easy to give up and leave them as they are. You sign your name and send it off, steadying yourself against the slight dizziness. Was that fine? Too suspicious? You shake your head and discard the wax paper original, resolving to try not to think about it until he responds. Hopefully that’ll be easy today. You want a magic bag to make your Dives easier. You could buy one for thousands upon thousands of membra, but since you’re not half-bad at magical crafting - you made the scroll, after all - you figure it might be cheaper to make one yourself. Eridya didn’t have instructions of the kind you wanted in her store (yes, you finally managed to ask her name!), but in your various visits with other brokers to make sure you weren’t getting scammed out of valuable artifacts, you found a different broker who has a Leitman disc with the exact kind of memory you want. Whether you trust this whole Leitman process enough to attach a disc like that to your head is one thing, but you feel a bit more comfortable about the discs than the chair. And all that is just to say that you need even more money to buy the instructions, and then the materials. So you’re going Diving. You peek briefly outside and see no one in sight, then hurry down the steps in just your swimsuit and water shoes to splash straight into the street right below your front door. The convenience of being able to leave all your stuff in your room has outweighed any desire to go Diving elsewhere recently, and it’s also been nice to not be totally lost when coming back up. Of course, you’ve just about cleaned out the easily-accessible artifacts in the shallows here, so it might be time to move on. Or go deeper. Hmmm.

9:16 PM

The little light has been of moderate use. Sometimes the glass buildings won’t actually be anchored into the ground, allowing you to swim under their dark bulk into a zone of twilight or even actual darkness. That’s where it’s the most helpful, and it’s also been useful to just shine around and see if anything sparkles. Especially late in the day when the shadows grow long, though you haven’t gathered the courage to go Diving at night yet. It’s not very useful at deeper levels, though. The water somehow seems to block the light more thoroughly as you descend, and when it started to flicker like you were in a bad horror film, you went right back up and decided that must be its depth limit. Today, you don’t have the light with you. Partially because it’s bright out, partially because you’ve explored most of the surface nearby where it’s most useful, and partially because you were half-thinking you’d go deeper than its presumed limit today. You found a little passage yesterday - just a misalignment between two buildings, really - that you can squeeze through to find yourself in a very strange place. It’s covered by lightly transparent structural glass on the top, probably one of the underwater passages, which means you can’t actually surface in there. It’s totally enclosed by buildings - except for that one entrance you found - and you aren’t able to see the bottom. What’s intrigued you is threefold. First, the novelty of a safely enclosed space underwater: it’s like cave diving, except you can’t drown! Second, the fact that the buildings here go so far down. What do they need such deep basements for? And third, that you spotted something that was undeniably an entrance, far below. A soft, blinking green light in the darkness occasionally illuminates a passageway into the glass deeper than you’ve been so far.

9:16 PM

Are you scared to go that deep? Sure. Nervous about descending into the dark to reach it? Absolutely. Kind of anxious about what might be lurking in that passage? Definitely. Are you going to do it anyway, because you might learn something or find something cool? Well... Your ancestors certainly would. ✅ - And so will you. ❌ - But you aren’t your ancestors, so you will not. (Winner: ✅ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 21 And so will you. This kind of thing is what being a Redmarsh is all about, or at least it is to you. It doesn’t take long to return to the enclosed glass space and float amidst the pale blue light from above. The green glow still blinks below, same as yesterday. What could it be? ... Maybe a big anglerfish? No, no, no. You shake that thought out of your head; you can see the glass tunnel. There’s no space for there to be a big anglerfish. There aren’t even any little fish in here; just occasional crab-looking guys with very long legs crawling slowly along the walls. Big fish wouldn’t be able to fit through the crack anyway. Steadfastly ignoring any other possible entrances larger creatures could use to get in here, like the passage itself or the unknown darkness below, you point yourself downwards and begin heading for the light. Along the way, you stop several times to examine the walls. Above, they’re normal, smooth structural glass, but it doesn’t take a long descent for some decorations to appear. They’re mostly geometrical designs - lines and angles, like traces on a circuit board - but you feel like you can sense a faint familiarity to some of the larger portions. Backing away from the wall to get a wider view helps a little. Are these more patterns from that middle-ages European period, like on that golem? You don’t think so - the individual shapes are off - but the widest blocks keep reminding you of the same tradition. An offshoot, then? Or a precursor? Unable to draw any precise conclusions, you just keep going. The green light is blinking from a large metal ball, covered in thick, stubby spikes and tethered to a short glass shelf by a stout chain. It sort of reminds you of those pictures of old naval mines, except those don’t normally try to draw attention to themselves. You give it a wide berth in case it might blow up if you touch it, then cautiously swim into the tunnel.

4:51 PM

The water is warmer here, and a gentle current tugs you forward. The square hallway proceeds straight ahead for a good dozen yards before abruptly ending at a solid wall that you can only barely see in the dim, inconsistent light from the mine-thing. But there’s no way this thing just ends there for no reason, right? So you head in, carried along by the current as you try to take in the increasingly elaborate designs covering the walls. These designs aren’t the 11th century glyphs from the golems, and they’re not the maybe-precursors you saw on the walls outside. These ones are definitely older, but of such a hodge-podge variety you have trouble tracing any definite origin. No two symbols seem to share the same glyphic alphabet, and it’s incredibly hard to spot any time details without good light and with the current pushing you around. The familiar metzmatan appears once or twice, but in contexts that puzzle you badly. Normally it’s used as a linchpin of sorts - anchoring a ritual, connection, or concept - but here you only ever see it as an auxiliary symbol. Almost as a... a target? But a target of what...? Eventually pushed to the end of the passage by the strengthening current, you see it indeed doesn’t end here, but simply makes a right-angle turn directly down. In fact, beyond a section of near-total darkness, you can see a resumption of weird green light and another right-angle turn maybe twenty feet down. Eager to get some clarity on these very odd glyph arrangements, you let yourself be pulled further down while scanning the dark walls for anything that might be- One moment you’re gently descending in a water-filled passage, and the next you’re falling through open air. Shocked and with lungs still full of water, the best you can manage is a garbled exclamation and some panicked flailing before crashing painfully down into a shallow pool on a stone floor.

4:52 PM

“...ggghhhh,” you hiss as you try to work out what just happened and how hurt you are. No obvious bleeding and all your extremities still work with only moderate pain, so you decide to assume you’re basically okay and focus on the “what just happened” part more. You’re sitting in a shallow pool of water collected in a similarly shallow basin or divot in a smooth stone floor. The passage you fell from extends straight above you, with a film of water hovering impossibly in midair. Ah. I didn’t get turned around or teleported somehow; it’s just gravity. You must have fallen about eight feet. How did you not break anything? The passage in front of you opens up into a hemispherical stone room after a short distance. Spiral-carved columns support the domed roof, while tiers of shallow steps descend into another shallow pool surrounding a central pedestal. Upon that pedestal is a very strange object, and hanging above that very strange object is another one of those naval mine-looking things that’s emitting a more solid green light than the one outside. You’d be excited to explore this place, but somewhere between “fell eight feet” and “gravity,” a concerning thought has occurred to you. If you jump - ow, by the way - you can just about touch the bottom of the water-film with your fingers, splashing away a small amount of liquid to splatter into the pool by your feet. However, you don’t see any obvious way to get the rest of your body back up there, and by extension, out of here. Even if you had another two feet of height, there’s nothing to grab onto in the water to pull yourself back up. You’d need a ladder or something, or a lot of stuff to pile up. Or... or maybe there’s just another exit. You haven’t explored the hemisphere room yet. “...”

4:52 PM

Okay, now you’ve done a quick, half-limping circuit of the hemisphere room. There’s no other exit, or at least not an immediately obvious one. There are a lot of glyphs around the central pedestal, and some other strange objects nearby the very strange object that initially caught your attention, but no extra passageway, no ladder, and probably not enough stuff to stack stably. Fine. This is fine. Just don’t panic; you can figure out a way out of this. [After examining the strange/very strange objects a little more, how will you get out of here?]

- Read and/or mess with the glyphs. Maybe you can turn off the water spell or something?

- Use all the portable objects you can find to climb back up. Messing with strange magic is way more dangerous than just some nice rocks.

- Use your personal abilities to help escape. You can probably draw a fresh ritual with some sharp rocks or something. [What sort of ritual would be helpful?]

- Don’t be a wimp; you’re athletic enough to climb the wall. At least, maybe once you chip some handholds into it. ❓ - [Or something else? Suggest in #story_discussion ] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 22 But before you go too crazy, you want to take a closer look at the room’s centerpiece. It’s ostensibly why you’re here, anyway, and it could be helpful. The very strange object atop the central pedestal is, more or less, a perfect sphere of rough, grey stone. It’s held above the pedestal’s surface by a tripod of thin metal rods - the same purple color as the pins and wires in that golem, you think. The rods all pierce into the sphere, and the stone is stained at those points with a dull film that reminds you of dried blood. There are traces of the same discoloration on the rods and the surface of the pedestal, too, suggesting some liquid might have at one point dripped out of the sphere, but whatever it was is long gone now. The three ordinarily strange objects surrounding the main pedestal help in understanding what the very strange object is supposed to be. They’re all foot-tall finely-carved idols of warriors, or at least people holding spears. You study the particulars of each statue, (surprisingly) recognizing the one on the left as Gi’Fhtan, a lesser deity (or demon? Translations aren’t fully clear) worshipped around the Mediterranean sea for several millennia before falling out of favor around 3500 years ago. She had been a sort of warrior woman archetype, and - more importantly to you right now - was often called upon in sealing or banishment rites due to her perceived raw strength. With that hint, you crawl around the submerged stairs for a minute, searching beneath the water in the poor green light. The symbols are still clear, despite the ravages of time. This chamber - the entire thing - is, was, or had been at one point, one big ritual circle. All designed to banish or seal away whatever force or entity is or was represented by that stone sphere and its tripod of purple metal.

8:41 PM

It’s not native to the City of Glass. You have to believe that; there’s no way this much material would or even could have been brought here, tunneling into a glass monolith, just to build the chamber. Based on the presence of Gi’Fhtan, the absolute most modern date this could have been completed is around 1500 BCE, and in all likelihood it would have been much earlier. There’s no way humans of those days could have done something like that, here. No, this must have been a natural cave at some point, expanded into this circle, and then... How do artifacts get into the City of Glass, anyway? The most you’ve heard so far is that this is just “where the dregs of the universe end up.” What does that mean, specifically? How did this nearly prehistoric cave end up stuck in an underwater wall several millennia in the future? You had sort of been thinking it worked in a similar way to your ferry - maybe artifacts that fall into the sea on Earth can fall into a route that links here - but you have trouble believing a whole cave could do that. More stuff to research later, you suppose. Your list seems to be growing a lot faster than it’s shrinking. That’s nice in some respects, but you should probably get home before the situation there completely falls apart. And that means you really need to get working on the curse. And find Arthur. And - slow down. Before all that, you need to get out of this cave. Although, it would be nice to get paid for your trouble. Gently, you tap each of the lesser idols. They all move easily on their pedestals, clearly not secured. You could take them, if you wanted. In fact... despite a certain uneasy semi-dread of what that sphere could represent, you dare to touch it as well. It, too, moves a little. You could take it as well. It’s not like you’d be disturbing whatever ritual this place had initially enacted; it’s been thousands of years and the entire cave was moved. There’s no way these statues are still properly binding anything.

8:41 PM

... Probably. You decide to leave your burglary plans for later and instead focus on escape. A few ideas involving the glyphs come to mind - try to disable whatever spell is keeping the water suspended, add a circle of your own to push you up or something - but maybe you’re more superstitious than you thought. The idea of messing with glyphs in a place that had clearly been used to enact powerful magic strikes you as a bad idea in more ways than one. Not just in the “angering ghosts” sort of way (you’re certain ghosts aren’t real; don’t worry), but rather if any of that old magic is still lingering somehow, you don’t know how your modern spells would interact with it. Worst case, you could trigger a runaway collapse and basically vaporize yourself with a magic bomb. Not ideal. So maybe you’ll try the old fashioned (physical) way. All you need to do is make it up far enough you can start swimming again. The wall is pretty smooth, but it’s not flawlessly smooth and you bet you can chip out a few more handholds if you can find a decently sturdy rock. Then you’ll be able to just climb into the water and swim out. Nodding to yourself out of appreciation for your practical plan that definitely does not include any risk of self-detonation, you scrounge together a few promising rocks and start chipping away at the wall. With any luck, you’ll be out of here within the hour. ... It’s been ages. Your hands hurt. Your fingers really hurt. You’re tired and hungry but at least not thirsty, because you had the foresight to figure out if the sea water is safe for Divers to drink and the answer is “generally yes.” It’s actually freshwater here, despite being salty outside the solid zone. Maybe because particles like salt (and hopefully “organic debris” too) can’t dissolve into it due to - hold it! You were complaining about how much it sucks being stuck in this cave, not reciting trivia facts!

8:42 PM

Yes, it seems you’ve severely underestimated how much work it takes to chip away a solid rock wall (especially with no tools beyond just more rocks of the same material), and severely overestimated your personal climbing skills (especially after hours of using your arms to chip away a solid rock wall). You can get a little higher now, enough to immerse your arms in water almost to the elbows without jumping, but you’re too exhausted to pull yourself further up. You are, in brief, not having a good time. At least you’re not in any danger of imminent death - it’ll take you weeks to actually starve, you vaguely recall, and you’ve made it probably halfway out already - but it does seem like you’ll have to sleep down here. Your arms just hurt too much to continue. And yes, at this point you have tried moving the pedestals to see if you could stack them and get out that way, but they seem to be attached to the cave floor and can’t be moved. Your dreams are probably going to be terrible. They get worse when you’re exhausted (check), sick or in pain (check), and stressed or anxious (super check). Plus, you don’t really relish the idea of sleeping inside what’s basically a dormant ritual circle. You’re not super familiar with dreamwalking theory - not your field of magic - but you know enough to be worried about it. Which of course will just make your normal dreams worse. The only plausible way you can think of to make the whole situation even more terrible would be if the light gave out. You glance back at it briefly, as if daring it to do just that, then quickly look away and hope the gods of irony don’t see fit to punish you for your hubris. For now, it stays on. Better still be on when you wake up. “...” Well, time to find the least uncomfortable corner of this stupid room to lie down in. Maybe if you float in one of the shallow pools...

8:42 PM

- Intend to take as much loot as you can when you finally get out. The room owes you at this point.

- ... But maybe leave the central idol just in case. ⭕ - ... But maybe leave the statues just in case.

- ... Actually, maybe leave all of it. Just in case.

- Sleep in the pool inside the central ritual circle. It’s the only one deep enough to do so.

- Sleep on the floor. It’ll be really uncomfortable, but at least you won’t be in the central circle. (Winners: ⭕ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 23 No, better not. The one by the entrance is too shallow to be of any use, and despite your pragmatic attitude, you’re still a little too wary of those statues to want to sleep in the central circle. Who knows what magic might still linger? In the end, you’re so uncomfortable on the floor that you end up just drowsing for a while, unsure whether you’re awake or asleep or somewhere in between. Thus, you’re not exactly certain when the light goes out; only when you notice. You sit up with a sharp breath in utter blackness. Your watch indicates it’s half past two, but the seconds have stopped advancing. Either the clock is frozen, or time is. Working more by feel and memory than the uselessly miniscule glow of the watch, you fumble slowly towards the wall you had been working on, worried that you’ll lose it and have to start over. You were only sleeping a few feet away, against the adjacent wall, but for some reason, you can’t seem to find either of the walls. You broaden your search. Surely you’ve just gotten turned around somehow and the walls are actually behind you. ... No, huh? Well, if they’re not here or there, then at least the shallow pool must be... Your footsteps echo on damp stone, but do not splash through water. Not there either...? Then, if you jump, you should at least touch... nothing. Not water; not stone. You aren’t beneath the entrance and you aren’t in the lower-ceiling hallway leading into the main room. Either you’ve wandered much further than you thought and are now in the main chamber somewhere, or you aren’t in the cave at all.

8:00 PM

The mechanics of a growl are odd when you think about them. Even the faster, higher-pitched ones of little dogs and the like still sound like danger. But the larger the creature and the lower the pitch, the more the growl begins to separate out into individual sounds; folds in the throat vibrating at frequencies so low you can hear the separate strikes. A growl that low and that slow hardly sounds like a growl at all, but retains the element of almost primal danger. In fact, a lower growl tends to mean a larger growler, so the element of danger seems increased, even. Your brain helpfully provides the above analysis to distract you from the low, slow, and terrifying noise coming from behind you. The individual guttural reports echo across a large space, and are spaced so far apart that the “growl-ness” of the sound comes more from association than any aural truth. This is not the cave. Nothing so large could fit. You want to move. Run away from this gargantuan growling thing. But a form of paralysis is keeping you rooted to the spot, unable to even shift your head as warm, moist air rushes past, then pulls back. The thing - a creature, you’re sure - is sniffing you. Two repetitions, then a cessation of the growling. Loud, shuffling scraping - claws on stone - takes its place. Confused air buffets your back as the creature stands up. A titanic BARK is enough to break the spell and send you fleeing into the darkness. Dogs; you’ve never liked dogs since a bad encounter in childhood sent you to the hospital. After you started studying magic, things didn’t improve; even normally friendly pets would keep away or whine in fear, while more aggressive creatures would strain leashes, fences, and their owners’ arms trying to attack. Now, this monstrous creature with its too-large claws scrabbling on stone behind you is enough to induce something of a panicked madness as you scramble over nebulous and incomprehensible shapes in your rush to get away.

8:01 PM

Eventually, you fall. The ground offers no resistance and you pass straight through, leaving the dog to scratch helplessly at the place you fell in, and leaving you to plummet down for a brief eternity before finally splashing into a deep pool of liquid. The sickening iron tang and awful, sticky texture immediately inform you that this isn’t water, and the slow, dull, flat light slowly bringing an ocean of red into view confirms it. Overstressed and overwhelmed, you pass out. ... You wake up on a hard stone floor. For a moment, you’re willing to believe you’re back in the cave, but that hope is dashed by the dull, flat light and the horrifying stench of enough blood to animate a city. You force your eyes open, breaking the sticky film of partially-dried blood that had been holding them closed, and look up. You’re lying in an enormous cylindrical room, so wide it could fit that city you just thought about with space to spare. The ceiling is so high to be invisible or simply not present, and hanging above you - suspended by three heavy purple chains connected to three equidistant anchors on the walls - is a gargantuan stone sphere of rough, grey stone. Blood fountains from the sphere where it’s pierced by the chains, plummeting in crimson waterfalls churned to foam by the unbelievable drop. The blood flows around you like an ocean, sloshing against and over your body with waves and tides of deep, rich red. The parallels to the idol in the cave are obvious and undeniable, as is the fact that you must be dreaming. However, with even your amateur knowledge of dreamwalking, that second assurance is hardly comforting. You are in the presence of a god, a demon, or some force of similar power. This is a problem so far out of your league that it’s not even worth comparing to your silly little quest to discover the source of your family’s curse. You just need to leave as quickly as you possibly can.

8:01 PM

As if sensing that desire, the dream immediately ends and you find yourself gasping awake in the cave - green light still on - at a little before five in the morning. You glare at the idol and statues in the ritual circle distrustfully, but none of them have moved. If it was this bad out here, you shudder to think what would have happened if you had actually slept in the pool like you were thinking... Back to work. Your arms hurt less and you need to get out of here before having to go through that again. You’re not fully convinced it’s actually possible to die of fright, but dreams like that cannot be good for your health regardless.

- Head to Eridya’s shop once you get out. You’ve already wasted too much time.

- Maybe recover a bit first, then go tomorrow. You’re not in great shape.

@Story Notifications Scene 24 If yesterday was bad, today is worse. You’re still tired and distracted by hunger, and your arms start to hurt again as soon as you put them back to work on the wall. Plus, you’re convinced that something else is making occasional distant clattering noises. Never is anything visible when you look, and never is anything disturbed, but something is there, near the central circle. You do your best to ignore it, hallucination or otherwise. After several breaks to rest and hours upon hours of painful, tedious labor, you finally feel able to attempt your escape. But there’s no way you’re leaving empty-handed; not after all this. You leave the three guardian statues where they are due to some faint inkling from your dream that maybe they might still be doing something after all, but the orb is coming with you. Whether to just sell it or to figure out what it represents, it’s caused you too much trouble to get to just stay down here. So you throw it straight up into the - WAY too heavy oh hell! The idol smacks against the floor with a loud crack followed by several clattering clangs as its metal legs rattle against stone. It’s undamaged, but that means you have to somehow drag it up the wall with one hand while dragging yourself up with the other. You’re going to need another rest before being physically ready (or psychologically!) for that particular challenge. Maybe if you could, like, wedge it over your shoulders or something to free up both hands...?

1:27 PM

Eventually, you get the tripod legs arranged in such a way that the central sphere is pressing uncomfortably into your neck and shoulder, while two of the legs scrape against your sides to keep it marginally stable. As long as you hold at least one elbow close to your body at all times, you shouldn’t lose it. The idol is unbearably heavy, though, and you’re straining so hard to get up the wall you’re worried you’re going to tear something, but your will is stronger than your body’s complaints and finally - blessedly - you manage a final shove off the wall back into the water floating above. The current pushes you down, but the thought of having to do all that again is so terrifying that you immediately fight back with all your remaining strength and make good progress. Back up to the right-angle turn. Back along the carved corridor to the naval mine thing. Back up to the glass barrier and sunlight that you can’t quite reach, but can at least appreciate even from down here. Finally, back through the narrow squeeze that- Clonk. Oh no no no you’re kidding. The idol is too big to fit through the final passage? After you got it this far? No, you won’t accept that. There has to be some way to arrange it so that it fits. As long as the central sphere can, at least... It’s a miserable struggle to cap off a miserable ordeal, but you do at last manage it. The sphere is just barely small enough to scrape through, though you have to pull the tripod legs along inch by inch as they rub against the glass walls. A lesser explorer would have given up, but you’re committed and furious. At this point, you’re getting this thing home if it kills you.

1:27 PM

But, as previously noted, it does not. An interminable while later, you finally break the surface and climb exhaustedly up the stairs to your room, collapsing on the floor over a full day after you left. The idol, you shove in a corner like an impractical hat stand. You’ll deal with it later. For now, you want food. Then, some real rest. It’s already somewhat late in the day and you hardly slept last night. You’d be exhausted even without spending probably half the time you were away chipping at a rock wall. ... Huh, your fingers are bleeding, you notice in an abstract kind of way. Good thing there weren’t sharks around. Some trail rations take the edge off and you fix up your appearance to be less “bedraggled, deranged maniac” and more “exhausted but normal person” so you can stumble out for some hot food. That helps a lot and you’re ready to fall into bed by the time you return. The idea of disposing of the idol immediately does cross your mind, but only briefly. Dragging that thing onto a train and across the City... gghhhhh. No. Later. Bedtime, now. But because you just can’t leave well enough alone, you check the scroll before finally flopping into bed. It’ll bring you some comfort to know that Victor isn’t trying to get in touch again. “... Why? Already?” you whisper aloud, seeing the symbol filled in. It could have been there for a day already; leaving it even longer is unlikely to be a good idea. But you’re just so tired... With a hiss of annoyance and a heroic effort, you grab the paper and ink and get the message copied out in double time. You’ll just read it now; you won’t reply until you’ve had a sleep. That’ll give you some time to think about what to say. “...”

1:27 PM

It’s not bad at all, actually. The letter doesn’t say anything more about dad or troubles at home; it’s just a few gruff paragraphs of Victor trying his best to tell you to hang in there. It’s clearly a response to your last message about having trouble here, and he’s doing his best to reassure you. He’s not very good at it, but the fact that he’s trying at all - knowing he still cares and is thinking about you even with everything he’s dealing with back home - is kindness enough. The contents of the letter are such a relief that you fall asleep minutes later, only waking up the following morning when the sun has risen and the idol you left in the corner by the doorway has migrated to stand ominously beside your bed. Wait, what?

‍

- You’re losing it. You must have misplaced it last night. Or something... ‼️ - You need to get rid of this cursed thing, pronto, before it murders you overnight.

- ... You’re dreaming again, aren’t you? (Winner: a tie between ‼️ and

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 25 Your first thought is that you’re dreaming. The idol is an inanimate object and hadn’t moved at all in the cave or before you went to sleep; there’s no reason it would be able to do so now. So, how long have you been asleep? Since you went to bed after getting back, or earlier? Are... are you still in the cave and you just dreamed you got out? The sharp sting of terror from that particular idea gets you out of bed in record time and pacing around to investigate all the details of your current living space. You can read all your journals, you can rummage through your bags to find everything you would expect, and you can clearly remember everything that happened recently. Some magical dreams can be this realistic, you know, but yours usually aren’t. Dreamwalking, again, isn’t your specialty; your dreams tend to have the normal signs of unreality. Everything here checks out, so either you aren’t dreaming or you’re trapped in a nightmare too well-crafted to tell. In the interest of not going mad, you try your best to believe the first explanation. Which means, if you’re awake right now, that the idol is actually capable of moving around on its own. Or, you suppose, someone broke in and moved it. And then didn’t do anything to you or your stuff, didn’t alert you in any way, and didn’t leave any traces you can find. “...”

9:02 PM

So the idol can move on its own. Great. Maybe those statues were doing something after all. You’ve got to get rid of this thing today, then, before it curses or exsanguinates you overnight. Or during the day, actually. It’s made in the image of some inordinately powerful force or entity, based on your dream and the sheer scale of the ritual designed to contain it, so there’s no reason you should let your guard down just because you’re awake. Or at least, you think you are. Hopefully a broker will take it off your hands. Specifically, Eridya. Since you’re now a day or two late and really want to hear if she’s learned anything about Arthur. You get some strange looks on the train. A few enterprising individuals ask you what the heck it is. You tell them it’s an idol to an evil god. Two of them leave you alone after that. The third one tries to take it. That’s when you learn that the municipal administration (different from the Tower) does have something not entirely unlike police, and that blatant thievery is not tolerated in a busy train. That’s very convenient for you, because you don’t really have any responses between “tell them to stop” and “likely-lethal magical attack” in severity. Plus, that second one would take a bit to set up, so you’d very likely have just lost the idol if no one else intervened. Still pondering what you can do to avert future problems like that, you drag the stupid thing down the stairs and into Eridya’s basement store. A pair of young women about your age watch bemusedly as its legs scrape against the floor, pausing in their purchase of more Leitman discs. Everyone seems to want those things. “Got you something cool today,” you casually inform the broker, catching your breath and leaning against the counter as you recover from the exertion.

9:03 PM

“Hold on one moment.” Eridya quickly wraps up business with her customers and shoos them out before stepping around the counter to examine the idol from multiple angles. “Details,” she asks flatly. You explain where you got it and what you think it is, while smoothly omitting mention of your temporary - and very embarrassing - imprisonment. “You found a temple to Krol,” she summarizes. You deflate a little. The idol is of something obvious enough she can identify it that quickly? “What’s Krol?” “The Primordial Substrate,” Eridya clarifies unhelpfully, before beginning to clarify more helpfully. “It’s a very, very old god, worshipped long before written history and now relegated to an extremely fringe sect. In brief, worshippers believe that Krol is responsible for the physical substance that underlies all of reality, being bound into space to form the basis of everything that physically exists. Things, creatures, and even empty space itself: they’re all built on Krol. Those three spikes are how it’s always portrayed, bound and immobile to ensure it stays put and doesn’t destabilize physical reality.” “I’ve never heard of a god like that,” you admit, a little surprised. “It must be really fringe in modern times.” “I suppose so,” she shrugs. “Then, the ritual I found...?” “A binding rite to ‘anchor reality’ in the surrounding area. The guardian gods are meant to symbolize Krol’s jailors or wardens, and there would have been three sacrifices back in the day. All impaled through spikes much like the god’s, and left to bleed out to fuel the magic.” A grimace, but the image is remote enough to be okay. It’s not the craziest thing old civilizations were known to do. “Then, why was it standing over my bed this morning?” “It... what?”

9:03 PM

“The idol.” You pat the sphere like a misbehaving buddy. “I left it in the other room last night, but I woke up to find it by my bed. I couldn’t find any obvious glyphs on the idol itself that could cause it to move around like that.” “No, and Krol itself is said to be near-mindless. Even if you put stock in the stories of deities channeling intent into their images, a bound and mindless stone sphere wouldn’t do something like that.” “Well, it did,” you state. “To be honest, I’m worried it’s cursed and I really want to get rid of it before it murders me in my sleep. Do you want to buy it?” “You need to sell your artifacts better,” Eridya comments. “Telling your prospective customer that you suspect the item will kill its owner overnight is hardly enticing.” “I don’t want to put you in danger!” you object. “If I can’t find anyone who wants it, I’ll probably just throw it back into the sea. It’s definitely not worth leaving in my room overnight a second time.” “...” She examines the thing again, though there isn’t much to examine. It’s a fairly simple object. “I can certainly find a buyer for an idol of this significance, though they are likely to hold unusual views.” “A modern-day Krol cultist?” “‘Devotee.’ ‘Cultist’ has too much of a negative connotation. Aside from the human sacrifices, Krol cultists are fairly agreeable.” “You just called them cultists yourself!” “...” Eridya stays quiet, then offers a frankly shocking sum for the idol.

- You accept immediately and take the cue to shut up.

- You’re a little wary now. Maybe negotiate a little? [What’s worrying you? What is your goal in negotiating?]

- Your next goal is definitely Arthur. ❓ - You have a different immediate goal. [What is it?] (Winners: a tie between

and

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 26 The high price is almost suspicious; if that’s her opening offer, how much might this thing actually be worth? After all, it’s a rare item that can be sold to a very particular group. Despite the significant sum, is she actually underbidding? Eridya’s pricing generally has seemed in line with other brokers you’ve sold to recently, but maybe this idol is different. Why does she know about Krol in the first place, if it’s so rare? All of these thoughts and more flash through your mind as you try to determine how to respond, but the only thing that actually comes out of your mouth is “It’s yours.” You help Eridya lug the thing into the back and accept your payment. She is doing you a favor by taking the curse off your hands, and if you started trying to drive up the price, she could just decide not to buy and you’d be in a real bind. Plus, you don’t want to make her mad right before asking about Arthur, which is obviously your next topic. “Now, about my mentor,” you attempt to segue. “Did you find anything in the last few days?” “Indeed,” she responds. “Why don’t we talk in my office?” So you follow her into the back again, past the idol of Krol and a number of other large artifacts, and into a moderately sized glass room made distinct by the number of rugs, tapestries, and other fabric decorations covering all six sides of the chamber. For some reason, you expected the cloth to bear geometric designs like the magic glyphs you saw down below, but most of them actually depict simplified but recognizably human forms acting out a clearly continuous story. You don’t have enough time to parse what that story is, though, before she pulls a pair of photographs out of a desk drawer. “Do you recognize these two?” A tall, gangly man and a taller, muscular woman. Both seem to have been photographed covertly, one in a train station and the other in a street market.

10:45 PM

“Yes. They’re the ones I ran into in the hotel the day before Arthur went missing. And the ones that were probably with him the morning he did go missing.” A thrum of excitement, probably. Something is happening; she actually has a lead for you. “Good. They’re low-level goons working for an organization known as the Ring, which often tries to fleece travelers out of money or treasures shortly after they arrive at the docks. I expect that had been the original plan, until someone figured out who you are.” “You mean, that I’m a Diver. That quickly?” A dry smile. “You weren’t exactly subtle when you came here, so I imagine the individuals tailing you had plenty of opportunities to figure it out earlier that day.” “T-tailing me?” You try very hard to not glance behind you; the door is closed, anyway. “Probably.” Eridya shrugs, which strikes you as a little insensitive. You aren’t used to this sort of thing! “That’s what the Ring does: send some goons to scope out the new arrivals, then send some more competent underlings to scam whoever they think is worth the most. But if said goons found a Diver right away, well. They’d certainly want to get some leverage over her, hm?” “So they kidnapped Arthur to blackmail me?” Another insensitive shrug. “Probably.” “Then...” You swallow, working through motivations in your head. “Why not just kidnap me? I - I mean, I’d rather they didn’t, but it’s - it seems like the more obvious thing to do. If you want the Diver, just take them, not their mentor.” “Did they have an opportunity to do so?” “Erm...” You didn’t go with them when they asked you on the first day, and you never saw them again after that. “If they were tailing me, couldn’t they have just followed me into an alley and...” You trail off, kind of miming bonking yourself on the head. “I’ve been alone and in really out of the way places for days now.”

10:45 PM

“Perhaps they consider it too risky, or perhaps they consider a Diver free to operate normally more valuable than one tied up in their hideout. You cannot bring them treasure without going Diving, of course, and they cannot follow you into the sea. In order to be useful, you must have free movement. So the best way to ensure your obedience is not to threaten you, but to threaten someone you care about.” “...” Despite having a lead now, you only feel worse. “Then why haven’t I heard anything from them?” “That I do not know. But, if you’re interested, I do have a contact with them that you could ask.” “Hold on, what? A contact with them? Like, a member of the Ring?” Eridya nods. “Another low-level schmuck, of course, but it could get your foot in the door.” You hesitate. “This is probably a dumb question, but I did just learn that the municipal administration has something like the police. Can’t we just ask them...?” Another shrug. “Go ahead. You said the important word already, though, which is ‘like.’ The admin doesn’t hold power here; it just keeps the City running. The muni cops only exist to keep order, and if you ask them, it’s a lot more orderly to just let this sort of thing happen than to try and face down these organizations directly. They’ll stop fighting in the streets or thefts in broad daylight, but don’t go relying on them for much beyond that.” “Right...” You had kind of expected as much. If the solution could have been to just go to the police, Eridya would have told you to do that the first time you asked for help. Assuming she’s telling the truth.

10:45 PM

“I’ve also got some other contacts you could try, in some organizations that don’t much like the Ring. But if you want to at least make sure your mentor’s still around, it might be best to start at the source. So, what’s your move?”

- Meet with the Ring contact.

- Meet with one of the other organizations.

- You don’t trust Eridya. Take the information, but do something else with it. [Such as? Specify in #story_discussion ] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 27 “... I’ll talk to the Ring person.” “Smart move. It’ll take a few more days to arrange a meeting covertly enough to be useful. Come back the day after tomorrow and I should have a date available.” “It can’t be any sooner? It’s already been so long...” “These things take time. As I mentioned previously, it’s likely he will be kept alive until you are no longer useful, or that he was killed at the start. Delays at this point will not change the equation much.” “...” “In the meantime, why don’t you spend some of those remembrances you have been so quickly acquiring? Surely you would not have come to the City of Glass without seeking its secrets. What is it that you’re searching for?” “I don’t know if I want to share that.” Your fame as a Diver hasn’t been good so far, and you seriously doubt spreading around your ancestry would be any better. “Sure,” Eridya shrugs. “But unless you intend to search entirely on your own, you will have to tell someone what you seek. Sellers of information can only sell if they know what to offer.” That’s true, and a reasonable argument. Plus, you don’t have to say that you are a Redmarsh, or anything about the curse specifically. “... I’m looking for information about a certain family.” Another moment of hesitation before deciding to say the name. “The Redmarsh family.” “Hm? As in Cornelius Redmarsh - the one who wrote A Treatise on Traveling the Dreamworlds? His family?” “Yes, his family.” “Why?” “That, I will keep to myself. Information sellers certainly don’t need to know their clients’ motivations for the information they purchase.”

4:59 PM

Eridya grins briefly. “Good. You’re learning.” A pause as she drums her fingers on the desk. “Well, I wouldn’t have much beyond the standard books. The Dreamworlds one, Cornelius’ collection of publications on chirality and accessory glyphs, and a smattering of others from later Redmarshes. Joseph’s Symbology and Magic, Beatrice’s Liquid Rituals, and Edwin’s Tome of Sacrificial Rites, to name some of the standouts. Interested in any of those?” You blink, caught off guard by hearing your dad’s name here, but try to not react beyond that. “I’m already familiar with their works. I’m interested in the family itself.” You’re especially familiar with the Tome of Sacrificial Rites, as you and your brother helped your dad develop some of the least-objectionable procedures described within it. He kept you away from the worse stuff until you got older, though. “Hmmm. Someone probably has a Leitman disc of a meeting with some of them, given their status... You might try Ingo’s store, or Jelvik’s. They often have the kind of semi-obscure discs that you might find helpful. Could put you on the track of some more concrete documents, too.” “Thank you.” A pause. “Although I don’t know where either of those are.” “Right, that’s another thing. Get yourself a proper pane. I’m certain you have enough membra at this point.” “A - oh, right.” That was another thing in the brochure: those glass tablet-like things that seemed to be the analogue to phones here. You definitely do want one, but hadn’t been quite rich enough to go looking until just a few minutes ago. “Yes, I’ll get one today, if I can. I really miss being able to use my phone...” That seems to be that. You wrap up your meeting with Eridya, promising to return in two days for information about the meeting with the Ring contact, then head out into the City to buy yourself a phone. Er, pane. You’ll probably slip up and call it a phone more than a few times in the future.

5:00 PM

Shopping goes well. You buy a middlingly expensive pane and fumble your way through learning how to use it, feeling like a tech-illiterate grandma for a bit before you basically figure it out. Your experience of using a normal phone is helpful in some ways, but the muscle memory really messes you up because the buttons and such are in different places. Still, it has all the functions you would expect: communication, navigation, information lookup, and the like. You can’t get to Earth’s internet from here, but you can get to a sort of directory listing of the City of Glass, which promises to absorb hours upon hours of your time later on. While you’re still in the middle of figuring out how to use your new pane, you test it out by trying to get to Ingo’s store, the first one suggested by Eridya. It’s a pretty painless process as soon as you figure out how to set it as your destination, which is definitely not painless at all. But once it is set, the map suggests a simple one-transfer route across a pair of elevated railways and you’re there before you know it. Ingo’s store is situated in one of the taller glass towers, with a view of the Tower off one side. It’s airy and well-lit and very busy with customers wearing much fancier clothes than you. It also has staff besides just the one broker and is much larger overall, which makes it feel more like a high-end department store than the sort of pawn shop atmosphere you’re used to. You don’t end up talking to Ingo himself, though you do see him and note his extremely prominent muscles. This guy could be a bodybuilder back on Earth, easily. Instead, you explain your request to a much less intimidating staff member and are directed to a section on the second floor where Leitman discs containing memories of prominent individuals are stored. From there, it’s a quick search through the sections (would Cornelius Redmarsh count as an “author” or as a “magician?”) and alphabet to find the discs the store has in stock.

5:00 PM

A curious emotion knocks against your composure as you read the titles. “Redmarsh, Cornelius A. (1889): Discussion with Business Associate.” “Redmarsh, Joseph C. (1944): Meeting Regarding the War.” “Redmarsh, Victor I. I (2020): Last Known Sighting Before Death.” Seeing the name “Victor” in this context makes you do a double take, but it’s not your brother. Victor I. Redmarsh I was your grandfather, but - as the disc’s label states - he vanished eight years ago. Your brother’s full name is Victor U. Redmarsh II, and he certainly lived through 2020. There don’t seem to be any discs with his name (or your own) on them, which makes sense. Neither of you have published anything significant yet, so memories of you wouldn’t be valuable enough to put in a disc like this. “...” You look the discs over again. You want all of them. Cornelius Redmarsh was the first Redmarsh to put the family in the spotlight with his groundbreaking first work A Treatise on Traveling the Dreamworlds, and he didn’t let up through the rest of his career with paper after book of novel glyph manipulation techniques. You’d love to see what he was actually like, beyond his written work. Joseph Redmarsh wrote extensively on tarot, fortune telling, and symbology, and you’re really curious what he had to do with the war. You had no idea he had been involved; he hadn’t been a soldier or anything. And of course, Victor Redmarsh I is the only Redmarsh out of the three listed here that you’ve actually met in person. To get another clue about his disappearance... You check the prices. You are not happy.

5:00 PM

Despite your recent haul from the Krol idol, you’ve already spent a lot of money on the pane and the prices here are ridiculous. Maybe it’s just a store designed for rich people or maybe the discs really are this valuable, but you can only comfortably afford one. You could technically afford two if you wanted to be mostly-broke again, but then you’d have to get right back in the water to build up your funds again. After your last trip, you had kind of been hoping to stay dry for a few days at least... 1️⃣ - Buy one disc. 2️⃣ - Buy two discs.

- Save your money. Look elsewhere. [If you buy a disc or two, which one(s)?]

- Cornelius’ disc.

- Joseph’s disc.

- Victor I’s disc. (Winners: 1️⃣ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 28 You end up purchasing just the disc on Cornelius after extensive internal deliberation, and also remembering that you’ll also have to buy a Leitman player if you want to be able to use the disc, and that’s even more money. You wonder how all these fancy-looking people can afford all these discs, if even you as a Diver are struggling. Maybe you need to go deeper. “...” Not today. You buy the disc and a player - that stout metal rod, pad, and wire assembly from before - and take it back to your room to investigate. No one accosts you on the way back, probably because you aren’t lugging around a stone idol the size of a large child. ... So, the Leitman player, huh? You unpackage the mechanism and read the short sheet of instructions with great difficulty, having to reference one of the glyph translation guides Arthur brought in his supplies. It’s pretty straightforward: slide the disc you want to play onto the rod, hold it stationary with the caps (they expand slightly and lock in place when twisted), then attach the pad to your forehead. The player draws the energy it needs to run from a phrase that you initially translate as “excess brain tissue,” which scares you enough to consider returning the damn thing, but a second reading (and third, and fourth, just to be sure) confirms that you misread the last symbol and it should have been “excess mental energy.” The thing won’t be taking a physical bite out of your brain, but it will temporarily siphon away some motivation and willpower. Well, you’re pretty sure about the bite thing. Maybe a fifth reading won’t hurt. Surely the player isn’t dangerous; it seems like everyone in the City is using them. If it actually harmed the user, someone would have noticed by now. It’s safe.

10:56 PM

You hesitate again, brushing back your bangs and holding the pad close to your forehead. The disc gleams even in the room’s diffuse light, gathering and scattering illumination like a fractured mirror. Look, you’re not going to get anywhere by refusing to do this, and you’re pretty sure the disc has a no-refunds policy. You’re invested, so you had better slap that thing on your forehead and get to memorizing. “...” It takes another minute to hype yourself up enough, but you do eventually press the pad against your skin. It’s unnervingly cool. Then, you just have to hold the player rod like this and- ... “Mr Steivestner,” your host calls to you. “Thank you for waiting. The demonstration is now ready; please come this way.” “Very good,” you reply, getting to your feet with the aid of a polished cane and accompanying Cornelius into a narrow wooden corridor. The aged gentleman looks merely 50, despite being nearly 70, and his fine suit, messy hair, and prominent belly present the image of a carefree dilettante. You know, however, he is anything but a dabbler in his field. “How is little Edward doing?” “He’s becoming quite adept at preparing the mixtures for proper incense, but has hardly any talent in etching the major symbols. I suppose he will have to adapt our methods again as he grows, or else adapt to a rigid program of learning to draw.” “He shares your inclinations, then?” “Of course. No true scion of my line would be otherwise.” You hesitate briefly, recalling another grandchild he had mentioned only on rare occasions. He seems to be in a good enough mood today to ask again. “And Eileen?” Contrary to your prior conversations regarding the girl - Edward’s older sister - Cornelius doesn’t seem the least bit upset. “Oh, her viewpoint has markedly improved. In fact, her contributions are essential to the rite you will witness today.”

10:56 PM

“Ah, excellent.” You don’t feel the need to pry further, assuming you’ll get to ask the child when you meet her. Edward had already greeted you in the waiting room and gone ahead to the basement, so you presume Eileen will join your group downstairs. “What is the unique point of the day’s rite? You hardly bother with any established practices unless they can be adapted in novel ways.” “Accessory chaining,” Cornelius informs you with a soft smile as he opens the door to the staircase leading down. “We have improved the ability to chain together full accessory groupings - not simple accessory glyphs, but entire chains of their own right - by harnessing enantiomeric pairs. You see...” You and Cornelius chat about the mechanics of the rite as you continue through the caverns beneath the workshop towards the main chamber. The floor here is of cleanly polished slate, the better to draw circles and glyphs upon, and the room itself is constructed to some unnatural nine-pointed symmetry. You’re well-used to how the angles of the walls and ceiling feel obscurely incorrect, even though on closer inspection they all line up in unexpected continuations. A deep, slow clock ticks away on the opposite side, marking off-beat seconds in an inconsistently consistent time. Edward is here, a chipper young lad of twelve years. He’s busying himself lighting the various candles and burners needed to heat and disperse the incense he, presumably, prepared. You ask after the boy’s health and experience with his grandfather, who the siblings are staying with over the summer while their father Edgar is overseas on business. He responds brightly, regaling you with a few pleasant tales of fishing, studying, and working to master his chemistry. “But where is young Eileen?” you ask at last, when the candles are lit and the incense is spreading. “If her contributions are essential to this rite, I rather expected to meet her today.”

10:56 PM

“I’m afraid the child came down with a sudden illness,” Cornelius informs you banally. “Just this morning, in fact. She is resting in her room and cannot assist with the rite’s performance, though of course her contributions to the preparation cannot be overstated.”

️ - Mr Steivestner was an inquisitive sort.

- Mr Steivestner was a pleasant sort. (Winner:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 29 You frown a little at that answer. It certainly could be true, but... “Would it be acceptable to visit the young lass once this rite has concluded? Edgar has asked me to check up on both of his children during my visits.” He said no such thing, of course; Edgar also barely mentions Eileen in your conversations. But the way everyone seems to treat the girl as barely visible strikes you as hardly healthy, so you’ve gone out of your way to interact with her the few times you’ve had the chance. You’d prefer to know she’s enjoying herself to the same degree as Edward, if possible. “I don’t believe that would be wise,” Cornelius declines gently. “It is unclear whether her condition is contagious.” “Nonsense. Any ordinary illness is no match for my ironclad constitution!” You concede a little, but keep pushing. “I will be brief, but I must fulfil my obligations to Edgar.” “... Very well,” he agrees. “A few minutes shouldn’t hurt. Now, shall we begin the demonstration?” “Of course. Please proceed.” You keep a keen watch over the ritual as Cornelius and Edward perform it, noting down the outline and basic steps for publication and improvement. Cornelius and his family are genius inventors, creating new rites and entire fields of study on a regular basis, but your specialty is refining these new developments into a form that can be easily digested and reproduced by less-skilled practitioners. You are, broadly, an editor and agent, and that’s why you visit the aging Redmarsh on such a frequent basis these days. There seems to be an ambiguous sort of frenetic energy hovering over his household; despite his age, he seems to be only speeding up his work. You wonder if he’s foreseen a tragic deadline and is moving to confound it. Cornelius isn’t much of an oracle, but with his skills, you can never be so certain.

10:55 PM

The end result of today’s rite is hardly impressive, but it isn’t meant to be. It’s merely a demonstration of being able to add so many accessory chains to a single anchor, and the multicolored, multifaceted crystalline object left on the floor after all the magic is spent is splendid proof of such capability. It’s mere crystallized refuse, but the sheer variety of its contents is enough to bear out Cornelius’ claims in full, yet again. You congratulate him on his achievements, making sure to also praise Edward as he scampers around to clean up and extinguish the remaining flames, then spend an additional hour and a half discussing the technical points involved. Near-symmetries and mirror images seem to play a significant role; you’re quite impressed by how he’s able to play the various energies off each other in order to unify into a directed whole. Sufficient to produce a strong, linked effect, but not too strong (due to the interference from the various almost-pairs) to shatter the chain. Ingenious stuff, as usual. However, after a while, you’re certain Cornelius is just stalling. He offers to clear up points you already understand, asks to confirm you’ve written down the details precisely, and provides helpful but ultimately unnecessary connections to other scientific fields containing similar ideas. Perhaps he’s thinking that you’ll simply forget your desire to see Eileen, or will be too polite to interrupt him. And he’s almost right; your desire to maintain your relationship with such a brilliant man urges you to go along with his obvious wish to keep you away from the child. It would be so easy, too. But you’re made of sterner stuff than that. “Cornelius,” you interrupt as he concludes a particularly long digression involving organic chemistry. “It is getting quite late and I really must be going shortly. However, I must visit the lass before I go. Again, my promise to Edgar compels me. Would you be so kind as to have young Edward guide me?”

10:56 PM

You appeal to his values; to see promises kept and, perhaps more importantly, to not have to bother with menial work himself. A flicker of something akin to displeasure crosses his face, but only a flicker. Too short to even know if you were simply imagining it. “Certainly. Edward, please show Mr Steivestner to Eileen’s room. Do ensure his visit is brief, as we do not wish to test even such a powerful constitution as his.” Edward nods energetically and hurries ahead of you up the staircase, your cane and bad knees ensuring you fall behind his youthful stride. He stops at the top to wait for you, then comes back down to assist after a few moments. “I think she’s probably sleeping,” he whispers to you. “It’s a bad sickness.” Edward likely knows that Edgar wouldn’t have asked you about Eileen. To be honest, even Cornelius likely suspects, though he’s constrained by hospitality to outwardly accept your word. But the boy doesn’t seem to mind too much; just asks if he can come with you. To which you agree, though with a slight twinge of unease. Is he otherwise barred from visiting? Several knocks fail to rouse a response, so you and Edward slowly ease the door open and enter Eileen’s room together. You’re staring at a table. Your arm tenses with unfamiliar strain and various joints and muscles protest as you release the tension and a heavy rod thunks against the very same table. Your vision splinters, as do your other senses, and you fully return to yourself. You do - Vivienne Redmarsh does - not this other man you now remember being.

10:56 PM

You pull the pad off your forehead and sigh in exhaustion, terribly glad you followed the instructions to lie down and close your eyes before beginning. The hand gripping the rod feels like it’s been holding that pose for hours, and in all likelihood, you probably have. Still, the physical discomfort pales in comparison to the sense of identity the memories of Mr Steivestner contain. Your own memories heavily outweigh his, so it’s not like you’re in any danger of forgetting who you actually are, but there’s still an element of visceral confusion as you recall the long sequence of events. “Discussion with Business Associate” - pah! Anyone could tell the real meat of the memory wasn’t in the details of the ritual or its future publication, but in Cornelius’ relationships with his grandchildren. You didn’t even know an Eileen Redmarsh had existed at that time - Edward is listed as the older of Edgar’s two sons in family records, with no daughter present at all. You really wish the memory had continued just a little longer; was Eileen even still alive? Had Cornelius sacrificed her in a precursor to one of your own father’s terrible rituals near the end of the Tome of Sacrificial Rites? (By the way, you’re glad Victor had the foresight to hide dad’s tools before he could try to perform any of those rites on your own family.) This “Mr Steivestner” also doesn’t appear in the standard annals, but if he published some of Cornelius’ work, he shouldn’t be too hard to find. Did you see anything at the last moment, actually, as you - Steivestner - opened the door? Your borrowed memory is confused and fragmented towards the end, intertwined with images of the glass room around you - Vivienne. Is that a hand? Could you push it further and get a better view? Is there a fast-forward on this thing so you don’t have to sit through hours of business discussions again?

10:56 PM

[Not mutually exclusive. You can specify your approach in #story_discussion .]

- Re-“watch” the memory. Can you get anything else out of it? ✍️ - Investigate Mr Steivestner.

- Investigate Eileen Redmarsh.

️ - “...” ❓ - [Or something else. Suggest in #story_discussion .] (Winners:

️ > ...) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 30 You consider going back out for some research on Eileen or the Leitman player, but it’s getting pretty late and you’re tired from the long memory. Instead, you try out the pseudo-internet accessible from your pane and see what you can find out without even getting up. It’s not a “true” internet. There aren’t platforms, social media, or even personal webpages that you can find, but there are sites associated with all of the commercial and municipal locations throughout the City. Some are basic and only contain minimal information about the physical place, but others are much more helpful and have clearly been tailored by the location’s owner. For a lot of stores, you can find catalogs and price lists, though there’s no obvious way to order anything aside from in-person. And the bigger the location, the more likely the site is to be actually useful, so it’s with a real expectation of utility that you navigate to Ingo’s store page and look up the player you just bought. There are more instructions here beyond just the sheet that came with it. They’re even written in a different, more modern glyphic system, which allows you to translate much more easily. (As an aside, why are there so many different writing systems in use here? Most of the people you’ve met speak English, so you would expect to find some writing that you can actually read. But nope; everything’s in some glyphic alphabet or another. Maybe it’s a Tower decree?) Anyway, the player seems to have been so expensive at least partially due to it being an advanced model with extra features. If you manipulate the caps in a particular way, it seems you can change the starting point of the memory as well as speed, intensity (so you can still sense and/or move your own body at the same time), and a few other less-comprehensible settings that you struggle to translate in a way that makes any sense.

4:45 PM

Armed with that knowledge, you turn the intensity down and move the starting point much closer to the end. Reducing the intensity makes you feel sick, as you’re conscious of two identities and two sets of conflicting sensory information at once, but it allows you to turn off the player early with your real hands instead of waiting for it to end on its own, so you put up with it as you dial in on the time you want to re-check. Then, when you get it right, you turn up the intensity all the way again and try to stay in the memory as long as possible. You won’t be able to see anything that’s not on the disc at all, but you really want to have more data on Eileen so your research tomorrow will go more smoothly. With all the overlapping sensory information, you don’t even notice when your eyes start to itch. Even if you did, you might have assumed that Mr Steivestner simply had allergies or something. You open the door. Slow down the recollection. Stare into the room as best you can while the memory fragments around you. That’s definitely a hand, small and pale and draped carelessly over the side of a bed. Something about the way her fingers hang so lifelessly makes you shiver a little, though it’s unclear which “you” is actually unnerved by it. A wrist is visible, but no arm or body or face. Buried under sheets. At least you have an idea how old she was at the time; a hand that small couldn’t possibly be more than a little older than Edward. If given just that image alone, without the context that she was the older sibling, you definitely would have guessed Eileen to be the younger. You come back to yourself, blearily looking around the room in deepening twilight. Your eyes burn; tears leave streaks on your face. A strange, asymmetric rhythm seems to have taken over your heartbeat. You stand up. You’re not entirely sure why. There’s someone in the corner. A portly, aged gentleman whose facial features so closely resemble your own.

4:46 PM

“Leave me alone,” you whisper. Your voice echoes strangely, coming to your ears as if from a great distance. Cornelius shakes his head slowly, his gentle grin never shifting except to slowly widen. He brings one hand up, tapping the side of his head just next to his right eye. Your own right eye twitches involuntarily, as if in response. You slap a hand over it quickly, not really sure what you’re trying to do, and it slows down. Hot, unnaturally thick tears seep from the closed lid and tingle on your palm. “S-stop it,” you stammer, feeling a sudden sense of nausea. “You aren’t here. You’re dead.” Cornelius shakes his head again. Raises his left hand this time. You reach out towards him, as if to hold the ghost back. “Stop!” He taps the left side of his head too. Your left eye spasms; you have to press your other hand over it. Tears overflow and drip to the floor. These aren’t tears. The nausea is so bad you want to throw up. Blind, you stumble towards the bathroom as your sense of balance goes too and bile rises in your throat. “...” A lapse. Like a blink, but more complete. You wake up on the cool glass floor of the bathroom. You can see again, the nausea has gone down, and you aren’t crying anymore. It appears you made it to the toilet before throwing up, because the floor is cle... clea... There are spots of golden liquid on the floor. You stand up in a rush, sending your balance spiralling and nearly falling back over, but you grab onto the counter and steel yourself to look in the mirror. Ignore your disheveled hair and clothing; ignore your sickly complexion; ignore the faint red lines on your skin, like burns where the tear tracks should have been. Your eyes. Normal brown irises; normal whites. Right? Wrong.

4:46 PM

Two tiny specks of reflective gold, one per iris, refuse to vanish when changing angles or positions. You sink back to the floor, trembling. It’s started already. The curse. Why?! You’re still so young; even the men usually last longer than this, and the women decades more! Have your investigations led you down this path, or are you just naturally weak? More importantly, what can you do about it?

- Tell Victor immediately. He needs to know, and maybe he can help.

- Not a chance. He’ll definitely come looking for you if he knows.

- Tell him you’re in the City of Glass.

️ - Stay on guard. Now that the gold has broken into your eyes, you can’t trust your sight anymore. Anything could be an illusion.

- You can’t be that paranoid. Keeping constant vigilance like that will only exhaust you. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 31 The scroll. Victor needs to know. Regardless of your concerns over what he might do with the knowledge; regardless of how much he’s already going through back home, you can’t keep this from him too. Your eyes don’t work the way you’re used to; the proportions of everything seem very slightly off. It’s hard to balance and you start feeling sick again while trying to walk. Closing your eyes helps, but you somehow can’t keep upright like that, so you end up crawling blindly and pitifully out to the desk and feeling your way up to the scroll. Grip the stylus, place it on the paper. Keep your eyes closed, swaying gently in the chair. Things crawl behind your eyelids, but they’re better than what you might see if you opened them. You write out a barely coherent letter to Victor, daring to open your eyes from time to time in order to read what you’ve written with normal ink as your guidelines. The glyphs don’t seem real; it’s only after you’ve written at least a paragraph that you remember what language you should be using. Objects dance and shift. Sickening unreality pours into your head every time you look. You tell him everything you can think of: your eyes, your visions, your location, your plight. The letter is legible, you think. That’s about all you can manage at the moment, so you seal and send it off with some of the actual magic ink rather than your blood, this time. You’re already so dizzy that you can’t bear to risk anything more. Miserable and too beaten-down by everything to do anything else today, you crawl blindly into bed and settle down to rest. It can’t be later than seven or eight in the evening, but at this point... You fall asleep within minutes, spiraling out and away in a vortex of gold. ...

8:48 PM

Victor arrives the following morning. You don’t understand how he got to the City of Glass so quickly - surely it would have taken him days at least to decipher your notes once he found them - and you don’t understand how he found you once he arrived. You ask, but he brushes off your questions as if you’re being unreasonable. His eyes, too, bear the mark of gold that defines your curse. That must have happened within the last month or so; you were both healthy when you left. “Vivienne,” he declares with older-sibling authority. “We’re leaving.” “What? Already? But what about Arthur, and the curse?” “You’re too sick to stay here. I’m sorry, but your decisions can’t be trusted now that you’ve-” “You have it too!” you interrupt, jabbing a finger towards his face. “Look in a mirror!” He shakes his head. “Hallucinations. Remember, you can’t trust anything you see anymore. Anything could be a lie described by that shadow from years past. You can only trust your other senses.” “...” Your objection dies in your throat. You know that. The curse first visibly manifests in your eyes, and it can corrupt your vision from the moment it does. You can hear and touch him - know he’s here by his presence - but you simply cannot know if his eyes truly do bear the same gold as yours or if it’s just an illusion wrought within your own. “I still need to save Arthur. I can’t leave him behind; I-I’m a Diver, so I can... can... um...” “It’s okay,” Victor says, lowering himself onto the sofa next to you. “You don’t need him anymore. I can protect you better than he ever could; I can teach you more than he would ever dare.” “Don’t say that. It doesn’t matter if he can protect me or teach me; I can’t let him die.”

8:48 PM

“You’re not safe here.” He’s trying to keep his voice calm, but there’s an edge of that stubborn anger behind it. You feel a slight chill of fear. “You told me yourself. The Diving, the Ring, those brokers; obelisks, Towers, and now the curse. You need to come home where I can help you control it. Dad can too, if he’s still lucid enough.” You try a different tactic. “You’re here now, so you can help me find answers in the City of Glass. We’re all doomed anyway if we can’t figure out how to stop this curse, so going home won’t make a difference at all. Listen, I just yesterday found out about an entirely new ancestor neither of us had even heard of-” “You’re such an idiot!” Victor slaps the top of your head with a loud smack, leaving you to cover your scalp with your hands as you try to massage away the stinging pain. “You can’t do this! Look around this room, if you even can with those eyes. You’ve already failed; you just can’t see it!” “What do you mean?!” Your voice is sharper now, too, and you’re sharing the edge of anger that Victor had used. “I’ve barely even been here a few days; I haven’t even started, let alone failed!” “Look!” He wrenches your head to the side, but it’s just the lamp. “You can’t even tell what that is, can you?” “IT’S A LAMP!” You’ve had enough. You jam an elbow into his side and squirm out of his grasp, scrambling into a standing position. The room orbits around the two of you. “Get out of here if you won’t help me. I’m not leaving until I’ve saved Arthur and figured out our curse. No matter what.” “GET A GODDAMN GRIP!” Victor roars as he lurches to his feet. “I’LL SHOW YOU IF YOU CAN’T SEE FOR YOURSELF!”

8:48 PM

He careens forward, slamming an open hand into your cheek as you try to twist away. Something tears in your neck and you half-scream; he spins you bodily around to face the lamp and begins to march you towards it.

- You go nuts.

‍

- You go limp.

- You go outside. (Winner: a tie between

‍

and

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 32 You struggle to wrest yourself out of his grip - if you can get outside, all you have to do is jump into the water and he won’t be able to follow - but your neck throbs with pain and he’s always been stronger than you. Without the element of surprise in your last escape attempt, there’s no way you can get away without resorting to more desperate measures. And despite the anger, nausea, and fear, your head is still remarkably clear; you don’t want to hurt him. “Stop wriggling around,” he snaps, shaking you like a squirrel in a dog’s mouth. Floors, walls, and ceilings swap places with wild abandon. “LOOK.” Victor thrusts you forward, almost pressing your face up against the lamp. “Stop it,” you murmur, neck still throbbing on one side. “It’s just a lam-” He shoves you into the lamp. You gasp and cough, suddenly muffled by thick, harsh-smelling fur. The lamp growls, deep and low. “VICTOR!” you scream, convinced he’s thrust you into some horrific lamp-dog abomination. “STOP!” “OPEN YOUR EYES!” he shouts, only pressing you further against and into the tangled, matted mass. You can hardly breathe; what little air you do manage to inhale through the choking fibers is sickening and bears the stench of something so alien it’s nearly beyond your ability to describe. Like the suffocating tang of rotten fruit, but with the harshness of burnt diesel. “Stop - stop!” You’re begging now as the lamp growls and its hackles invisibly raise. Sharp, thick hairs prod your skin. Air. You need... “Please...” “WHAT DO YOU SEE?!” He’s beyond the point of caring if he hurts you; his grip is only getting tighter. You can’t respond even if you want to; your mouth is forced closed against the greedy, thickening hairs. You can’t let him kill you. Not like this; you have to do something! “A dog...” you wheeze, trying to answer his question so maybe he’ll let you go. But he can’t hear you. There’s nothing left; you have to fight back or you’ll die.

11:28 PM

“...” But even as you make that determination, you know it’s hopeless. Your body trembles from suffocation. Your arms feel too heavy to lift. Darkness consumes your vision. You pass out. ... You wake up in your bed. You’re coated in cold sweat, the sheets are so tangled they’re almost tied in knots, and the sunlight streaming through the open window indicates it’s (still?) morning. Where’s Victor? Your legs tremble treacherously as you try to stand, so you call out. “Victor?” Maybe he came to his senses after all. No answer. You manage to haul yourself out of bed, much less nauseous than last night, and wrangle your legs into a state where they can just about support you in only a few minutes. The place is tiny; you can check every corner in a minute flat to verify Victor is nowhere to be seen. There’s no lamp here, either; this room only has a single light globe hanging from the ceiling. And, come to think of it, what did Victor look like earlier? You can hardly recall... “Dreaming,” you whisper aloud. He had never been here at all. It was just a nightmare driven by your fear of what he might do when he inevitably arrives, now that you’ve sent that letter. In fact... you turn towards the scroll. Desperate hope surges in your chest, but you’re not sure if you’re hoping for a comforting response or for you writing the letter to have been a dream as well. The symbol is filled in. Mechanically, you go through the motions of copying the reply out, only to find almost the entire page scribbled out to varying degrees of thoroughness. The only clear words are right at the bottom, where he had clearly almost run out of space: “I’m on my way.”

11:28 PM

Oh, no no no. What does that mean? Not the last part; the - You scan the rest of the page, searching for any intelligible words you can make out beneath his uneven censoring. Up here near the top: a fragment of a sentence calling you a duplicitous, overconfident moron. You probably deserve that. Towards the middle: a portion of a list, clearly of ritual ingredients. You can’t place the recipe. Near the end, crossed out more vigorously than the rest: something conciliatory, too difficult to parse. He’s on his way. For real, you presume, trying to perform a reality check by examining as many minute details as you can and then making sure nothing has changed. You’re awake, almost certainly. He’s clearly very mad, as you suspected he would be once he found out, but hopefully he’s not too far gone to help you. The real Victor would never do what he did in your dream. You rub your neck anxiously, where your dream-injury had been. You don’t have to fear your brother. He’ll be able to help you fix this. Find Arthur, understand the curse, and cure whatever’s wrong with you before it gets out of hand. Shadows and lights drift gently across your vision and you correct yourself. Any further out of hand. Well. You can’t write him back until he arrives anyway, as the scroll doesn’t work on moving vehicles, so you need to get back on track. Your twin goals are more important than ever, and you’re feeling grea... You’re feeling moderately okay after your thirteen hour sleep. You can go outside and continue your research, certainly. Just be very careful to identify any hallucinations before they cause you harm.

11:28 PM

“...” Yes, dream-you was right about that, unfortunately. With the gold in your eyes, the curse can control your vision. To a greater degree when your guard is down or your willpower is low, but you won’t be immune even when actively thinking about it. All you can do - aside from interrogating everything you see until you die of exhaustion - is be careful and double check anything too suspicious with one of your other senses. If you can. You’re going to lose your mind if Victor shows up for real with gold in his eyes and tells you it’s a hallucination just like he did in your dream. Eileen. You wanted to learn more about this previously-unknown Redmarsh, and no curse is going to stop you. But what would be the best way to do so...? [Multiple options can be combined.] ➡️ - Directly. The obvious path, if she was recorded anywhere.

- Through Cornelius.

- Through Edgar.

- Through Edward. ✍️ - Through Mr Steivestner. ⭕ - Through the ritual. ❓ - [Or something else? Specify in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

> ➡️ = ⭕ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 33 Edward, you decide, would have the best chance of finding any useful connections to Eileen. As her brother, he would certainly have known a good deal about her, and you imagine records he authored (in one way or another) would be more useful than any of the other characters you viewed in the memory. At least he seemed to care about her, unlike Cornelius himself. Another route might be to determine what that rite had been, assuming it was published as Mr Steivestner indicated it might be, and try to trace that back through whatever book it was included within. You’ll try that too, if you can find anything concrete. At least you’re pretty confident in being able to identify the rite if you do find it; it uses a lot of terms and patterns that are precursors to very common ones in modern day magic. Of course, if you can just find data on Eileen directly, that would be ideal. But given how this is the first time you’re hearing of her after years of genealogical data-hunting, you won’t hold your breath for that outcome. ... Edward isn’t as famous a Redmarsh as Cornelius, Joseph, or Beatrice, but his work on pattern chaining still elevates his legacy above many of his contemporaries. Conveniently, that’s the very same field as the ritual you witnessed in the memory, so you start out by just referencing some of Edward’s books on that theme to see if you can spot any familiar rites. At the same time, you know the year that the memory took place, so you dig up publications by Cornelius just a little after that and try to match things up.

11:56 AM

It’s pretty easy when attacking the problem from two temporal directions like this. You track down the rite within the first hour and identify the probable ways that Eileen had contributed after only a couple of read-throughs. The instructions are simplistic by modern standards, which means you can blaze through it. Feeling a bit of pride for your ancestors, though, you make sure to note to yourself that it had been cutting-edge for its time. Using Edward’s name for it, the Eighteenfold Prism ritual (later increased to 26-fold after improvements in chaining technique) involves knitting together eighteen (26) elemental streams into one crystal, each using a separate accessory chain. Drawing the chains would have been Cornelius’ task, and preparing many of the chemical reagents would have been Edward’s. Eileen’s, then, would have been extracting and purifying the elemental streams. The concept of elements in magic dates back to the classic ones - earth, water, air, fire, aether - but even in the 19th century when this rite was first performed, it was well-understood that many, many more essences could be isolated than the ancients ever conceived of. Even now in the 21st century, elemental magic (currently undergoing a name change to essentia magic) is still developing new ways to isolate the generalized “essence” of something. Back in the day, you could only have the original four or five, but nowadays, if you want the “element of burnt-leather shoes,” you can darn well get it if you’re a clever enough magician. It’s all about the core, essential qualities of a thing - material or not - which is why it took so long to develop methods to extract more complicated elements.

11:56 AM

As a side note, you read in one of the modern treatises on the subject that you’ve accidentally become severely distracted by, magicians with too much knowledge of scientific elements - hydrogen, helium; that sort of thing - find it difficult to extract magical elements outside of the ones listed on the periodic table. The ritualist’s mindset plays a key role in the purification, which makes these scientist-magicians probably the closest people to modern-day classic alchemists with their ability to extract pure elemental gold (among other scientific elements) from very mixed concoctions. You suppose it’s a good thing your science education had always been mixed with a magic one. Whoa, where did the last two hours go? Getting back on track, the idea that Eileen had been preparing the eighteen essences involved in the rite gives you a good idea of why she had been so sick in the memory: several of those essences are severely toxic and not at all substances a child should be working with! “Poison,” “Decay,” “Brittleness,” “Transmutation” and “Glass” together - even your dad never dared to let you and Victor mess with this stuff until you were much more experienced. So why did Cornelius make her do it? Did he really just not care about his granddaughter’s health at all? “Her viewpoint has markedly improved...” you mutter, repeating the old magician’s words. Was she somehow out of line with the rest of the family, to the point of Cornelius wanting to, er, get rid of her? Was Edgar aware? Is that why he left his children with their grandparents when he went on his trip? Is that why her name has seemingly been stricken from family records?

11:56 AM

You clear your head a little with a brief walk. The curse hasn’t been bothering you much today, it seems. After the initial misery of last night, you had sort of expected more problems to arise. The idea that it’s been fabricating words in the books you’ve been reading does briefly cross your mind, but you hate that idea so much that you decide to assume it’s not happening. Not like you can double-check the words on a page, anyway, unless you want to ask someone else to read them to you. Maybe the curse just approves of what you’re doing and thus isn’t bothering you. Does that idea make you feel better or worse...? It’s already mid-afternoon; you’ll want to find some food soon. You very much want to keep studying into the evening, but knowing your Redmarsh tendencies to get carried away gives you just enough willpower to consider alternatives. Should you spend the whole day on Eileen, or is there something more important you’re forgetting about?

- Keep researching. ❓ - Change your research direction. [Specify in #story_discussion ]

- Visit the Tower.

- Weren’t you going to make a magic bag...?

- Go Diving. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 34 Just about the only thing that can attract your focus away from a big research question like this is doing actual magic; something you haven’t partaking in all that often recently. But when you recall that you had been in the middle of planning to make a magic bag so you could carry more stuff on your Dives, you basically forget all about Eileen in your haste to buy the instructions. You acquire the disc you had scouted earlier and waste little time returning to your room to play it. This memory, unlike the one from Mr Steivestner’s perspective, was intended by the original remember...er(?) to be sold as a disc, which means it’s a tight, no-nonsense depiction of the craftsman making the thing edited together over multiple days. They also made sure to think useful thoughts during the recording, which then transfer into your own memory as you play it - rarely have you ever thought this much about fabric, fasteners, and sealant magic. In order to do it properly, you’re going to need to make the bag yourself. You could just use an existing one - and you were intending to - but the new memory has sort of infected your own opinions in a way you’re not sure you like. It’s true that it will be more effective by weaving strengthening and sealant magic into the raw materials, rather than layering them on top of a finished product. It’s just that you’re not particularly good with sewing, and having to make the bag yourself on top of doing all the enchantments will take even longer. Still, it can’t be helped. You head back into the City with a shopping list of materials and are a good way into them before remembering that not only are you not very good at sewing, but in fact you have barely any skill at all. What were you thinking that you could put together a...

9:33 PM

You hesitate, tapping your head in the middle of an aisle. Are you sure about that? It’s not that hard to make, right? Why can’t you remember your exact level of skill? Didn’t you have to repair Victor’s clothing while you were growing up? Or are those thoughts from the anonymous craftsman whose memory you’ve spent several hours digesting? Someone catches your eye with a mixture of confusion and concern. You force a smile and mutter something about being fine, then pick up the stuff you had meant to buy and purchase it anyway. If you’re no good at sewing, you’ll figure it out when you try to make the bag. Who was that person? Why didn’t they have a face? You try very hard to hold it together, squeezing your eyes shut as the train shuttles you through several stations. That helps calm you down somewhat, though the memory of those people trying to steal the Krol idol on a very similar journey forces your eyes open more than once. At one point, you do legitimately notice a group of three scary-looking men glancing your way, so you change trains at the next station. The men are nowhere to be seen after you’ve made the transfer, and you make it back to your room without further issue. You’re going mad. But you knew that already; you just have to persevere. The needles are missing when you go to start, but you find them lurking behind a bottle of something you don’t remember having - you swear they were literally invisible - after a brief search. Then, it’s just a matter of figuring out which set of memories actually belongs to you. Are you capable of doing this or not?

9:33 PM

Briefly, yes. It’s certainly a relief that you haven’t bought all this stuff for nothing. You’re able to carefully murmur the appropriate chants and draw the appropriate symbols, then reasonably deftly stitch enchanted and ordinary fabric together into something better than either. It takes quite a while - you certainly won’t finish tonight - but it’s at least soothing, repetitive work that takes your mind off the strange faces that keep leering at you from the shadows. “...” Okay, maybe it doesn’t help as much as you’d like to pretend. Also, you keep losing your place or going off track, and you swear it’s because the fabric isn’t where it looks like it is, but you can’t ever actually catch it obviously in the wrong spot. It’s like you’re being gaslit by reality, and you hate it. You know it’s the curse, or at least you think it is, but that tiny little nagging doubt that it could just be your own ineptitude is enough to unnerve you regardless. When you start feeling sick again, you give up and call it a day. It’s only a little later than yesterday, and you slept in pretty substantially, but you’re still as tired as if you had pulled an all-nighter. You successfully avoid looking at yourself in the mirror as you prepare for bed, vaguely suspicious the curse will do something terrible to your reflection if given the chance. Plus, you don’t want to look at that sickly, glittering gold in your eyes again. ... You’re in an opulent casino. Every surface is made of shimmering, reflective glass. Reds, oranges, yellows. It’s like being seated within a raging, frozen inferno. Clear water covers the floor, flooding the place up to your calves. You’re almost certain you’re dreaming, but are unable to eradicate that last little shred of doubt. Everything looks so realistic...

9:33 PM

Someone coughs. You aren’t alone; you’re seated at a round table with four glass mannequins, all holding hands of playing cards. You look down and realize you’re also holding a set of five cards. Your body is wavering, like a badly tuned signal on an ancient TV. You focus on the cards instead. They aren’t playing cards, although the back designs indicate they should be. Instead, they all bear images relevant to symbology and related magic. You recognize three of them immediately: the Key, the Dog-eared Page, and the Fanged Well. Two cards you drew from the oracle on the ship, and the third that you very narrowly did not. The remaining two cards depict an ethereal woman with closed eyes and white wings - the Angel - and a tortured, bleeding image of the same woman, her wings now tattered and grey. The Fallen Angel. Somehow, Joseph’s words don’t come to mind. You know that you know what these cards represent, but you just can’t recall. Another cough from that glass mannequin. It appears to be your turn. There’s a pile of cards facing up on the table in front of you, and the one on the top depicts the Crown of Thorns. The other card you didn’t pick on your third draw with the oracle. It seems you’re expected to play (discard?) a card.

- The Key.

- The Dog-eared Page.

️ - The Fanged Well.

- The Angel.

- The Fallen Angel. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 35 Your fingers brush every card as they move through your hand. The Key; the Fanged Well. The Fallen Angel. You have to play something. You play her. The bloodied, distraught woman with wings fading to smoke. Place the card on the pile, directly atop the Crown of Thorns. The mannequins mutter. Joseph’s words spring back into your mind. “The Fallen Angel indicates betrayal by someone close to the heart. A friend, a family member, a mentor, or the like. An upside-down draw indicates the betrayal will bring ruin, while a right-side up draw leaves the outcome in question. In either case, the one who draws it must prepare for a strenuous test of resolve to weather the inevitable storm.” - Joseph C. Redmarsh, Symbology and Magic But... you didn’t draw it. The Fallen Angel lies right-side up from your perspective, or at least it does until the next mannequin in the game plays the two of hearts on top of it, but you didn’t draw it. You played it. Does that count? You don’t believe Joseph’s book contained any advice about playing cards with glass mannequins in a dream, but it might have said something about discarding fortune-telling devices. Does that mean the Angel, still held in your hand, will take priority? “The Angel is unsurprisingly the counterpart to the Fallen Angel. While the latter brings ruin by betrayal, the Angel promises contentment through salvation. A savior will appear in one’s darkest hour and bring forth the light of hope. An upside-down draw complicates matters somewhat by introducing a flaw to the savior, which can be exploited by other cards to lessen the Angel’s boon, while a right-side up draw all but guarantees a successful recovery.” - Joseph C. Redmarsh, Symbology and Magic

9:09 PM

All of your cards were right-side up in your hand, which could be really good if it counts. But you’re still unsure whether you actually “drew” these cards, or if they just appeared in your hand. But if they did, and the discarding is what matters... The next mannequin plays the ace of hearts and takes the whole pile. The Fallen Angel disappears into its fingerless, translucent grasp. Victor, in either case. He could play the part of the Angel and help you save your family. Or... well, your dream last night covered that second possibility well enough. ... “Welcome back. You look terrible.” “I feel terrible,” you admit, not even trying to hide it. Eridya has led you back to her office again, entrusting the counter to a droopy-looking girl a few years younger than you, briefly introduced as her niece. That adjective is probably a little rude, but between the hairstyle, sleepy expression, and posture, nothing else springs to mind. “I think I’ve slept almost thirty hours in the past two days.” You’re exaggerating, you think, but only a little. You didn’t wake up until midday today, scrambling out of bed croaking something about gambling. The dream-casino had not been a profitable experience for you, even after that first game with the fortune-telling cards, and the house had other ways of extracting money from its debtors. You flex your fingers again, making sure you still have all of them. Your left ring finger has appeared to be a bloody stump off and on since you woke up, in a less-than-subtle display of the curse’s power, but you can still touch and move it without issue. As long as you don’t look at it, it won’t bother you. Yep, definitely. “Sick or something? Nothing contagious, I hope.” “No, it’s not.”

9:09 PM

“Great. Here’s the deal,” she continues, not even appearing to consider pressing you further. “You’ll be meeting with a Ring enforcer tomorrow evening. Half past ten at this intersection just behind this elevated station.” Eridya taps at a map on her pane as she speaks, sending you the details when you retrieve your own. “Your contact will be wearing a yellow flower hairpin, and will be able to show you a ring when you ask.” “Sounds like a spy thriller,” you comment. “What’s wrong with just a phone call?” “Ask them, not me. Anyway, you’ll want to confirm at least whether your mentor’s alive and what they want from you. Anything beyond that is up to you, though I recommend not going anywhere with them if you can manage it. Jumping into the water should get you away from whoever it is as long as they haven’t pulled some strings to bring a Diver along.” “Do... do you think it’s likely they’ll try to kidnap me? I thought you said I’m more useful free than not.” “Sure, but it’s best to be prepared for the worst. Especially if they did end up killing him, they won’t have any leverage against you. Might think it’s worth it to try and nab you if there’s nothing else to lose.” “...” “But they’re not that sloppy. No, the thing you’ll have to watch out for is just plain old lying. They should have some information to prove he’s still alive, and you might even be able to convince them to let you talk to him - remotely, likely - but it’s possible.” “How should I convince them?” “Well...” You spend a bit longer talking with Eridya about your upcoming meeting with the Ring before she has to return to work. You don’t feel particularly confident about it, but it’s got to be done. If you can at least talk to him; just make sure he’s alright...

9:09 PM

Well, you should probably be productive with the remaining day and a bit.

- Work on the bag.

- Investigate Eileen. ❓ - [Or something else? Suggest in #story_discussion] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 36 The rest of the day passes without incident as you return to your room and continue to make progress on the bag. You find yourself working more by touch than sight a lot of the time, choosing to rely on feeling the position of the needle, your fingers, and the fabric rather than trusting your eyes. This approach does reduce your mistakes, though you imagine it won’t go as well with more precise work. Right now, all you’re doing is merging layers of fabric together and you don’t need to be nearly as exact as when you’ll need to etch the functional glyphs. Also, you keep overconfidently pricking yourself with the needle because you can’t see where anything is, but thankfully blood magic is a well-established domain and you’re able to contain the mess by using it as an ingredient itself. You just need a good number of adhesive bandages once you’re done for the night. Ow, again. You dream of standing with Victor on the deck of a ship, being tossed this way and that by massive, heaving waves of a steel-grey sea. Rain pours from above, fountaining off the deck and joining the waves below. Your brother clings onto a railing, shouting a chant you can barely hear over the storm. Casting a spell to keep the craft stable, you would guess, although it would be unreasonably difficult to produce an effect worth anything without a circle or any preparation time. You should help him, if you can.

5:30 PM

As soon as you make that decision, your presence in the scene becomes far more physical. Rain and wind lash at your formerly incorporeal body; you wince against the elements and stagger to something solid so you can anchor yourself like Victor. You’re already shivering, drenched in unending torrents of icy water from above. Rites of all kinds spring to mind, but none of them seem appropriate for the situation. Anchoring rituals tend to involve powerful, inflexible circles - permanent, if possible - to enhance their strength. You couldn’t hope to make a difference with nothing but yourself and the nauseatingly swaying deck. “-nne!” Victor is yelling something that catches your ear. You turn; he’s looking at you. “---! ---ve; s---!” You shake your head, unable to make out anything he’s saying. You can’t even try to read his lips either; there’s too much rain in the way. “I can’t hear you!” you try to shout back, aware that your own words will be snatched away as easily as his. Your attempt gets across how loud it is, though, and he switches to gestures. Points at you. Points at the sea. Something that vaguely resembles a swimmer’s diving posture. Or... Diving posture. You think you understand. “Don’t worry,” you say, inaudible even to yourself. “I’ll save you.” Then you let go. Hasten across the deck, nearly slipping from the water and the motion. Haul yourself over the railing. And plummet into the sea. You plunge into the water in a purely vertical position, knifing deep into the sea with a frigid shock that nearly renders you unconscious. You cling to lucidity only through grim determination to stop the waves and ensure Victor’s safety. The waters hold no power to drown you here, nor halt your progress; you alone can descend to the heart of this storm and cut it apart.

5:30 PM

Pulses of pressure push against you from below. Not of the water, but through it. Beating like a diseased, broken heart with a strange asymmetric rhythm. Subconsciously, you recognize the rhythm. A clock; a slate-floored room built to an obscure, nine-pointed symmetry. Not of Earth, but of somewhere just faintly beyond. Something resembling awareness begins to prickle at the edges of your mind, sparking and flickering like a fire about to set alight. No no - nonono I WILL NOT. With an immense mental effort, you haul yourself away from those unknown revelations, blocking out the implications of the sound as best you can by focusing on a simple, repetitive ritual taught to you by your father for this exact purpose. There are limits to what a human mind can safely know, and pressing up against the boundaries is a terribly risky business. All magicians face these risks to some extent, so all must be prepared to either stop themselves before going too far, or accept the deleterious changes of pushing beyond. You. Aren’t. Going. Anywhere. Gold shines in your eyes, though you can’t see it. Bulbous, unearthly shapes writhe below. That rhythm pounds in your ears; surrounds your body with alternating waves of pressurized boiling and freezing water. You aren’t ready. You can’t confront this; not without losing yourself. You have to turn back before you see something that cannot be un-seen.

️ - Push forwards. Destroy the storm. You will not return unscathed. ↩️ - Return above. Maintain your humanity. You’ve done all you can.

- Close your eyes, but continue. Keep the rhythm at bay with pure force of will. Destroy the storm without ever knowing it. If... if you can manage such a feat. [Have your cake and eat it, too. Unlikely to work as described, but there is a chance...] (Winner: ↩️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 37 It’s easy enough to let the rhythm push you back. The pressure buffets you, sending you spinning back up towards the churning, heaving surface where you can float in relative peace just below the waves. You repeat the ritual in your mind, warding off the fading ramifications of what you almost saw. Thankfully, blessedly, you remain ignorant of what exactly it was or what exactly it meant. Hints only; nothing more. Your sanity - such as it is, you suppose - remains intact. Come to think of it, would Victor have even done that? You told him about your Diving abilities in that letter where you revealed the truth, but you didn’t go into any substantial detail. Would he really have known enough to confidently send you into the depths? Without even offering to help? “...” You had kind of been assuming this was an oracular dream of some variety - prophetic, scrying, or the like - but your brother’s actions and mannerisms seem a little off. Plus, why would he have been on a ship like that? Not a passenger ferry or a cruise ship, but more of a tanker or cargo vessel. Is this actually just another nightmare? If so, where did the thing in the depths come from? Certainly not your own mind; too many embers remain there from even that brief encounter for it to have sprung from yourself. In the end, you don’t get much longer to ponder the dream, as you awaken shortly after. Late again, but calmer this time. You brush the remnants of whatever that thing had been out of your psyche before refocusing on the tasks that definitely, tangibly exist and can be conquered. You need to meet with the Ring person tonight, but before then you’ve got plenty of time to work on the bag.

9:28 PM

So you do. You spend most of the day sewing, stamping, scribing, and otherwise attending to the various smaller tasks that make up the enchantment. Some of them you do with eyes open (you find the curse bothers you less early in the day, before you get tired (which doesn’t bode well for tonight (but you’ll make it work))), while others you do with eyes closed, allowing phantoms to play behind your eyelids. You manage to complete the fabric merging today and start assembling the actual structure, though you don’t get very far on that before having to stop for dinner, then a break to rest your hands and mind. Finally, it’s close enough to ten to leave the building, make your way up to the elevated rail station, and head towards the shore for your meeting. This is later than you’ve usually been out since the first few days here, and you feel markedly uncomfortable throughout much of the journey. People keep staring at you, though never long enough to be caught when you glance over. What do they see? Why should they care? The train arrives right on time and you make your way towards the indicated intersection with some trepidation. A good third of the street is made of water near the station, but back here it’s nothing but a huge slab of concrete. Convenient for not falling in, but less so for a potential quick escape. A coincidence? Doubtful. Why didn’t Eridya notice, or perhaps why didn’t she care? A betrayal? No; you’re being unreasonable. Why would she know the precise composition of the streets all across the City? There aren’t many people around, but enough traffic flows to and from the station to avoid the area feeling completely deserted. You play the part of any old passerby, casually scanning the faces and hair of those around you. Yellow flower hairpin, you murmur internally as you search. You don’t know anything more about your contact’s initial appearance. Maybe they’re not even here.

9:28 PM

You don’t find anyone on your first pass through the area. A few minutes of wandering around down the street should be sufficient to not stick out too much on your second pass, hopefully. Plus, it’s now officially past 10:30, so as long as your contact is real and cares about punctuality, they have to be here by now. With this newfound optimism, you head back through the intersection as if you’re just returning to the station after a quick errand up the road. And this time, you’re not disappointed. There’s a guy in a sweatshirt standing off to one side, reading through a stack of posters or flyers or something attached to a nearby wall. Unremarkable enough - you were curious about those yourself - but there’s a pastel yellow flower stuck into his long ponytail where a hair tie would usually be. This must be your contact. With the flower hairpin thing, I kind of assumed they would be a girl, you ponder while waiting for traffic to clear. Maybe this was another thing done to throw you off-balance? Or maybe you’re being too paranoid again. Or, you suppose you could be doubly wrong or the curse could be acting up again or - you firmly shake your head, crossing the street. You’re thinking too much. “Er, hello,” you mutter on approaching him. He glances to the side to look at you; even from this angle, you can tell he’s got a cute face. Something about the cheeks. “I was, er, told you could show me a ring...?” He turns away and you hear a quiet exhale. “Not subtle, are you? Here; this good enough?” It’s a plain, golden ring dangling from a short white chain. You weren’t told what the ring would look like, but given that he knew what you were talking about, that’s probably good enough. “Sure.” A pause. “I have some questions-” “Not here; look at how many people are around. Come this way a bit.”

9:28 PM

He doesn’t force you to follow or anything, but this would just be a waste of time if you don’t, so you walk with him down the street a short distance. The busier intersection around the station is still easily visible, but it’s almost out of earshot. The Ring person introduces himself along the way. “Name’s Barnaby, if it pleases you.” You’re struck with the urge to ask “What if it doesn’t?” but just respond as expected instead: “Vivienne. Charmed.” They certainly already know your name, though hopefully not your family one - or at least not the significance. “Here; this will do.” Barnaby gestures towards a narrow metal staircase tucked between two similarly narrow buildings. It seems to lead up to a balcony about three stories up. You would be able to see the only entrance from up there, and spot anyone coming near from a ways off. “Come along.”

- Follow him to the balcony. No reason not to.

️ - Convince him to stay on ground level. [You can specify your reasoning and/or argument, if desired.] [Barnaby seems...]

- Friendly enough, for his position. You’ll cooperate to a reasonable degree.

- Suspiciously pleasant. He’s a mob goon; you both know that. He’s not being straightforward with you.

- Like he’s about to betray you. Stay on guard. Don’t trust him. (Winners:

️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 38 “Er, could we stay down here?” you request as he steps onto the stairs. “Afraid of heights?” he asks, seemingly amused. “I just feel more comfortable by the water,” you say, not really answering his question. You’re not afraid of heights in particular, but you are concerned about being stranded up high without an easy escape route. There’s no water close enough to the balcony to jump into from up there. Barnaby seems to interpret your response as admitting to a fear of heights and smirks dismissively. It’s fine by you if he wants to imagine you have a weakness that doesn’t actually exist, so you don’t correct him. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Stay there.” He disappears for a minute or so, presumably scouting the nearby alleys (though you shouldn’t assume for certain), while you wander around the base of the stairs to find the nearest patch of water you can fit into. Not too far; just around a corner and a few steps further. “Alright,” he declares upon his return. You’re now both standing in a narrow space between two buildings just beside the stairs. The glass wall feels rough on your back; it’s catching a little on the fabric of your clothes. Unusual, as most of the City’s glass is fairly smooth. “Go ahead, then. Ask your questions.” You take a deep breath. “My mentor, Arthur... Is he alive?” “Yes.” A wave of relief spreads through you. He’s not dead. You can still save him. “Where is he?” “Obviously I’m not going to answer that.” “Is he okay, at least? What have you done to him?” A shrug. “Nothing permanent, yet. And it can stay that way if you cooperate.” The second wave of relief is cut short by Barnaby’s second statement. “If I cooperate with what?” you ask, just being straightforward. “What do you want from me, and what will you give me in return?”

4:51 PM

“Well, it was going to be something quite simple, like a million membra worth of artifacts. But...” Barnaby digs his pane out of his pocket and holds it up, as if to show you something on it. “Take a look.” Curious, you look up and reach out for it, but he takes your picture with a brief flash instead, then pulls it back. “... Hey!” you semi-exclaim, unsure if you should be mad. “Gold eyes,” he confirms. “Hard to tell in the dark.” “... Just a trick of the light; they look like that in camera flashes” you try to explain, now definitely sure you should be mad. And very concerned, if he has any idea what that means. Barnaby shakes his head. “Not gonna work, Redmarsh.” “...” You can feel your body tensing and your heart rate increasing. “What do you know?” you whisper. “Me? Nothing. I’m just the middleman. But someone up top heard some very interesting things from this Arthur fellow. Things about you and your family.” You don’t respond. Momentarily, you’re tempted to blame Arthur for spilling your secrets, but he obviously didn’t have a choice. Alone, imprisoned, being questioned by essentially the mafia; you would have talked too. “So, we’ll give you your mentor back if you get two things for us. Real simple. First, the Stake of the Imprisoned God. Supposed to be down in the very deepest depths of the ocean under the City, so any competent Diver should be able to get it. Easy for you, I’m sure. Second, enter the Tower and bring us anything valuable you find in there.” “H-hold on; enter the Tower? No one can get in! Not Divers, and not me either, whatever you might have heard about my family name.” You’re worried about whatever the Stake of the Imprisoned God might be, too, but one thing at a time. Barnaby actually laughs. “Hardly subtle and you barely keep up with current events, I see. Check the news; the Tower’s open for business.” “... Right now?” He doesn’t appear to be continuing. “Sure. You’ve got a pane, right?”

4:51 PM

“...” Cautiously, you retrieve your pane and do as suggested, reviewing the page you’d found earlier that corresponds to the Tower. It mostly serves as a repository for past notices, along with some basic information, but now there’s a big, full-screen notification of a brand new Tower notice, just posted today. “Divers who have descended to the bottom of an abyssal trench are now permitted to enter the Glass Tower,” you read aloud. “When was this posted? Just today?” “This morning, yep. So you can bet every damn Diver who hasn’t gone that deep yet is gonna be gunning for it before the week is up and the notice takes effect.” He grins. “And that includes you, if you want to see Arthur again. It’s a good thing the Stake’s definitely in a trench, so you can get that done at the same time!” You feel a little sick. “Assuming this notice is right and I can get in when it takes effect, what do you expect me to find in the Tower?” Another shrug. “That’s between you and the boss to determine if whatever you bring is valuable enough. No one knows what’s in there, so I suppose you’d better hope it’s filthy rich inside.” You feel a little more sick. “At least tell me what and where this Stake thing is.” “It’s a stone spike about the size of your leg,” Barnaby explains. “Absolutely coated in magic, since it was once used to imprison a god. At least, that’s the legend. It’s not your nor my business to ask what the boss wants it for; you just need to bring it back. Best we know, it should be somewhere at the bottom of this trench here. See?” This time, he actually does show you a map on his pane, and you copy over the details. You feel even more sick, reading just how deep the trench is supposed to go. You’ve barely descended a single percent of its total depth, even when you went to that Krol temple in the dark. Are you really prepared enough for the dangers you might find down there? And within the next week?

4:51 PM

[Not FPTP. You can vote for multiple.]

- Agree to get the two things in exchange for Arthur. [You should probably do at least this one, unless you have a very good alternate idea.]

- Convince him to let you speak to Arthur. [How? What will you say if you get the chance? Specify in #story_discussion.]

- Ask him for some help to meet these unreasonable demands. [Equipment? Contacts? Information? Specify in #story_discussion.]

- Ask for further payment in return. [Money? Information on your family? Something else? Specify in #story_discussion.]

- (Secretly) intend to not actually do all this, and just rescue Arthur yourself instead.

- Select this option to increase how charming you are in this interaction. Will make you more persuasive, probably, but may have other effects if too high... ❓ - Or something else...? [Suggest in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

, ~

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 39 “... Fine,” you say. “I’ll get you the Stake and whatever I can find in the Tower. But. I need two things from you, too.” Barnaby shrugs nonchalantly. “Go ahead.” “First, I need to talk to Arthur. You could be lying to me; I need to confirm he’s actually still alive before I do any of this.” He doesn’t immediately object to this, so you continue with your next request. “Second, I need some resources if I’m going to Dive that deep. You must know I’ve only been here a week or two now; I’ve never been down further than a few hundred feet. I need equipment - lights, tools, a suit - and better information on what’s going to be down there so I can deal with it.” A pause. He still isn’t saying anything. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable - after all, if I’m unprepared and fail, you won’t get anything at all.” “That’s all, then?” “Er, yes...?” He waves a hand as if to dismiss your concerns. “Of course there will have to be some investment in your success. “Meet me at this store tomorrow at 10am to purchase any equipment you lack. Information on the depths, too.” That’s a little early, you think but don’t say. You’ve been getting up way late since the curse became visible, but you can set an alarm. You’ll be fine. “I’ll be there. And my first request?” “It’s only fair,” he shrugs again. “Now?” “I-if that’s possible...” “Gimme a minute.” He taps something into his pane and calls someone on it, turning half-away in the traditional “semi-private but not really” phone call stance. “Hey, it’s me. Yep, with her now. Can you put him through for a bit?” A pause, then a nod. “Okay.” He hands the pane to you. “Go ahead.” You take the pane with surprisingly steady hands. “... Arthur?” “Vivienne...” His voice is scratchy and deathly tired; you can tell that even through the connection. “They haven’t got you too, have they? Are you safe?”

5:54 PM

“I’m okay...” It’s just like him to focus on your safety when he’s the one in trouble. “I’m making a deal with them to get you out. I just need to do some Diving, so try to hold on for just a week until I can finish everything I need to.” A weak laugh, or cough, or something. “I suppose it would be the responsible thing to tell you to save yourself and leave me behind for fear of trickery or the like. But I must admit, I would rather like to be free of this place. Be cautious, but if you have faith in your own abilities, I shall too.” “I - I do. I’ll get what they want and get you out.” You pause, wanting to explain some of the other things that have been happening - your curse, Victor, the stuff with Eridya - but you know both Barnaby and whatever Ring person is on the other end with Arthur are listening. “Are you safe? You sound... kinda... not good...” “... I have not been injured,” he replies. “But the accommodations are rather lacking. It is quite difficult to get any decent rest.” “Just hang in there for a week. I... I can do it. Don’t worry.” “I believe you.” “Alright, that’s enough,” someone else on the other end says. You hear a bit of rushing air, then the same person, louder. “Give the pane back to Barnaby,” the Ring person instructs you. Lacking any reason to do otherwise, you hand it back and put your hands in your pockets. He’s okay. Not great, but alive and lucid enough to talk to you in the same way as always. As long as you can handle the tasks they want you to do quickly, everything will be fine. They won’t betray you; they wouldn’t dare. Gold glints in your eyes, but no one sees it. You blink several times to clear away the sudden itch. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Barnaby grins, shaking your hand. “Remember, 10am tomorrow, then it’s off to the trench with you. Make sure to get it done right. After all, he believes in you.” You don’t trust your restraint enough to respond; you just nod. ...

5:54 PM

You find yourself striding down the corridors of a nondescript glass building. Bubbles drift around you, making it clear that you’re underwater, and you’re holding something that resembles a trident when seen out of the corner of your eye. Viewed head-on, however, it’s just a golden blur - too bright to see. You shove open door after door, skewering anyone you find inside with claps of muffled thunder. Blood seeps into the water; you breathe in the scent of carnage as you continue your work. He’s here somewhere. Has to be. If you just kill everyone in this place, surely you can find and free him. One door opens into a vast, infinitely tall cavern far larger than any other room in the complex. The water vanishes as soon as you pass through and you find yourself falling to the floor, landing painfully about ten feet down in an ankle-deep pool of rich, metallic blood. Overhead, a low throbbing sound draws your attention and you look up to see the gargantuan stone sphere from your dream in the Krol temple. It’s so massive and overwhelming it could be the moon, and yet it’s held securely in place by those same three chains and gushing indescribable amounts of blood from its three wounds. You feel sick; your bloodlust vanishes. The sight; the scent... it’s just too much. You stumble, falling to your knees in the blood and fighting the urge to throw up or pass out. You can’t... you can’t be in the presence of a thing like this. Even sealed away, a god is still a god. The door you entered from; if you could just climb up the wall... “Finally,” comes an exasperated voice from your left. Footsteps splash through the blood as someone approaches. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days now. What’s your mind made of; titanium?” “...” You can’t respond; you’re too overwhelmed. You can’t even look up to see who it is.

5:54 PM

Smart dress shoes and the bottom of a pair of maroon trousers come into view. All soaked with blood, of course; maybe they were originally white. “Hey. Are you okay? Is... oh.” A pause; the shoes shuffle in place. “I see. It must be a lot for you to be here. Let me take us somewhere more comfortable.” A hand places itself on your shoulder. You blink, and the scene has changed. The blood is gone and the room is much smaller. You’re now kneeling on the wooden floor of an enclosed deck, slowly recovering from the nausea of the past minute or two. Misty, rainy trees sway gently outside the windows and the air is pleasantly cool after the oppressive heat of that pool of blood. The same(?) hand enters your vision, now revealed to be connected to an arm wearing a maroon suit jacket. “Feeling a little better now? Let me help you into a chair, at least.”

- Gratefully thank this mystery person. They seem to be trying to help you.

- Stay cautious. This person is clearly quite powerful and there’s no way to know if they mean to exploit you.

- You’re feeling better away from the blood.

‍

- You still feel sick. Something lingers on or in you... (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 40 “Thanks...” you manage, taking the hand and sitting down on a wicker-framed chair. Kinda firm; it gives a little. You examine your host. A short-ish woman with short-ish dark hair stands briefly in front of you, before taking a seat herself. Maybe in her late 20s or early 30s? She’s wearing a maroon suit, as you saw earlier, with a black dress shirt and silver tie underneath. There’s a tattoo of the metzmatan symbol on her left hand, and it currently glows with strong blue light. Dreamwalker, you decide. That mark indicates she must be at minimum an adept in that field of magic, and you should be careful regardless of how grateful you are. Noticing your scrutiny, she smiles gently and speaks. “My name’s Suyeon Che - or just Su. I’m a dreamwalker and priest of the demon Intaqui, and I’m here to give you some important information.” She stops. You imagine she already knows your name, but you introduce yourself anyway. “Vivienne... Redmarsh. Er, thanks for getting me out of there. I don’t know why that orb keeps showing up in my dreams; I gave away the idol...” A pause; you try to remember if you’ve ever heard the name “Intaqui” before. Probably not? “A priest... you bound yourself to a demon for dreamwalking powers, right? Sorry, I don’t know much about how that works.” You’re implying you’d very much like to know, but unfortunately Su doesn’t seem willing to explain in detail. “I doubt we have time for the full story, but the gist of it is that I got caught up in a conflict between a different demon and a cult that wanted to kill him, and Intaqui became my patron to help me survive it. Whatever you’ve heard about demons or their priests, know that there are good ones who actually do want to help people.” A pause; her voice lowers a little. “Mostly. Sometimes. He still hunts me every so often; it’s like a game. A-anyway.”

1:14 PM

The lack of confidence in that last part makes her seem less like a powerful intruder and more like a normal person. You still need to stay on guard, though. “So, the blue light?” you ask, still trying to gather as much information as you can before she gets to the actual point. “You’re casting a spell right now. Is it something I should be worried about?” Su looks down at her hand; curls it closed. Light still spills out between her fingers. “I’m currently blocking the influence of a third powerful demon,” she explains. “You seem to have caught the attention of something pretty dangerous, but I didn’t want it interfering with this meeting. Luckily, Intaqui’s strong enough to block it out for at least a little while.” “... A demon? Interested in me? Er, is it Krol - that big stone ball?” “No, but Krol is definitely involved in this whole mess. This one’s something different, but I don’t know its name or anything. All I can tell you is its primary domain - fate - and secondary - luck.” She opens her hand again, as if to verify the blue light is still strong. It definitely is. “I... I’d be kind of surprised if you hadn’t noticed it yet, actually. Are you sure there haven’t been any major magic influences on your daily life?” The curse, you think immediately. And as soon as you do, you realize its effects are completely absent. Your eyes don’t itch, there’s no sense of nausea or distant malice, and you don’t see even a trace of phantom shadows behind your eyelids. You inhale with surprise. Your family curse is caused by a demon? “I, er, have. And I can tell it’s gone right now. How - what else can you tell me about it? I need to know what it is so I can get rid of it permanently.”

1:14 PM

Su shakes her head. You notice a little golden metzmatan earring as she does, swaying gently with the motion. She sure likes that symbol. “Sorry, but I don’t know anything more than what I already said. Whatever demon it is, it’s crafty enough to hide its presence beyond the influence itself; there’s not much else I can do unless it reveals itself more directly.” “...” Your distraught expression must be pretty obvious, as she continues immediately. “B-but I could certainly do some research of my own, if you’re willing to help me out in return! I’m sure we could find something useful about it.” “Deal,” you very nearly say immediately. You’re just so desperate for information on the curse and you haven’t been able to do your own research due to everything else going on - but again, you have to be careful. “What kind of help do you need?” you end up saying in a fairly steady voice. Su claps her hands together. “Right! I almost forgot why I was actually here!” She pulls a book with a cover of dark red leather from nowhere in particular and hands it to you. It’s a copy of A Treatise on Traveling the Dreamworlds, by your very own ancestor Cornelius A. Redmarsh. “Recognize this?” “Yes.” You don’t need to elaborate; your tone of voice makes it clear. “First of all: big fan - it’s a really useful book. Helped me a lot when I was first learning about my metzmatan. But, more importantly, you’re definitely related to him, right? Direct descendant?” “... Yes, I am.” You don’t want to admit it, really, but she obviously already knows. “Okay.” Su nods twice, having gotten a lot more energetic in the last minute or so. “I don’t know why exactly, but the Redmarsh family has become a hot topic among a certain sect of Krol cultists lately. First warning: watch out for any Krol worshippers. I’m not sure what they want from you, but based on what I’ve seen on Earth recently, I bet it’s nothing good.”

1:14 PM

That person who tried to steal the idol from you. Eridya’s weirdly thorough knowledge about the cult. The Ring’s request for the Stake of the Imprisoned God - Krol, too? “I think I’ve seen some of them already,” you admit. “I’ll try to be careful...” Another nod; she seemed to expect that. “Second, much bigger thing: the sect I was talking about earlier is one of the crazier ones, because they want to free Krol. You’re familiar with the legends, right? Bound into physical matter to provide a baseline for-” She cuts herself off as you’re nodding. “Right. So, I think it’s pretty clear that freeing it would cause some serious problems if you’re a fan of... solid objects existing.” “It’s a real god, then? Not just a legend?” “Well...” Su hesitates a little. “I don’t know. I’ve only personally met one ‘god’ -” You try to interrupt at that absurd claim, but she just waves you off with “it’s a long story” before continuing. “- and I’m not aware of any others. But the Krol legends are unusually consistent whenever they pop up and the people trying to free it certainly believe it’s real. It’s certainly possible Krol is an exceptionally powerful demon or entity with similar power and actually does bind together matter like its legends say. I kind of doubt it’s a ‘true’ god - whatever that means - but with literal physical reality on the line if they’re right, I think I’d like to try and stop them anyway.” “... What do you want me to do?”

1:14 PM

“Okay, so my latest tip on this is that some Krol people would soon be trying to get a Redmarsh descendant to break the seal on a thing called the Stake of the Imprisoned God. Apparently they think only someone of your bloodline can do it - no idea why; maybe something to do with that demon’s attention on you? All I want you to do is, er, not that. Don’t mess with the Stake or anything like it until we can figure out more about how it works. If you can do that, I’ll try and gather some more information on the demon watching you. Deal?” “...”

- Agree. You’ll have to break your agreement with the Ring, which could put Arthur in serious trouble.

- Decline. You need to do this to save Arthur. Krol probably isn’t real or the Stake probably doesn’t do anything anyway.

- Explain your situation to Su. Try to figure out how to balance your problems with possibly destroying physical reality. ❓ - [You can also suggest anything else you want to talk to Su about in #story_discussion.] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 41 “I... don’t know if I can do that,” you admit. “Huh? Why?” Su seems pretty surprised at this response to what should be a very easy to fulfil request. You figure you’d better explain. Maybe she can help you. “I’ve already agreed to bring it to someone. S-so, when I first arrived at the City of Glass...” You provide a reasonable summary of your situation. Your arrival, Arthur’s kidnapping, your abilities as a Diver, the Ring’s request, and what you’ve been up to with Krol. Why you need to get the Stake. True, they haven’t explicitly asked you to break any seals that may or may not be on it, and it’s possible (though unlikely) it’s not even the same one Su is worried about. But you’re not that credulous; it’s definitely the same one and they definitely want you to use it to break Krol out. It would be fairly easy to just not do that, but you’re obviously quite reluctant to put Arthur in any more danger when you’re so close to rescuing him. “So, is there anything you can suggest to fix this? I don’t have a lot of time to think about it; they want me to bring the Stake back within a week. Can you track Arthur and help me break him out? If your patron is so powerful...?” “Not in the City of Glass,” she demurs. “Intaqui - any demon, really - has a very, very hard time entering the City since it’s not really part of Earth. He explained it to me that the City is an extension of Earth, but it’s blocked by a gate a lot like the ones used to enter the dreamworlds. Demons are naturally attuned to the dreamworlds because that’s where they were born, but the City of Glass works on different magic and different natural laws. Without a priest here, their power can’t manifest.” “Aren’t you his priest, though?”

9:43 PM

“Well...” Su seems a little embarrassed to say the next part. “I am, but I’m also dead. My original body is long gone, and although I can manifest physically like demons can, I can’t do it in the City for the same reason demons can’t: my physical body comes from the same source now.” “...” You hesitate, trying to tell if she’s joking. “Y-you’re dead...? You look pretty alive to me...” A smile; she doesn’t seem that broken up about it. “I can look however I want in dreams. But if you met me in person, I admit I probably wouldn’t look very dead either. It’s a complicated state of being. But!” She claps her hands again, trying to get back on track. “We’re supposed to be talking about your problems, not mine! I could probably appear to your mentor in his dreams much like I’m doing to you now, and if he knows anything useful I could pass that knowledge on to you.” “He probably doesn’t know where he is, though,” you murmur. “Plus, I doubt I could break him out on my own even if I knew...” “Hmmm. I do have some alive human friends I could ask for help - they would be able to enter the City - but I honestly don’t know how to get here in the waking world.” “I have all my notes; I can show you!” You pause right after saying that, though. Not only should you be careful allowing people you don’t know to follow you into the City of Glass, but also... “The trip will definitely take more than a week, though, unless there just so happens to be a really immediate ferry in the right place...” “It might be worth a try anyway, if you’re willing to show me.” Su taps her head in thought as you try to decide whether you’re willing or not. “Okay, what about the other angle then? We’ve thought about how to avoid getting the Stake at all, but what about dealing with it after you’ve retrieved it?” “Are you thinking about just stealing it back from the Ring once I’ve freed Arthur?” you ask. “That sounds like it would have the same problems as trying to break him out, but even worse.”

9:43 PM

“Yeah, but we could maybe put a second seal over it before you give it to them? Stall it long enough that they can’t break it open?” “What if they try to make me break it before considering my job done? Also, how would you even seal it if you can’t physically come here? Or did you want me to do it?” “You could bring it into your dreams and I can seal it here!” Su declares energetically, before deflating a little. “But you’re right that they’d probably make you break it... Plus,” she realizes belatedly. “You probably don’t know how to bring stuff into your dreams.” “It’s not exactly a common skill!” You discuss a few more options after that, all of varying levels of unlikely to work, before suddenly and unceremoniously waking up. Your alarm - right. You’re supposed to be getting up early today so you can meet with a representative of the very organization you were just plotting to foil. Well, there’s not much you can do about Su until tonight, when she will hopefully be back to finish your conversation. Maybe with some extra information about Arthur or the mysterious demon that’s causing your curse? ... Urgh, speaking (thinking) of your curse, it’s back in full force and it seems to be mad about your temporary reprieve. You close your eyes and try to ignore the menacing phantoms nipping at them as you work out what your best move is. You still don’t fully trust Su, but she certainly seems a lot more genuine than the Ring people. Should you really give her your notes, though? And - ah; you almost forgot! Victor’s on his way too; maybe he can help you break Arthur out? If you can convince him to help instead of just dragging you back home, that is...

9:43 PM

Okay, it’s already been a little longer than you thought and you need to get ready to meet Barnaby for shopping. Sometime today, though, you need to decide on what your plans for the next week will be.

️ - Give Su your notes; allow her to bring her “alive human friends” here.

- Do not. It’s just more of a risk.

- Intend to break Arthur out before / rather than giving up the Stake. ↩️ - Intend to fulfil your deal with the Ring, then deal with the Stake. ❓ - Intend to do something more complicated. [Suggest an alternate plan in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

️ , ↩️ = ❓ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 42 You meet Barnaby in front of one of the high-end Diver stores, like the one you didn’t buy anything from way earlier. He acts pretty normal in the daylight, introducing you to some of the staff and offering suggestions on what might be helpful in the depths. Price seems to be no object - the Ring must be expecting an absolute windfall from you, which is quite worrying - so you end up with all sorts of stuff even though you try to show restraint in the event that this shopping trip isn’t quite as free as he seemed to imply. Lights, tools, a tailored armored suit fitted to your body. Leitman discs and more traditional reading material: memoirs and memories from Divers who had been that deep and survived. Apparently, it’s fairly common for trench Dives to take an entire day or longer, so you’ll get the opportunity to test that hypothesis from when you first arrived about sleeping underwater. There are some cable-and-net type things that are used to secure you to a wall or something so you don’t drift away overnight. Barnaby won’t let you see how much all of this costs, though given the prices on the individual items you’ve seen, it must be at least tens of thousands of membra - and likely far more, since the personalized suit doesn’t even have a list price. They’re expecting you to earn them more than this back, for sure; this is far too much money to spend without being extremely confident. After that, you return to your room, laden with all your new things. Eridya contacts you on your pane, asking how the Ring meeting went, and you tell her that you’ve made a deal with them and that she shouldn’t expect to see you for a while, probably.

10:26 PM

The rest of the afternoon is spent immersed in memories, experiencing the crushing weight of the depths as Divers swim through utter darkness. Somewhere past the range of “your” light is the source of that deep, distant rumbling echo, but it never appears. Glints of smaller but still massive creatures float by the edges of your vision: pale, slow-moving things unused to light and bleached by long immersion in the abyss. In the trenches, it seems, things will hunt you. Unknown, unseen things that are only sensed through the debris they leave behind and the low, chirping clicks that they send out to vibrate through the water. If you are caught by one of those things - if you even get close enough to see one - you are dead. Such is the wisdom of the Divers who survived, and the reason that the unknown, unseen things remain unknown and unseen. You shiver as you listen, peering around the thick, empty water and hoping that you’ll be able to make it out. It takes a little longer than before to reassert your own thoughts as you lie immobile on the couch for quite a while. It helps to repeat your name to yourself, but to start with there’s a dreadful sense of uncertainty about it. Is that really your name, or are you just tricking yourself into thinking so? That sensation passes before long, but you’ve got some grave doubts about even using Leitman discs at this point, let alone recording any. After dinner, you return to working on the magic bag while trying to come up with any better ideas before your presumed second dream-meeting with Su. You’d very much like to take it with you to the depths, so you’re working hard to get it done quickly. The patterns you’ve chosen to inscribe aren’t that complicated, as this sort of thing goes, so it’s really just a battle between you and your lying eyes. It helps to give them something else to look at besides what you’re directly focusing on; you pretend to multitask by leaving a book out as the letters dance above the page.

10:27 PM

What about a second Stake? It’s obvious once it occurs to you. If it’s possible to add a second seal onto the existing Stake, why not add that seal to a second one, and then just give the decoy to the Ring instead? Surely they won’t be able to tell the difference as long as you’re crafty enough; they haven’t seen it before either! Or, if you’re that worried about it, you could even give them the original Stake as agreed, but secretly enchant a second one to keep Krol sealed after the first is broken. With the original to use as a template, surely you’d be able to copy the important bits over. It’s old and glyph magic has come a long way since it was made; you have so many more efficient patterns that you might even be able to improve on it. Okay, that last part’s a little optimistic, especially with only a few days available, but the plan’s not bad overall. Next, the only remaining thing you have to decide before you go to bed is whether you’ll show Su your notes on how to get to the City of Glass. You’re still a little nervous about letting someone you don’t know - who’s clearly quite powerful - bring her friends here, but at the end of the day you honestly trust her more than the Ring and it would sure be nice to have some powerful allies around. You don’t have all your notes with you - Victor probably has the important ones - but you scrounge up enough to be useful and can pull the rest from your memories. You’re ready. ... “Hello again!” You’re back in the cool, drizzly enclosed porch; Su’s pulled you back here before you could even slip into a normal dream. She’s wearing a much more casual blouse and swishy pants outfit tonight, as opposed to the intimidating maroon suit, and seems quite excited to continue your conversation. “It was so much easier to get ahold of you now that I’ve met you,” she explains, sounding very relieved. “I’m a lot less tired this time and I’ve brought some useful information. I hope you’ve had a productive day too!”

10:27 PM

You shrug-nod. “I learned a lot about the trenches, and I’ve had some ideas. Plus, I brought some of my notes about how to get to the City of Glass.” “Oh, you’re happy to have my friends meet you there? I’ve asked around and got some volunteers - plus some people who’d like to come, but can’t. Too full of silver; there’s no way she’d be able to pass the gate.” “Silver...?” “Never mind that; let’s exchange info. After that, I can take you to see some people, if you’d like. And if they’re asleep, that is. Can never tell with time zones...” Su has some information about... [You can get less information about more things, or more about fewer things.]

- Arthur and the Ring.

- Krol and the Stake.

- The City and the depths.

- The demon and your curse. Su takes you to visit...

- The friends she’s intending to bring to the City of Glass.

- Arthur, briefly.

- A demon, or two.

‍

- Your brother. ❓ - Someone else...? [Specify who. Su is powerful but not omnipotent, and the target must be asleep.] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 43 First, you share your notes about visiting the City of Glass. You don’t have the ability to physically bring anything into your dreams, so you want to get this part done before you forget or misremember the details. The steps aren’t that hard; they’re just obtuse and there are a lot of them that rely on factors external to the traveler. Weather patterns, ferry routes, planetary alignment; all the sorts of vaguely magic-adjacent things you might expect. Really, listing it aloud makes you feel like a fraud; caring about the specifics of Jupiter’s angle with Saturn sounds like something you’d see in a cartoon or fantasy novel, and that’s not even to speak of the far stranger factor of the average daily delay of the east coast’s passenger ferries. Seriously; if the schedule gets too far out of whack (or goes too perfectly), the transfer won’t work. Just remembering how long it took you to figure that one out nearly brings on a headache. After that, since you’re already talking, you bring up your idea of duplicating the Stake. “I think it’ll be a little harder than you’re suggesting,” Su ponders, looking up at the ceiling. “But it is a good idea. How confident are you in being able to copy a complicated spell able to seal a god, though?” “Very,” you nod. And that’s not even a lie. “The temple I found with the Krol idol was ancient, so if the seal is real, it must have been cast even before that. Glyph magic has been improved so much in the past few millennia that everything I’m working with in the modern day is way more efficient than anything the ancients could have come up with. I’m sure I can rewrite the seal and maybe even improve it.”

5:32 PM

“That can’t be the whole story,” she protests. “I may not be that familiar with glyph magic outside of dreamwalking rites, but if it was that easy to make seals that powerful, wouldn’t more people be doing it? Won’t you need a power source, a sacrifice, or some sort of long ritual to activate the seal, even if you write it out perfectly?” “Well...” You think back to all the family rituals you took part in over your life. The glyphs are the base, sure, but without anything to enable them, they’re just writing. Symbols only instruct and direct power; they aren’t powerful on their own. “Yes. But I have some ideas for that. Maybe siphoning from the original Stake as sort of a transfer rite; that’s not too complex to set up. Maybe consuming some of the secrets or artifacts in the City. Maybe if we can set up a conduit, you or your patron can offer energy too. I think it won’t be too hard to power it, especially if we’re not trying to equal its strength when it was first created.” “... Okay.” Su decides to take your word for it. “You’re the expert here. Just make sure to get help if it’s not as easy as you expect.” You nod. Su doesn’t need to hear your information about the trenches as she’s not going there herself, so it’s her turn to share. To start with, it seems she’s done some research into the Stake’s original creation and the god Krol generally. “I’m a little familiar with artifacts that are used to imprison powerful beings like demons, so I approached it from that angle. With so much other stuff to take care of today, I didn’t have time to go exploring in the true dreamworlds for anything, but I did look around on Earth a bit. You’ll be glad to know that the Stake and the Krol cult don’t seem to have anything to do with the cult I told you about yesterday - remember the one that was involved with me becoming a priest and dying?”

5:33 PM

“A-are you really dead-dead, by the way?” you ask hesitantly as she looks at you for confirmation that you remember. “I figured it might have been, like, special priest terminology or something...?” “No, I’m really dead. I’m a ghost - wooOoOOOOo!~” Su turns briefly transparent, like her body is made of nothing but pale, spectral mist, then snaps back to full, solid opacity. “But that’s not important!” “It kind of seems important...” you mutter, but don’t distract her further. You suppose you’ll have to revise your previous certainty that ghosts aren’t real... seriously, what?? If there’s one unbreakable rule you know from all your time around magic, it’s that death is final. No magic - no priest; no demon; no god - nothing can restore the dead to life. You can animate dead bodies like classic zombies or such, and you can evoke echoes or memories of those who have passed on, but resurrection or true continuation after death just isn’t possible. You have to assume she must have been transformed in a death-like way, rather than actually dying for real, and you’d really like to know more. Now isn’t the time, but soon... “Anyway, you’re right that the Stake is ancient. It’s so old that I couldn’t even find anything pointing to an original creation date, though again I only had less than a day. It’s definitely prehistoric, and honestly, it might even be pre-human. Millions upon millions of years, or longer. When you think about a god on Krol’s scale, though, that makes sense. If it being bound is responsible for solid matter at all, how would humans have been involved in its initial sealing? In fact, how was there even a physical stake to cast the spell on before solid matter existed?” “...” She’s got a point.

5:33 PM

“After that, I went looking for evidence about what Krol actually is. I asked some of the demons I’m on friendlier terms with, and they mostly knew about the cult rather than Krol itself. That probably means it isn’t a demon, since demons like to keep tabs on each other - especially really powerful ones like Krol would be - unless it’s so old it’s been sealed since basically before the Earth had life. Which... again, that’d make sense - how could the Earth have been around before solid matter?” “So, you think it’s either very real, or very fake?” “I guess you could put it like that. Yeah, I haven’t been able to find anything that suggests Krol is on the power level of other major beings I’m familiar with, and I don’t know when the Stake was made. It could be a scam and it’s not real at all... or it could very much be the opposite.” “I guess it’s safer to assume it’s true than not, huh?” “I think so. Oh, I also found how out the Stake got to the City of Glass. It was a fight between Krol devotees who wanted to free it and a group of protectors under a trio of warrior demons about...” She counts on her fingers. “Six thousand years ago? So kinda recent, actually; the Stake used to be somewhere around Egypt, apparently. But there was a big fight and a big chunk of ground got dropped here in the fallout.” “That might explain where that cave came from,” you muse. “And it matches with the age of some of those symbols...” “And one more thing! One of my demon friends knows a few fate/luck demons who might be the one you’re looking for with your curse. Do you have any more details you can share - timeframe, symptoms, anything else you notice about it - that could help him narrow it down?”

- Boy do you ever.

- Share the most important stuff, but not the minute, embarrassing, possibly dangerous details.

- No thanks. (Winner:

chosen by author discretion) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 44 “Yes. It’s a curse on my family that I’ve been studying. Since the mid-1800s, around Cornelius’ time...” You go over the salient details, explaining when you think it started, the onset period for descendants, the general symptoms you’re aware of, the whole “unexpected and increasingly unlikely deaths” thing; that stuff. You skim over your own experience with it, saying only that it seems to have taken hold in you much earlier than you expected. There’s no need to tell Su about your personal struggles. She records what you tell her using a simple dream-based microphone or something - at least it’s not another Leitman disc - and says she’ll get it to the demon in question. Hopefully that means you’ll get some more answers by the time you come back from the depths. After that, it’s time to visit someone. Your first choice is obviously Arthur, thinking he might be able to share something he couldn’t with the Ring person standing over him. And even if not, it would be nice to get to speak with him without an enemy listening in. “Okay, I’ll try,” Su says, not seeming confident. “I couldn’t get to him yesterday since I don’t know him very well, but with you here to act as an anchor, it should be easier. Ready?” You nod. Dreamwalkers find it easier to enter the dreams of those they have connections to, she explains while drawing a doorway in midair with her metzmatan symbol. That could be simple - a name, a photo, a possession of the target - or deeper - a relationship, physical proximity in the waking world, or (in this case) someone related to the target. Deeper connections tend to work better in overcoming barriers to connect to protected minds, which is part of why she had such a hard time dreamwalking to you in the first place: she didn’t know you beyond just your name.

5:44 PM

“...” The doorway forms as a rippling silver rectangle floating for a moment before snapping to the nearest solid surface. A wooden door matching the room’s existing style fades into being there, though it seems damaged. The paint is peeling and rot is visible near the bottom. “Yeah, I was afraid of that,” Su says, stepping closer and tapping at it. “I formed the connection, but his sleep is too fragmented for it to be stable. I bet it won’t even open; want to give it a try?” She motions to the doorknob; you take her place and give it a solid twist. It hardly moves, behaving as if the door is locked. “It’s not opening,” you confirm. “Sorry,” she apologizes, wiping the door away with her hand after jiggling the doorknob herself a bit. The wall behind it returns instantly. “We can try someone else if you want, though.” “... What about the friends you want to bring here?” you ask. “It might be easier to work with them if we’ve met before.” And I can see if they seem like good people, you add to yourself. “Oh, that’s a good idea! Let me think; who would be sleeping right now...? Maybe...” Su draws a second doorway, snapping it to the same spot on the wall. It forms into another wooden door, though this time looking much less damaged. “Here, this one should work. Go ahead.” Cautiously, you open the door and, with a glance back at Su for approval, step through into a darkened apartment hallway. She follows right behind, and as soon as she’s through, the wall reasserts itself. Wallpaper rearranges, overwriting the doorway back to the misty porch. “Is that supposed to happen?” you whisper, just feeling like you should. It looks like night time here. “Yeah; I’d have to make a second gate to leave,” Su responds at a normal volume, walking confidently down the hall. “Lantoon?” she calls, her voice echoing loudly. “Where are you?”

5:44 PM

You start to hear knocking as you scurry after her, too weirded out to let her get too far ahead. What happens if you get separated from your guide in someone else’s dream? Surely you wouldn’t be stuck there, right? But just in case, you should stick close. A few turns later, the knocker comes into view. A tall, broad man in a smart suit has just lowered his hand as an apartment door opens. “Here,” he says, offering a wicker basket to the occupant of the apartment. “I tried sending you... wait.” He looks to his right, noticing you and Su standing there in the hall. She gives him a wave. “Back already? Very well, then.” He nods to the apartment occupant, a young woman with ghost-white hair holding a white-and-cream cat and peeking curiously out at everyone, before abruptly closing the door on her. “It’s so cute that you dream about Allie so much!” Su exclaims, hurrying over as the scene begins to shift. You walk quickly behind her, realizing you’re in a modern glass-and-steel office building by the time you arrive. “When are you going to tell her-” The man - Lantoon, you presume - cuts her off. “I see we have a guest today. Instead of prying into my professional relationship with my coworker-” he looks at you momentarily as he says that, as if to emphasize that he disagrees with Su’s assessment. “-perhaps you should introduce us.” “Right. Vivienne, this is Agent Cameron Lantoon, but everyone calls him Lantoon. He’s one of the friends I mentioned. Lantoon, this is Vivienne Redmarsh. She’s the one I told you about yesterday.” The two of you shake hands. His is so much larger than yours it’s almost comical. You’re of average height, but you still feel like a child standing next to this giant of a man. “You have further intelligence?” he asks, getting straight to the point. “Or is this just a courtesy call?”

5:44 PM

“A little of both. I can tell you a bit more about the Stake that I found today, plus relay Vivienne’s instructions on how to get there, but it’s more just so you two can meet before you do in reality.” He looks at you again with a flat, almost scary expression. Something occurs to you. “Er, ‘Agent?’” you ask quickly. “Agent of what?” “That’s a good point,” Lantoon agrees, focusing briefly on Su again. “Have you told her exactly where her secrets are going to end up?” Su shrugs. “Didn’t seem that important to me.” Lantoon shakes his head. “You’re becoming more demon-like each time you visit.” Su protests in surprise, but he ignores her to answer your question. “I am a special agent with the Anomalous Investigations Bureau, an agency tasked with investigating anomalies and preventing magical disasters. Although we’re somewhat separated from the bulk of political infighting due to the secrecy, we are still a branch of the United States federal government. I will offer my assistance, but I will do so in an official capacity. Are you okay with that?” Your eyes widen; the existence of an “AIB” is a popular conspiracy theory in certain corners of the internet, but you had never really put much stock into it. Magic is an underground, secret thing; there wouldn’t be an official government department to manage it... except now, apparently there is. Unless they’re both messing with you, but if you’ve decided to trust Su this far, you might as well trust Lantoon as well. At least, to the extent that he isn’t lying about his employer. Whether you’d trust him, and by extension the government, to help you, though... [Obviously you’ll ask him for more details, but in general, your feeling is...]

- You’re okay with this.

- You’re not okay with this. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 45 “Maybe,” you reply neutrally. “What does that mean?” Broadly speaking, the effects are twofold. First, it means he’ll be able to bring equipment designed to counter magical threats and agents trained to use it. Your chances of successfully dealing with the Ring will be significantly higher if they try to pull anything against you than if you were just on your own. Second, it means the AIB will learn about the City of Glass. And, since you already gave Su your instructions, how to enter it. But, to be quite frank, it’s not your job to police how the government may or may not use the City’s resources. In fact, you feel like it would probably become a far bigger problem for you personally if you tried to back out now, after coming this far. You’ve already got the glass mafia after you; you don’t need the actual government too. If they’ll help you deal with your problems and not cause you any new ones, you don’t particularly mind providing the information. Plus, it’s not like you’re the only one to have ever figured this out; it’s difficult, but certainly not impossible. No, holding back here would just cause more of a mess. In the end, you agree to let Lantoon help you in his official capacity. “And, as usual when we encounter non-hostile magic users, I will offer you the chance to interview for a position in the AIB, should you desire one. Subject to paperwork, a background check, and the interviews going well, of course, but we can always use more talented people.” You hesitate. Lantoon doesn’t seem surprised. “Don’t answer now. Think about it; let’s get your mentor back safely first.” “And stop all solid matter from dissolving!” Su interjects. “Indeed. Now, explain this plan in more detail.” “So, first we have Vivienne go get the Stake...” ...

8:15 PM

You wake up late, as usual. Your head is full of plans and information from Lantoon and Su. It hardly feels like you’ve slept at all, which makes sense as you’ve been “awake” for most of your rest. Lantoon seems nice. Sort of “protective older brother” kind of energy; he reminds you a little of Victor, although with less obsessive curse-related semi-insanity. He seemed to have a really good grasp of logistics, quickly working out a coherent plan for the three of you (plus any additional agents he’ll bring along) to minimize the risk of anything going wrong with Arthur or the Stake. You’re grateful for his help - and Su’s, of course - but now you feel a little aimless. You’ve still got your own part to play; you need to Dive and get the Stake for any of this to work. But you didn’t come up with the plan and you’re not even the most competent person working on it. It’s... it’s not jealousy; more like... Ugh. You don’t know. You feel disquieted and you don’t know why. You’re closer to your goals than ever before, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve earned it, really. Su just showed up one night and promised to help solve your problems for you. “...” Maybe that’s it. Maybe you’re just too used to working on things on your own. You’ve had Arthur, sure, but you never told him about your curse. And you had Victor alongside you at times, but with his mental state he’s hardly reliable. It feels odd sharing so much so quickly, even though you’re still holding a few secrets back. A sigh. You could take the plunge today. Right now, even. You know where the trench is and what trains will take you there - or you could even just swim from your front door if you wanted. Your emotions feel dull, somehow; the fear of the depths isn’t strong. It would be easy enough, if everything were already packed.

8:15 PM

But the idea of having to stand up and put things into bags, change into your suit, and prepare all your tools is just annoying enough that you remember you wanted to finish your magic bag first. That’ll definitely make it a lot easier to pack, so you’d better get back to it. Hope your eyes behave. ... Two days pass. You finish the last of the stitching and perform the activation rite to transform your weird-looking but otherwise normal bag into a magical one. The glyph patterns shimmer and change color, and you can now fit your entire arm into a bag that’s no larger than your head. You pack up, sliding tools, equipment, provisions, and more into the space while feeling irresponsibly smug that you were the one to make it. You’re so talented, and smart, and probably humble, too. The armored Diving suit is super noticeable to the point that you don’t want to take the train even wearing normal clothes over it. Everyone will know what you are, and you just don’t want to deal with that. Instead, you just step outside, double check everything again, and splash right into the water below your door. You’ll swim from here to the mouth of the trench, then descend. This part isn’t anything new and you motor along under the surface without much care. There’s nothing at these upper depths that can hurt you; just those tiny silvery fish and occasional plants with weird semi-toxic properties. You spend the time getting used to swimming in the suit and with your bag attached, clipped to a ring on the suit so you can’t lose it even if you drop it. Despite the extra weight and drag from the bag, you still find it a little easier than before. Maybe the high quality materials of the suit are just that good. Or maybe you’ve gotten stronger.

8:15 PM

The mouth of the trench comes into view after not quite an hour. A long time to swim, but you’ve got enough energy to keep going after a quick break and a very soggy snack. You stare down into the massive, jagged break in the sea floor, imagining what sort of incredible forces must have been involved in its creation. And then someone swims out of it. You choke on your food, eyes widening as you scramble to decide how to respond to a fellow Diver. You’ve never met one before, so to see one here, just as you’re about to descend into... wait. Where’d...? You spin around, searching the shadowy water. You could have sworn there was just...

️ - Probably just your curse again. Try not to worry about it.

- Be careful and keep an eye out. You don’t know that for sure. ⏩ - Try to make it all the way down and get the Stake, and come back out of the danger zone, all today. ⏱️ - Try to make it almost to the bottom before stopping to sleep. Just above the danger zone.

- Take your time; conserve energy and keep watch. Stop well above the danger zone for tomorrow. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 46 The idea that this is your curse at work and there was never anyone there does occur to you, but upon reflection you’d much rather be too paranoid than surprised if it does turn out to be real. The water is dim and murky enough here that you could have easily lost a real person if they do exist. Down you go. You already had the suit’s orb light on at the trench’s mouth to deal with the general gloom, but now you click on the head-mounted beam lights too, sending a flood of illumination wherever you look. You have it on reasonable authority that most of the creatures down below are nearly or completely blind, so the light shouldn’t give away your position to anything dangerous... unless that other Diver is still around somewhere. Somehow, you doubt they’ll simply be happy to cooperate if you meet them. Just a hunch. The trench reminds you a lot of the drop-off where you found that golem a while ago. Pale, sandy walls above quickly give way to buckled, jagged stone that scatters your light with a strange, almost crystalline (or glass-like, you suppose) glitter. A few straggling fish from above dare to follow you down a short distance - the silver ones with the prominent snouts - but they all turn back before the distant sunlight fades completely. And then it does, and you’re alone in the blackness. Nothing but you, your light, and the interminable cliff stretching in all directions. Thick, heavy water surrounds and presses against you, slowing your movements without actually crushing you like you’re certain it should. At the same time, you start to notice a decrease in the effectiveness of your light. At first, you’re worried the power source is starting to fail already, but the suit’s readout informs you that everything is still well-charged and working perfectly. No, it’s not the light that’s the problem: it’s the water.

6:18 PM

Just as your body is having trouble moving through the thickened water, so too is the light from your beam struggling to pierce the darkness. It scatters and reflects towards the edge of its ever-so-slowly shortening range, forming a hazy, fog-like effect. It’s not like you could see past the light’s reach anyway, but the misty barrier around your vision makes you feel claustrophobic regardless. With all these problems stacking up, you make sure to move slowly and cautiously, keeping close watch around you for anything that might be approaching and conserving your energy for the even more arduous task tomorrow. You’re not going to reach the bottom of the trench today - not at this pace - but you don’t intend to. You’d much rather sleep well above the abyss where those clicking, chirping things roam and then take on that certain horribleness tomorrow when you’re well rested. Occasionally, something will pass you in the open water away from the cliff edge. You never get a good look at these things; they’re either outside the range of your light or too massive to fit more than a glimpse within it. Still, you can hear them. Low, mournful calls that remind you of whalesong. Dull, deep rumblings that call to mind rockslides or earthquakes. Soft, papery rustling that seems like it shouldn’t carry through the water, yet somehow does. Great pale bulks are all you can see of these mysterious creatures, and you often press yourself closer to the jagged cliffside to stay further out of their way whenever they slowly swim by. Aside from those occasional moments of tension, your descent is mind-numbing. Nothing but empty water and the cliff passing by as your muscles tire. Sometimes you pause to rest, eating one of the snacks out of your waterproof bag with mouthfuls of seawater. There’s no other way to do it down here; there’s no air to take the water’s place. At least you didn’t have to pack any actual water, as drinking from the sea causes you no harm.

6:18 PM

So matters continue until late at night, when the cliff grows black and shiny like onyx or obsidian (or opaque black glass, you suppose), your depth gauge indicates you’re within an hour of the danger zone, and your limbs feel like lead from the entire day of swimming you just did. It’s time to rest. You attach the net thing to the rock using suction anchors, since it’s far too hard to use the hook anchors and far too smooth to simply tie it off, then float your way inside. It’s vaguely like a hammock, except without gravity. You’d probably be pretty comfortable sleeping like this if you weren’t worried about being killed overnight. The chirping, clicking things don’t come up this far, so you won’t be in any danger from them (unless something truly unprecedented happens (but it won’t so shut up)). The massive pale creatures pose more of a potential danger, but you’re a little less wary after having not been bothered by any of them all day. It seems they tend to avoid the wall, so sticking yourself to it should keep you fairly safe. No, the real threat you’re worried about is that other Diver. You haven’t seen them again since the trench mouth, but you haven’t forgotten and sometimes, far above you and faint enough it could be your eyes playing tricks, you’ve spotted a little glimmer of light. Nothing at all? Your curse? Bioluminescent creatures? Or maybe a Diver following you?

6:18 PM

Because of your ongoing paranoia and the fact that you haven’t completely exhausted yourself by going too fast, you have the motivation and just about enough energy left to do something about that particular concern. You draw a large ritual circle on the smooth wall around your net, using a waterproof marker you bought earlier just in case you wanted to do magic underwater. Add in the proper glyphs, then float back to check your work. Oops, messed up the primary chain that links the trigger to the effects; better fix that real quick. Good thing you weren’t tired enough to miss that mistake... There. You tap the circle to activate it, feeling a brief surge of dizziness as it leeches off your already-depleted energy and then fades to near-invisibility. Now you can rest with your safety - and the destruction of any intruders - as assured as you can make it.

️ - You dream.

- You do not dream.

- The circle triggers.

- The circle does not trigger. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 47 Your dreams that night are drowned in darkness and mostly forgotten. All you remember upon waking up in the net is a slow, distant sense of dreadful pursuit. The circle never triggered, its glyphs remaining untouched. Nothing bothered you overnight and nothing looks or seems different this morning. If it weren’t for your recovered energy and soreness from yesterday’s exertion, you’d hardly be able to tell if you had slept at all. Well, and the clock. That helps too. You’re not hungry, but you make yourself eat something anyway because you know you’ve burnt a lot of energy getting down here and you’re about to leap headfirst into another strenuous day. After that, you attend to your suit and equipment, verifying functionality, unpacking and repacking various tools you want easily accessible or not, and ensuring the levels of all the important readouts still look good. No problems anywhere, so you decide to turn on the assisted swimming feature. You didn’t use it yesterday because you wanted to save charge, but the suit has the ability to enhance your movements to let you push through the water with more ease. After gathering up the net and pointing downwards, you kick further into the depths and nod to yourself at how much less grueling the process is now. The suit is combating the strain from the thicker water, making it almost as easy to move as if you were back at the surface. This will help you avoid fatigue and - in any of several dangerous scenarios - escape more quickly. You’ll just need to keep an eye on the battery and turn it off if it gets too low. Under absolutely no circumstances do you want to be stuck down here without any lights.

9:57 PM

Now that the bottom of the trench is approaching, you should probably start figuring out where the Stake of the Imprisoned God actually is. Fumbling around lost in the death zone is another thing you definitely want to avoid, so you slow your movements a little as you pick out the tool you packed for this purpose. Barnaby and the Ring actually gave you shockingly little direction in tracking the precise location of the Stake, claiming any competent Diver should be able to figure it out on their own. Of course, they know you’ve only been here for a few weeks, so it’s beyond you to guess why they would think you know a darn thing about complicated Diving like this. Luckily, while you may or may not be a competent Diver, you certainly are a competent magician. Arthur’s lessons on theory didn’t have too many applications in flashy, obviously impressive arts, but you can cobble together a signature tracker with the best of them. Helps a lot with archaeology, too, which is why Victor knows how to make them as well. How is he doing, by the way? you briefly wonder as you retrieve the tool. You haven’t heard from him in a while. Since that dream of the ship...

9:58 PM

Anyway, your version of the tracker is pretty simple. You usually use paper, but here the central feature is a stack of waterproof membrane sheets inked with the same waterproof marker you used earlier. Each one bears a simple glyph representing your target: in this case, you wrote down the literal name of the Stake, plus the glyph you’ve seen representing Krol, and connected them with a few minor chains that represent the relationship you imagine it to have with the god (i.e. imprisonment). Drawing the tracking glyphs is sort of an art form, honestly. You have limited space and really limited power, so you can’t use anything too complex and certainly none of the core empowerment sigils. Doing anything too ambitious will cause the paper to burn away when you try to use it, or alternatively cause the tracker to take an impractical amount of energy to operate if you use more resilient materials. But the point of your version is to be cheap and fast to construct, so you tend to use bargain-bin stuff just barely sufficient to avoid blowing up. This time around, you just stuffed the membrane stack into a thin glass case (you think it came from a tissue box or something similar) and painted a simple activator on one side. You won’t be winning any aesthetics awards with this thing, but you will (hopefully) be able to find the Stake.

9:58 PM

The first sheet crinkles to life with a fitful glimmer as you tap the activator glyph. Ink concentrates in the top-right portion of the symbol, as if pulled by gravity towards some distant point near the sea floor. You alter your course towards it, aiming to end up with the ink pooling straight ahead of you, but are unable to fully complete the course correction before the ink burns through the sheet and the membrane falls apart. Little particles drift into the water, undoubtedly contributing to this ocean’s microplastic epidemic. Why was that the first thing you thought of? Anyway, you’ve still got plenty more sheets; you just wanted a general direction to start with. To be honest, you’re deeply relieved it worked at all. If you had fundamentally misunderstood the Stake’s purpose - like if Krol wasn’t involved at all - it would have definitely burned away without any directional influence. Or if you were in the wrong trench; the range isn’t great either. You do have a backup tool in your bag, but the side effects are... not pleasant. It’s so much better for the tracker to just work properly. Click... You freeze in place, drifting forward a bit before drag slows you to a halt. The low, almost chirping tone of the sound unsettles you like you imagine a sonar ping painting a torpedo target on your ship might. You’ve heard the sound before, through memories of other Divers who have been down here and survived, though it’s a different experience when heard - and felt, as a trembling flex through flesh and organs - in your own body. This is the call of those unseen, creeping things that spell certain death if you get close enough to even see one. You are now deep enough to have entered their domain. From now until you return to safer water above, your survival relies near-entirely upon your ability to avoid them.

9:58 PM

You take a slow, deliberate “breath” of cold, thick water. Focus. Do not panic. You can do this. ⏩ - Move quickly. Stay in danger for as little time as possible.

- Move slowly. Try to stay as undetected as possible.

- Aim directly for the Stake. Move through open water as needed.

- Stay by the cliff wall until you have to move away. You might be safer there, and at least have a point of reference. ⏬ Descend to the sea floor and move across it. Hide amidst the muck and debris of the bottom. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 48 Slow. Careful. Quiet. You stick close to the cliff wall, proceeding in the direction indicated by your first tracking sheet. Every movement through the water feels like it could alert the unknown things, so you minimize motion as much as possible. Drift when you can and push with slight, faint kicks when you can’t. Don’t let any ripples of your presence spread out into open water where they lurk. More clicks; more chirps. More sheets burn away as you refine your direction and slowly sink closer to the bottom. You want to stay by the wall as long as possible, because it offers you both some semblance of shelter and a stable reference point impossible in the total blackness beyond. With your body’s neutral buoyancy in this water, regardless of depth, you might not even be able to figure out which way is up without a reference. No bubbles, either, as your lungs are filled with water. The gauge on your suit can tell you, but you don’t want to completely rely on it. So matters proceed for most of an extremely stressful hour. You work through your stack of tracking sheets, making adjustments in position and depth, while listening to clicking chirps echoing off the wall from intermediate distances. Eventually, however, you can go no further along the wall. The latest sheet points you directly away from it, straight into the ocean. You definitely don’t want to go out there. So instead, you descend. The cliff wall passes by as you swim towards the sea floor, intending to make your way across while using it for shelter in the same way as the cliff itself. At least that way, you’ll know there can’t be any of these things below you. Unless there’s some horrid cave opening amidst the muck and debris of this place at the bottom of the universe. “...”

9:29 PM

A plain of dark, uneven mud comes into view without fanfare and you slow your movement. The cliff wall sinks abruptly into the sea floor, presumably continuing down into the solid material making up the core of whatever glass planet you may or may not be floating above. Broken debris - organic detritus, glass fragments, and artifacts fallen from above - protrude occasionally from the muck. If you were here to treasure hunt, you would have come to the right place. And... well, you sort of have, so you suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in just taking a few of the more interesting artifacts as long as you don’t make any noise doing so. As you drift a few feet above the ground, something occurs to you about the exact wording of the Tower’s notice. “Divers who have descended to the bottom of an abyssal trench...” This certainly is such a trench, but haven’t you only descended to just a few feet above the bottom? You don’t know how precise the Tower will be about this, but you really should try to avoid being disqualified on a technicality, so you lower yourself the final little bit and physically touch the muck below. There, you declare internally, squishing mud through your gloved fingers. No one can say I haven’t been to the actual bottom now. From there, your progress is even slower. You move gradually across the plain, stopping here and there to dig particularly unusual relics out of the muck when you feel you have time. The clicks come and go, sometimes sounding terrifyingly close and sometimes going multiple minutes between them. You can’t help but feel that your continued survival on the sea floor is mostly just luck, as there doesn’t seem to be any pattern to their approximate locations and it’s beyond you to know when might be safe to continue and when you should stop. Then you find that cave you were thinking about.

9:29 PM

You hesitate at the entrance - a small, slimy affair choked with mud and half-closed with debris - and burn an entire tracking sheet floating in place as you try to come up with an excuse to not go in. No such luck; the ink pools directly below. The Stake is down there, or at least your device thinks it is. It’s certainly possible your magic tool is wrong, which gives you a brief sense of hope that you might not have to enter, but you don’t really have any other leads and the signature has been stable this whole time. Well. At least this way, you’re going even deeper than the bottom of the trench. Maybe the Tower will give you extra credit or something. It’s tight and gross and claustrophobic and generally an awful experience as you squeeze your way into the narrow passage. Your bag gets stuck almost immediately and you reluctantly secure it nearby to lower your effective width. Even without it, it’s still such a close fit that you can probably only make it through due to the slick, disgusting muck clinging to every surface. Scary stories about cave diving (not Diving) pass through your head as you imagine getting stuck down here, unable to drown or die of dehydration. You would have to slowly, painfully starve to death in absolute blackness after your lights gave out, unless you could manage to wriggle your way free in the dark. Way to keep a positive attitude, Vivienne. But you just can’t help it! This cave is awful! It’s a sensory nightmare, it’s too narrow and winding to have much idea where you’re going, and it’s just occurred to you that you’ll have to pull the damn Stake out manually, even assuming you do find it, since you just left your bag at the entrance! That thought is enough to consider turning around and worming your bag through regardless of how much effort it’ll take, but then you finally squirm through into a slightly wider space and gag in horrified disgust. Worming... worm... worms... WORMS-

9:29 PM

Hundreds upon hundreds of pale, maggot-like creatures writhe on the walls of this semi-round bubble-like cavern. It’s wide enough you could just about barely turn around in here, but if you tried, you’d brush against all the worms on the walls and ceiling and they’d probably get stuck on your suit and wriggle madly in the plates and straps - or worse, maybe they’d manage to find a seam and crawl inside and AAAAAAA- You back up, your legs crammed against the preceding tunnel at an awkward angle as you stare, sickened, at the worm cave. Your light seems to excite them into a frenzy, and some of them are even breakiNG AWAY FROM THE WALLS! You’re not an adventurer like your brother. You feel like you’re brave enough - after all, you certainly wouldn’t be here at all if you weren’t - but at some point you simply have to draw the line, and the nauseating tableau in front of you seems a great place to draw it. Get a grip, you order yourself. They’re just worms. Keep going. You have to, or you won’t get the Stake and Arthur will die. “...”

- Push through the worm cave. You can do it.

- As

, but also assume it’s probably just your curse playing tricks. There probably aren’t any worms at all!

- As

, but turn off your light so they calm down a little... at the cost of being totally blind...

- You can’t do it! It’s too disgusting! Find some other way; there has to be something else you can do!

- Go back and get your bag. It’ll be tighter with it, but at least you’ll be able to pull the Stake out easier once you find it.

- Leave it where it is. You really can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be trying to squeeze through with it too. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 49 You decide to procrastinate by going back to get your bag. The cave is deeper than you thought and you certainly don’t want to leave it behind; it’ll be a massive pain to get the Stake out without it, no matter how much of a similarly massive pain it’ll be to get the bag in at all. It’s not as wide as your body, so it’ll fit; you just might have to push it ahead or drag it behind you. It’s so much harder exiting backwards, unable to see the next bend in the tunnel as you blindly wriggle back towards the abyssal plain above. You feel like a worm yourself, and that thought sparks something else. Namely, that those worms aren’t real. Surely not; nothing so disgusting could be actually here without any signs above. It’s your damn curse acting up again, without a doubt. All you’ll have to do to get through the worm cave is ignore it - they must be a visual illusion only. Buoyed by this hope, you spend the next several minutes trying to dispel any remaining doubts about the theory while you retrieve your bag and tie it off to push ahead of you through the narrow confines. The worms aren’t real. You’re so relieved. You can do this after all. The cave seems even more offensive on your second visit. Worms wriggle madly through the water, thrown from the walls by the thrashing of their riled-up fellows. Light reflects off pale squirming bodies like a bank of fog. You feel sick, despite your new resolve. Not real. Not real. They don’t exist. Just focus on the opposite side... You shove your way into the cavern, passing quickly through the center before squeezing into the tunnel’s continuation on the other side. Worms collect on your bag and suit, pattering against the material like heavy snowflakes. Like physical snowflakes. Like real things. You lose your mind. Briefly.

6:14 PM

When you come back to your senses, you’ve blown it up. The cave is much larger and bubbling vortices churn the newly-open water. Scorched, pulped worms drift in the current, and a few live ones wriggle frantically on the far wall. None remain on you, but the heat-damaged state of your equipment indicates you were hardly careful when ensuring that. A stream of mud sluices down from above; the ceiling is collapsing in places. You’ve partially opened up this cavern to the ocean above, and you’ve certainly made some noise doing it. A series of chirping clicks echoes from above, so much louder than before that you instinctively press yourself lower. You’ve called them here with that stunt; what should you do?! Do you have time to get back out of here and swim away? Surely not; that sounded like it was right on top of you! There are still tunnels here; can you burrow your way deeper into the - STOP THINKING JUST MOVE!! You spin around and cram yourself into the nearest intact tunnel, squeezing inside and madly clawing your way deeper into the guts of the earth. Chirps click from above you, resounding off the tunnel walls in unpredictable ways that make it seem like the unknown things are right around the corner. The Stake is forgotten in your desperate struggle to just get further away from whatever death those clicking creatures will surely bring. Huff... huff... You’re somewhere deep inside a warren of tunnels twisting through the muddy bedrock of the abyssal trench. You’re stiff with fatigue and have no idea where you are, but at least you haven’t heard any of those clicks in a while. There’s an opening beneath you.

6:14 PM

Stretching out impossibly far below, carved deep into impenetrable glass-stone beneath layers of tiny mud-tunnels, is a massive cylindrical room. Walls of stone; ceiling of mud and water. A gargantuan rough-hewn stone orb hangs chained to the walls by three stakes the size of buses, pouring out rivers of churning crimson. Smaller than your dreams, but still enormous enough to leave you nearly breathless. And far, far below, lapping against the cold, thick water, is a lake of blood sufficient to drown a nation. Emerging from that lake, atop a pedestal of ivory-white rock, is a stake the size of your leg. It’s wrought of a deeply reflective silvery metal with a surface that seems to shift mercurially even from so far above. Pale white light flickers around it, dancing like ghostly flames on the blood and pedestal. This is the Stake of the Imprisoned God. You don’t need to check your tracker to be sure, but you do anyway. Your head hurts; you feel sick. The sheer presence of this... this chained divinity is enough to make you physically ill. Are you dreaming? Is this real? Does it make a difference either way? ⏬ - Swim down and collect the Stake.

- Climb down the sides to reach the lake.

️ - Find an alternate way to approach it, from outside the room.

- Land on the massive orb. Something calls you to it.

- Take the Stake and leave quickly. Staying here too long will not end well.

- Analyze the magic and glyphs found nearby before taking it. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 50 Remembering the last few times you fell into a room like this when the water vanished, you exercise at least a modicum of care and don’t simply swim straight towards the Stake. From this height, you’d definitely die if you fell. Instead, you carefully grab onto the rough, almost cobbled rock wall and begin to climb down, not trusting the water to support you. Your decision immediately pays off as - just like before - the water simply stops near the top of the room and you emerge into impossibly open air. You cling onto the wall, now feeling a lot less coordinated without the water’s buoyancy to back you up, and try not to look down. You have a very long way to go before you reach the bottom. And then... Yeah, try not to think about coming back up. The climb seems interminable. The muddy tunnels in the ceiling (and soon enough, the stone orb as well) sink into the hazy distance above, but the lake below never seems to get closer whenever you ill-advisedly look down. Your fingers hurt; your limbs ache. Why is it that you’ve found yourself climbing again? Should you have trained? Gone to the gym? How could you have possibly anticipated something like this? It’s becoming painfully clear you won’t be able to make it back up. Should you stop? Give up on the Stake? God, your head hurts. You want to throw up. In short, it’s a miserable, endless ordeal that finally does end with an unexpected splash. You look down, reconnecting your brain after the autopilot of the last who knows how long, to find your left foot immersed in the lake of blood. You’ve made it, somehow.

5:05 PM

Releasing your cramped, vice-like grip on the wall takes a surprising amount of effort, and your limbs feel like particularly well-pulped jam as you finally let go and splash into the blood. It’s so much deeper than you expected - both times before, it had only been ankle-deep - and you fall heavily into it. A thick, metallic scent covers your face as you flounder; it quickly becomes clear that blood does not count as water and you cannot breathe it. Instinctual physical revulsion combines with your headache and nausea and you retch into the lake, spitting out deep crimson. Not yours. You hope. After recovering from the initial shock, you forge ahead, wading through the blood towards the pale pedestal. The liquid comes up to your collarbone, dying your body and equipment; occasional droplets leap towards your hair and face with what seems like almost fanatical glee to your overburdened senses. This pool seems to want to claim you. Or, perhaps, what’s inside of you. You can feel your own blood flowing as a quick, shifting current; the sensation is incredibly unpleasant. Briefly, you wonder if tearing your own skin off would - stop it. Stop it stop it stop it this place is getting to you. GOD, your head hurts. You climb the hidden slope beneath the blood. You emerge onto dry land, dripping a violent red to defile the pristine white rock. You stand before the Stake. Your head feels like it’s been split by an axe. The pain is so bad you can hardly stand; you stumble and fall to your knees in front of the thing. Ghostly white flames dance around you; lick upon your skin. They feel ice-cold, freezing where they touch. You can see your breath. You can see your blood. All coiled up inside you. Shouldn’t you let it free? Join the lake; support the most worthy cause. Keep the thing bound that will unchain reality if it is ever freed.

5:05 PM

You find yourself holding the utility knife brought as part of your equipment. Its blade is already stained with blood from the lake. A little more wouldn’t hurt, would it? Why do you still find the thought... so... difficult...? You scream. No elegance or restraint; just raw sound. The loudest you can consciously make. The knife falls from your grasp. Bloody tendrils retreat from your mind, just a little. You cough, soreness blossoming in your throat as you shake your head again and again, trying to rattle loose the thing that’s making your thoughts come out upside-down. A recent memory resurfaces. A lake of blood; a maroon suit. Symbols. A barrier? Hardly even knowing why, you paint the metzmatan onto your forehead, following some deep, half-forgotten understanding of magic. An anchor. Connection. You... chains... Body; Mind; Soul... You lie on the ivory stone, shivering in the cold heat of the ghost-fire. Your head throbs, your throat hurts, and blood tingles just below your skin. But your mind is quiet. A dull, warm heat burns upon your forehead. Symbols drawn in blood. You are a ritual circle, now, and outside influences must contest with your anchoring rite before entering your mind.

5:06 PM

And they do. You can still feel the cavern’s awful, bleeding power beating against your head. Tiny, red-gossamer threads of thought make it past the symbol and wind into your head. But they’re small, weak, and easier to deny than the overwhelming force now foiled by your defense. It won’t last indefinitely - your body can only sustain the spell for so long - but it’s enough to get you back on your feet. You stand up, only swaying a little this time, and regard the Stake properly. Examine the deeply carved circles and glyphs surrounding it. You were unbelievably reckless, casting a spell so close to this thing. Another shiver runs through you as you imagine what would have happened had your modern magic interfered in the wrong way with the ancient seal. You were lucky. You shouldn’t test it again. Head hurts. “...” You trace portions of the glyphs with your eyes, trying to translate the meaning as quickly as you can. Scribble down some notes on spare pieces of that waterproof membrane. It’s more complicated than you had expected, with the Stake interacting with its pedestal like this, and you need to be sure it won’t blow up if you just take it. “Ggghhh...” You stagger as a particularly strong lance of pain stabs through your skull. Your vision dims momentarily, grey sparkles obscuring the room, before recovering. Head hurts. Focus. You just have to read... what does this line mean...? You swear you should know, but it’s so hard to think... Blood runs down your forehead from the symbol. Its power wanes along with your resolve. Even if you confirm it’s safe - even if you cram the Stake into your bag and run back to the wall - what then? Your body physically isn’t up to the task of climbing all the way out of this room. You knew that less than halfway down. What was your plan, again? Find another way out...? Where...?

5:06 PM

A dull ringing grows loud in your ears. Your balance totters; you fall against the Stake’s central plinth, wrapping your arms around it to stop from falling into the blood. Head hurts. You’re so confused. What... were you doing? Surely you had a plan? Your head spins. Your vision narrows. Somewhere in the haze of pain and confusion, you’re aware that you’re about to pass out.

- Take the damn Stake. Who cares if it’s safe; you’re going to die if you don’t do anything!

- Reapply the symbol. It must have dissolved; you need to think...

- Escape. There has to be a way out. Stake or not; just get away from here. [Will also take the Stake if

has at least half the votes of this option.]

- It hurts so much... Pass out. Sleep... [We will be someone else for a while...] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 51 The symbol; the protective rite. You drew it in blood; it must have dissolved. You need a better substance. The markers... where...? Close your eyes and fumble through your bag to find them. Blindly scrawl the metzmatan onto your forehead again, smearing the blood already there. The rest of the rite... how did it go again? You just did this a few minutes ago. There was a chain to... to... The marker slips from your limp fingers and your arm falls to the ground. Your head spins and thoughts fade. You pass out. ... You show the oracle your middle finger and stride away. Your name is Victor Redmarsh and you are on a ferry. It’s full of these weird, incorporeal wraith-like things, plus a few far more infuriating human passengers. One of them is an oracle who keeps trying to read your fortune whenever you inadvertently cross paths with him. You don’t care; you don’t want to know. Fortune-tellers never have anything worthwhile to say, anyway, your ancestor Joseph included. Pretentious prick. The coastline of a glass-and-stone metropolis fades out of the sea fog and you’re briefly heartened by the knowledge that your journey is about to reach its conclusion. Then you’re promptly un-heartened by the knowledge that the hard part is only just beginning. You haven’t been able to check up on your sister during the whole boat ride so far - the scroll linking the two of you doesn’t work on a moving vehicle - and you’re certain she’ll have gotten into even more trouble in the intervening time. At least you’ve arrived about as quickly as you possibly could; the ferry routes just so happened to line up near-perfectly as soon as you deciphered her journal. If you were someone else, you might have given thanks to a god for the good fortune. But you aren’t, so you didn’t. Just a helpful coincidence.

11:55 AM

Ugh. Thinking of Vivienne has threatened to bring back your headache. You hate her. You love her. She’s your idiotic, precious little sister with too much confidence and not enough caution. You’re going to kill her when you find her. Wait, that doesn’t seem quite right. You’re going to save her. You clench your jaw, impatiently sorting through your thoughts. You know you’re not totally stable. You’re aware of the curse. That doesn’t make it any easier to know what urges you should obey or reject. At least you don’t have any gold in your eyes. Yet. Leaving home on such short notice was difficult. You had already postponed your trip to Australia to take care of your father as he went off the deep end and threatened to harm himself or your mother. You hate Vivienne for leaving you in that situation, too. It wasn’t her fault. You don’t care. Regardless, hearing where she was and what she was doing in that rambling, terrifying note you received meant you couldn’t stay. Leaving father to his own devices in his current state was a recipe for disaster, so you imprisoned him. Locked him on the third floor without his tools and gave mother simple, precise instructions on how to keep him alive without risking his escape. To be honest, you give it roughly even odds whether he’ll still be there when you return. It would have been simpler to just kill him. He’s going to die soon anyway; the curse will ensure it. But somehow, despite your known penchant for violence - even against family members - you couldn’t bring yourself to do it when the time came. You suppose that’s encouraging. Distantly, you’re aware that a normal, healthy person wouldn’t kill his own father. Perhaps that means there’s hope for you yet.

11:56 AM

The ferry arrives. You disembark and immediately find somewhere with a desk to stay. Vivienne told you about the one-night adjustment period, so you intend to sleep as soon as possible to get the wraiths looking normal. It’s fairly likely that right now, even if your sister were standing right in front of you, she’d appear to be a wraith to you and vice-versa. Hopefully a quick nap will work, since you have little intention of taking any full night’s rest before finding her. But even before that, you set up the scroll, intending to tell her you’re here and ask if she’s still alive. However, when you unroll and set it up, the symbol in the corner immediately fills with color, indicating she sent something to you already. You receive the message, copying it out to a sheet of wax paper. “Victor,” you read. “I’ll be Diving into an abyssal trench today. I need to retrieve something called the Stake of the Imprisoned God to save Arthur and I can’t wait any longer. Please don’t follow me; it’s too dangerous and I don’t have the time or space to explain all the dangers. Just wait for me to return, if you get here before my next message.” A long blank space, then, crossed-out just above her signature, “If it’s been three days since receiving this message, I may be trapped or dead. Please don’t-” It seems she changed her mind about writing that part. You crumple the wax paper with a flare of anger. How dare she throw herself into yet another terribly risky situation without even waiting for you to arrive? How long had this message been waiting? She neglected to put a date on it, so you have no idea if it came in seconds after you left, seconds before you opened the scroll, or at any time in between. So you decide to assume the worst-case scenario. Your sister is trapped or dead somewhere at the bottom of an abyssal trench, and no one except you knows where or why. It’s your solemn duty as her brother to find her, save her, and berate her for being so stupid.

11:56 AM

First, the nap. You drug yourself with magic, drawing the spell to last just about exactly one hour. After a brief, dreamless sleep, you claw yourself back into consciousness and look out the window to verify the wraiths are ghostly no longer. Good; you had been just a little concerned it would require a longer time, but it seems an hour was enough. Next, find Vivienne. You load up your tracking device with the pre-prepared sigils you drew to represent her. It was tough to fit all your complicated feelings into one tiny glyph, but you’ve had a lot of time to practice. Plus, your tracker, unlike Vivienne’s version, operates at a higher power level. It’s more tiring to run and much more expensive to refill, but it’s more effective. You’ve got energy to spare, and you just need the damn thing to work. You criss-cross the City center a few times on foot and by train, trying to pinpoint the location where the ink’s faint response is leading you. She’s very far away, but it’s certainly reading “down.” Eventually, you decide that the trench must be just below one particular intersection where the water leads down into utter blackness. It’s at this point you think to confirm that you actually are a Diver. Until now, you had been operating on the assumption that of course you are. You’re a Redmarsh and Vivienne’s brother; obviously you would have the same ability. But if it’s actually random instead of based on blood or anything- Your foot passes through the water just like it would any normal lake. Obviously it would; obviously you’re a Diver. You weren’t worried at all.

- Looks pretty dark down there. Maybe get some equipment first, if you can manage it?

- You don’t have time! Compensate with your magic and just get in there immediately! (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 52 Well, time to get going. You had thought to bring a regular swimsuit with you, since you were prepared from Vivienne’s explanation. That, along with the magic tools you brought along, will have to be enough. You don’t have time to go hunting for lights or whatever equipment she must have; you just need to get swimming. So you change in a nearby bathroom and hop straight through the street without hesitation. A modest aura of light surrounds you in your descent, produced by an assortment of slow-burning sigils designed to replace torches or flashlights in areas where flames or electric currents could cause issues. As a bonus, the glyphs are dead-simple, so they won’t interfere with external ritual magic either. The radius is pretty poor, especially as the water seems to be getting thicker the deeper you descend, but it’s enough to see the tracker’s readout. You don’t really need to know where you’re going, specifically. You just need to follow the tracker. “...” It’s a strange sensation to be so weightless. It feels like you’re suspended in thick jelly, your movements slowed by having to push through the substance. If you rest, you quickly stop in place, hovering near-motionless somewhere in the depths. Without the tracker or any reference point from the cliff wall you’ve long-since left behind, it would be all too easy to get turned around down here and not even know which way is up. “...” Huge, pale creatures slide aimlessly past the limits of your light. They seem passive enough. You’re now going essentially straight down, you think, with the tracker having stabilized directly below you. “...” It’s been hours upon hours. How deep is this damn trench? Reluctantly, you pause to rest and eat something. You’ve got some pills here to keep you awake and boost your flagging energy. No need to properly sleep; that’s for sure. “...”

5:22 PM

At some point, the tracker starts wavering a little. Vivienne is moving? If she’s actually fine and you’ve gone through all this for nothing, you really are going to kill her this time. “...” You start hearing deep, chirping clicks echoing through the water. The sound activates some sense of primal danger deep within your body. No matter how aggressive your problem-solving approach tends to be, whatever is making those sounds is not something to be fought. Concerningly, quite a lot of them seem to be coming from essentially exactly the same direction your re-stabilized tracker is pointing. Whatever. You have to go that way, so you’ll deal with whatever they are. “...” The clicking chirps have mostly cleared out by the time you finally reach the wide, dark expanse of abyssal plain that represents the sea floor here. And the huge crater that seems to have been blown in it. You swim around the area, investigating briefly. Remnants of scorched worms, partially burned and partially torn apart by some massive set of teeth. Scraped-away muck revealing strangely striped patterns. Odd deposits of black crystalline glass. You don’t know what any of this stuff is. Your tracker points further down, regardless, so you don’t need to care. Vivienne must be close; there’s hardly anywhere else she could have gone. You’re at the bottom! You have enormous trouble fitting your way into the tight, twisting tunnels bored into mud and rock at the bottom of the crater. Your shoulders are too broad; it’s not like you can fix that with a different position or change of equipment. You could in theory break or dislocate them, but doing so without a proper healing ritual for later would make it very difficult to deal with anything you might have to fight further down.

5:23 PM

A minute passes as you ponder this conundrum, but no more. You don’t have time, and you can hear some of those distant clicking chirps moving inquisitively closer. If you can’t think of anything clever to do, you can always rely on sheer brute force. It’s never let you down yet. Still, there is a choice of what kind of sheer brute force to apply. You can tell that explosives will be quite effective from this giant crater, but those clicks have unsettled you just enough to think that maybe you should be a touch more discreet. Instead, you slip on a pair of heavy cupronickel armbands that squeeze gently around your upper arms. Clenching your hands into fists and turning them sharply inwards activates the tool and your muscles are flooded with temporary strength. You charged these pretty recently, you’re fairly sure. They should last a while. Time to get digging. Scrape... crunch... huff... huff... God DAMN this glass is tough stuff. The muck above was no problem to cleave through, but now that you’re somewhere deep in the trench’s glass bedrock, you’re having to snap through portions of durable glass to widen tunnels on a regular basis. It’s so draining that you’ve actually had to take a few detours into wider passages that you can just about squeeze through instead of taking the most direct route. It’s tough even with the armbands, and they’re just about drained already. Still, you’ve got to be almost there by now. Surely. Crack... crumble... hff... gghh...

5:23 PM

Something red. You cram yourself through the last tiny passage and pop out into a much larger space. You’re floating above a massive stone sphere suspended by three chains, themselves supported by stakes the size of buses. The red light that brought you here is coming from deep below: pale, ghostly white fire reflects off a lake of churning blood. There’s a white pedestal barely visible past the stone sphere, poking up out of the blood and holding a reflective silver stake. Is that “the Stake” your sister was after? Then where is she? You swim to the side a little farther, trying to see past the gigantic orb in your way. There she is. Or, someone, at least. A human form lies face-down on the pedestal a few feet away from the silver stake, restrained by chains on all four limbs. You can’t see details from up here, but the body is covered in blood, completely immobile, and has a strange protrusion in the lower back that looks suspiciously like a smaller version of the bus-sized stakes holding the orb in place. Assuming that is Vivienne, at least you don’t have to kill her for making you go through all this for nothing. She’s clearly in a lot of trouble. “...” Your head throbs as you decide on a plan. Getting harder to think. Better hurry up.

5:23 PM

[You have a limited pool of rationality remaining. Cleverer or more cautious options will deplete it faster. If you run out, violence begins to look like the answer to a lot more problems than you’d probably prefer, and Vivienne is in no shape to stop you...] ⏬ - Swim down and get her.

- Climb the wall down.

- Land on the massive orb. You don’t like it. [Once you get down there... (Not FPTP; options can be combined-ish.)]

- Break the bindings and get her out.

- Break whatever’s controlling this. The orb? The stake? Something like that, surely.

- Try to undo the chains a little more carefully. ❤️ - Try to wake her up so she can help you.

️ - Block the mental influence with a spell of some sort. Not your speciality, but you can improvise one. Probably. [Also...]

- Take the Stake. She needed it for something, right?

- You don’t care; you’re not gonna prioritize that thing over your sister. (Winners: ⏬ =

️ >

= ❤️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 53 You swim straight down towards the white pedestal, but something about the giant ball pulls your attention. It’s hanging here like an idol or object of worship. It’s connected to whatever your sister is doing here. You decide you hate the orb. It’s gotta die. With a muted thump, your land on top of the rough, grey skin of the massive stone object, hardly even noticing that you’ve left the water above. You retrieve a stick of waterproof chalk from one pocket - a skilled magician would never leave himself without writing implements - and start drawing. It’s gonna be a simple circle, since you vaguely remember you had something pretty important to do afterwards, but no less powerful for it. You invoke three greater demons of ancient myth, chaining their sigils together in a far flimsier manner than would normally be considered wise. This sort of circle design takes advantage of induced weakness, channeling raw destructive energy through engineered flaws in the drawn boundaries. It’s a reckless style, recently popularized in the nineteenth century when industry and magic attempted to mix in new ways, and it’s only good for blowing stuff up. You can’t achieve any sort of finesse or discretion. The invoked demons never appreciate the carelessness. Your sister thinks it’s far too dangerous. It’s perfect for you. You prime the circle and leap, realizing (remembering?) partway down that there’s no water in the chamber. Oh well. You were already preparing a defensive barrier for some reason, so you can just use that. You splash down into the blood, rattled but unharmed. Something cracks above you. Oh, right. That’s what the barrier was supposed to be for.

9:24 PM

The orb detonates as if you had stuffed it with dynamite. The sheer pressure of the shockwave flings you back down into the blood, muffling the report and its fading echoes. You can barely hear anything besides a dull, ringing noise, but you can feel shuddering vibrations as massive chunks of stone slough away from the central orb and slam into the lake. Waves of crimson drench you anew, as well as the nearby pedestal and its prone occupant. You remember what the other thing you had to do was. “---!” You can’t hear yourself over the increasing din as you push through the blood and climb onto the pedestal. Broken boulders rain from above; you’re both going to be killed if you stay much longer. The person on the pedestal is Vivienne. She’s lying on her front, face obscured by hair and blood, with her limbs stretched out by heavy chains pulled taut into the stone-churned waves. A jagged stake of dark metal juts out of her lower back, stained red with blood different from that of the lake. Fresher; you could watch as more of it seeps ever so slowly out of her. You aren’t going to, but you could. “...” Okay, so what the hell do you do? You’ve got to get her out of those chains, but you also need to protect both of you from the destruction raining from above and get out of here before the chamber comes down, as it seems likely to do. The leftmost bus-sized stake has slid perceptibly out of the wall and cobbles are now joining the ongoing stone rain. It’s a miracle you haven’t been clobbered alrea- You wake up a moment later, bleeding from the head and extraordinarily dizzy. You’re on the ground now. How did that happen? It’s much harder to think, but that’s never been your strong suit anyway. You need to get Vivienne out of these chains. So you’ll break the chains.

9:25 PM

For some reason, you can’t recall how to draw any useful circles right now, so you pick up a heavy chunk of stone and go to town. The links are resilient, but they’re thin and small. Fine; more like jewelry than proper restraints. You break through the one on her right ankle quickly enough and move to the left. It takes you longer, and even more rocks fall from above. Left wrist. You snarl with effort, cursing the seemingly toughening links. Something heavy thumps down beside you and Vivienne’s body twitches. You swear at her, telling her to hold still or else. The chain breaks. Right wrist. She twitches again, causing the chain to shift out of the way of your strike now that she has more freedom of movement. A chip of rock snaps away from your improvised weapon and carves a thin, stinging line into your forearm. You lose your mind. Briefly. When you come back to your senses, you’ve bludgeoned her goddamn hand off. A wave of lucidity washes through you as you stare at your sister’s mangled wrist. What the HELL did you just do? What the FUCK is wrong with you?! Why can’t you CONTROL YOURSELF?!! Your mind attains a laser-thin focus, so tight that whatever was influencing you slides right off. You heft Vivienne off the ground, peeling her away from the stake piercing her abdomen. A thick, half-congealed string of dark red comes away with her limp form. Dots of crimson join it, dribbling from her wrist. She’s in very bad shape. You delude yourself into thinking you can hear her heartbeat as you pull her into a carry. It’s slow and dangerously faint.

9:25 PM

The leftmost stake pulls completely free from the wall, crashing down into the lake with a fountain of blood tall enough to reach the ceiling. Now unbalanced, the remnants of the massive stone orb swing wildly to the right, colliding with the opposite wall in an impact so colossal you fall against the mercurial, silvery Stake and accidentally knock it right out of its housing. By some sort of instinct, you grab hold of it like a walking stick and use it to prop yourself up as the chamber begins to collapse. Portions of the walls from both sides fall inwards and the remaining two stakes slip towards the center. Clear, frigid seawater foams madly into the room through the openings, mixing with the blood lake and turning it to turgid, diluted wine. Smaller debris fragments are swept up in the vortex, turning them into whirling ice cubes in the world’s worst mixed drink - or perhaps the world’s worst mixed metaphor. It’s all you can do to simply cling onto your sister as you’re both swept into the same maelstrom of water and blood, reciting scraps of protective rites half-remembered from long ago in hopes of avoiding a fatal collision. ...

- Be Vivienne.

- Continue being Victor.

- In the cramped, fetid worm-tunnels...

- In the dark, open ocean...

- In the churning, turbulent waves...

️ - In the City of Glass... (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 54 You retain only fragmentary flashes of memory for a good while after that. Clouds of billowing, silty mud turning the water opaque. Hugging your sister’s limp body close to yourself, unwilling to let go as turbulent currents batter you. Echoing, chirping clicks - closer than ever before - and a half-glimpsed shape somewhere in the muck. The image burns itself out of your mind, leaving an empty imprint void of sensation. Pulling yourself through cold, thick water as you claw your way out of those unknowable things’ territory. Eventually, you come back to your senses hanging somewhere in the dark, with nothing but black water in every direction. Vivienne sways corpse-like from your exhausted arms; you press your fingers against her neck and try to register a pulse. You are not carrying a dead body. You will not accept it. “...” Too faint, and you’re too jittery. You think you feel something, but it could be your own heartbeat masquerading as hers. Whatever. You’ll assume she’s still alive; you need to heal her. You groan into the abyss, keenly aware that restorative magic can hardly be considered your specialty and that you have next to no supplies here to construct a proper circle. You don’t even have a floor! Maybe there’s something in your bag or hers...?

10:01 PM

Junk, junk, junk; why is her bag full of random crap that looks like it was pulled straight out of the sea floor? How much of this stuff can even fit in there? It’s like it’s bigger on the inside than the - ah! You finally pull out something that could be useful: what looks like a sketch pad with pages made of some sort of flexible membrane instead of paper. You flip through it, quickly scanning the pre-prepared circles drawn within. Finally, Vivienne has shown some semblance of good sense. She drew and brought along a set of healing glyphs tailored to her own body so that she - or you, in this case - wouldn’t have to fumble through constructing one in the heat of the moment. Even on your best day, these glyphs will do better than anything you could make yourself. You prime, apply, and activate the two identical glyphs with your own dwindling reserves, positioning them over the two most severe injuries: her stomach and her wrist. Then, as the papers bind and begin to work, forming bubbles in the water around them as they do so, you choke down another two pills to keep yourself upright. How many have you had today? What day even is it? Thoughts of an overdose squirm briefly into your mind, but you forget what you were doing while you pour more energy into the healing charms as they begin to slow down. The fact that they’re working at all is a relief; you’re pretty sure you saw “Life” in there somewhere, and that symbol wouldn’t activate for a corpse. Minutes pass. Your head hurts. You slap it around a bit to remind it who’s boss. Why is it still so hard to think? Is this just your normal mental capacity? One of the sigils overheats and burns off; you swim close to examine her abdomen. The wound is still obvious, but if you wipe away the blood, nothing new wells up to take its place. As long as you’re careful to not disturb the fragile covering, it should be okay. As for her wrist...

10:01 PM

That one burns away not long after and you cautiously examine her arm. As if you couldn’t tell already just from a brief glance. She isn’t bleeding any more, but her hand hasn’t magically returned. You were kind of hoping you had misread the severity and had just crushed her fingers or something, but no. You really took the whole thing off with nothing but a rock and a whole lot of anger management issues. What kind of animalistic monster would do something like that? That’s her dominant hand, too. She writes with it; performs magic with it. Well, she used to. Vivienne will have a very hard time taking care of herself in any but the most basic capacity from now on. You can’t regrow her hand for her, and she won’t be able to either. No one in your family has enough skill in this field, and the longer it takes to find someone who might, the less likely it becomes that even a powerful rite will be able to recover it. Why don’t you feel guilty? You’ve ruined your sister’s professional life. You’ve maimed her. Your momentary lack of self-control will hurt her for years to come. Why the hell don’t you feel bad? What’s wrong with you? She’ll have to rely on me, some sick part of yourself answers gleefully. You’d shoot it, if you could. But. It’s true that she’ll be much easier to control without her hand. If you can prevent her from learning to use her left hand effectively, it’ll be even better. You won’t have to hide her tools or lock her in the attic like your father, since she won’t be as dangerous. Maybe... maybe this is for the best. She can be normal. She won’t have to... Her other hand? that sick, awful part of you reminds you. Your eyes widen. It just makes sense. If cutting off one hand makes her somewhat easier to manage, then two will be even better... Her eyes...

10:01 PM

Yes. The gold. The curse. If you can scoop them out too, you can save her. Take away all the parts of her that are dangerous and steeped in magic. Leave behind only the precious, angelic, safe little sister you remember from before she went to college. Yes. This is a good idea. You can’t deny it... You take her left hand in your own, squeezing her cold, fragile, pale fingers between yours. You need to protect her. You need to keep her safe. You can do it now. Before she can change; before she can object, like father. Before- Vivienne stirs. Her fingers twitch. You jolt with surprise, releasing her hand and focusing on her face. A pained expression as her brows press together, followed by a relaxation back into limp oblivion. She’s alive. You need to get her home. Or at least the closest place you can in this City. Somewhere she can rest, at least. With only the barest hint of that idea thrumming in the back of your skull, you pull her close again and prepare to finish your long swim back to the surface.

- Victor admits what he did to Vivienne’s hand.

- Victor stays silent.

- Vivienne demands to get back into action immediately. She has a lot to do.

- Vivienne agrees to let Victor help her with the Stake, the Ring, and so on.

- Victor forces Vivienne to rest a while longer. She almost died.

️ - Victor forces Vivienne to leave the City of Glass. [Will lock out at least one ending to the story.] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 55 ... “Mnngghh...” You struggle back into awareness, slowly easing your eyes open to stare at a glass ceiling. Your memories begin to coalesce and your body starts to respond again. You’re in a significant amount of pain, so you don’t try to move yet, instead attempting to piece together what happened, where you are, and why everything hurts. The Stake... you were there, in the chamber. You tried to decipher its runes. You were going to take it. But... “Ngh!” You quietly gasp as a thread of pain digs through your right arm like a buried wire, coiling briefly within your stomach before lancing straight into your brain. You close your eyes, tears starting to form as the recollection solidifies. You passed out, the defensive sigil dissolved by your poor choice of ink. You fell forward against the Stake. You were out of tricks; you should still be there. Why aren’t you? A brief lapse. You retreat inward momentarily and the light has changed by the next time you feel able to open your eyes again. The pain is a little less, too. You try again, moving your body with some success and lifting your head to see a little more. “...!” You’re back in your small room in the City of Glass, lying in bed wrapped in layers of blankets and bandages. Your bag and other Diving gear are visible lying haphazardly on the floor, and leaning innocently against the tracking device is a silvery, mercurial length of metal burning with a ghostly white flame. Your jaw starts to drop at the sight of the Stake of the Imprisoned God collecting dust on your floor, but it doesn’t have time to go all the way down before something else catches your attention with even more surprise. Victor is here. He’s leaning back in the desk chair, quietly snoring with his arms folded but very clearly facing the exterior door.

6:04 PM

You start to put the pieces together. He must have come here and gotten your message, completely disregarded your warning, and entered the trench to save you. The timeline just about makes sense, if he was very lucky with the entry requirements. That’s the only explanation you can come up with for your current situation. A wave of relief washes through you and the strength leaves your body momentarily. You had been wary of him coming here, with your dreams and worries, but he saved you. You’re alive thanks to him. You were a fool not to trust your own brother. But why does your arm hurt so much? Actually, another question preempts that one in priority. Why can’t you feel your hand at all? The relief retreats quickly, replaced by uneasy anticipation. You can just about move around at this point, but your arm is hidden under the blankets. You tap your leg with your left hand’s fingers, one after the other. You can feel each one individually. You do the same with your right hand. Nothing but a few twinges of discomfort around your wrist. You pull your left arm out and use it to peel back the layers of blankets. You already know what you’re going to see. “Vivienne!” You jerk back in surprise, dropping the blankets as if you were doing something illicit. Victor is awake now and standing tall before you. He’s also injured, you note, with a thick bandage wound around his head making his hair stick up at odd angles. “You’re awake!” he continues, hurrying to your side and fussing over you. “Does it hurt anywhere? Do you need water? Are you hungry? What do you remember? Can you speak?” You carefully hold up your left hand to quash the flood of questions. “Victor,” you say quietly, your voice so rough you have to cough and try again. He pushes a glass of water at you and insists you not continue until you’ve drained the whole thing. Your protests hardly matter; he forces you to drink.

6:04 PM

This is the Victor you remember. A seed of anxiety makes its presence known somewhere deep in your mind. No, you weren’t a fool. This is why you wanted to go on your own. “Victor,” you repeat after you finish the water. “What happened?” He tells you. Sits by your side and makes you eat, drink, and take various medicines as he explains his journey to the City of Glass. How he got your message soon after he arrived. How he Dived into the abyss using his tracker, found the crater you caused with your magic, and broke his way through the tunnels into the Krol chamber. How he cleverly deduced that the orb was the source of the room’s enchantment, blew it up, and broke you free of the chains that had speared you through. How he relentlessly swam back to the surface, stopping only once to bind your wounds with the circles you prepared beforehand. How he found this address in your bag, along with the key, and brought you here to rest. “What happened to my hand?” you ask, finally sliding your right arm out as well. A bandaged stump is all that remains on your wrist. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t recover it,” he apologizes. “The chains had carved it off before I arrived. I believe they were slowly constricting; your left wrist and ankles have similar injuries as well...” You look. He’s correct; dark, bruised welts ring your wrist and ankles as described. You can almost make out the individual chain links. “If only I had been able to arrive sooner, or move faster.” He continues in this vein for a while, apologizing for his failures while repeatedly assuring you that at least you’re alive. At least your reckless, idiotic decision hasn’t led to your death. If he had been even a few hours later... Keenly aware of the dangerous path his thoughts are taking, you smile brightly and thank him for his rescue. Victor relaxes almost immediately, patting your head protectively. “Of course I wouldn’t let anything get in my way.” You agree. That’s the problem.

6:05 PM

The chains... you had never seen them. You have no idea if his explanation is true. It’s very possible that something did bind you, stab you, and tear off your hand after you passed out but before he arrived. But it’s also possible that he did this. By accident, certainly, but Victor has never been good at controlling himself even at the best of times. And when you’re in danger, it gets much worse. You can easily envision a world where he - trying only to rescue you - accidentally maimed you through an overapplication of his own strength. Not that you’d ever accuse him of such a thing. God no. You don’t have a death wish, despite his accusations to the contrary. You look at your right arm again as Victor helps prepare a change of clothes - you’re still mostly in your swimsuit and really want to get fully clean (plus, you’ll have some privacy in the bathroom to think). The concept of not having your hand seems very abstract at the moment. Maybe it’s the fact that you know it’s possible to recover with the right ritual, even if you personally can’t cast it. Maybe it’s that you haven’t tried to do anything that requires it yet. Maybe your emotions are already drained from everything else. “...” You can stand up and walk around without too much help. In fact, you could probably do so on your own, if Victor didn’t insist on helping. You’re not an invalid; you’re just injured. You assure him you’ll discuss your future plans right after you come back out, and that you appreciate his help preparing all the supplies you need to change your bandages and such. Phrasing it like that is smarter than telling him you want to do it yourself. Then, you shut the door and sit down on the edge of the glass tub. He’s here now. You can’t get rid of him at this point. He’ll definitely want to take you home, especially with... You shake yourself out of staring at your missing hand maybe half a minute later. The water has warmed up already.

6:05 PM

You really are grateful for his help. Regardless of anything else he may or may not have done, he did legitimately save your life. He does love you, and he does want to protect you. You just have to be very careful to ensure he only does so in the way you want him to. It’s apparently the afternoon of the seventh day since the Tower notice was posted. Divers are allowed to enter as of around midday. You’re already late in returning to the Ring, and you still have to implement your fake-Stake plan. And you never got a full understanding of the runes on its pedestal or what they did, and apparently the whole chamber was destroyed! Does the Stake even do anything anymore? You need to consult with Su, but that’ll require going back to sleep and she has to be the one to contact you. God, you have so much to do. And now you’re going to have to spend time arguing with your brother about leaving or not. How can you make him want to stay and help you rather than just take you home for your own safety? Your head hurts.

- Try to talk to Su as soon as possible.

- Wait until a normal sleeping time.

️ - Tell Victor about Lantoon and the others that will be arriving soon.

- Keep that to yourself.

- You’ll take charge on the duplicate Stake plan.

- Victor will.

- Give up on that; you can’t fully replicate the spell without knowing what the pedestal did. [What will you do instead?]

- Contact Barnaby ASAP. ⏰ - Wait until tomorrow. (Winners:

, ⏰ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 56 You struggle to focus in the shower. The main reason for that is purely physical: you have several injuries to be careful of and keep trying to grab things with the hand that isn’t there. Your mood has not improved at all by the time you’re done, and you’ve hardly decided on anything. It’s a little easier to think afterwards, as you dry off and work on re-applying the bandages. Still tough to handle with only five fingers, but somehow more manageable. Maybe it’s that you haven’t done this sort of thing before, so the muscle memory is less ingrained? Have you always looked that wretched in the mirror? You know you’re unfortunately pale and usually look somewhat sickly, but this is ridiculous. Your skin almost looks like wax. Deep shadows beneath your eyes accentuate the gold within them. More flakes have appeared since the last time you checked. Confetti in your irises. Whee. It could be a hallucination, but would that really be any better? Anyway. You have a few tasks ahead, and they all lead up to the goal of freeing Arthur. Everything else can wait. Victor is here, so he’s going to help. He might not know that yet, but he will. You need to duplicate the Stake. At this point, you can’t move the spell in its entirety, since you don’t know the part on its pedestal and you don’t have enough time anyway. You’ll need to keep the original and craft a facsimile, unless... no, that would be stupid. You discard that idea, leaving it unsaid and hardly even thought. You’ll need to keep the original. You need to talk with Su, both to hear what she’s learned over the past few days and to do the same in return. Plus, you need an update on Agent Lantoon and the others making it to the City. You really don’t want the government agents to run into your brother - you can foresee many, many ways that particular interaction could go wrong - so you’ll need to keep their involvement a secret from him.

9:45 PM

You need to contact the Ring via Barnaby, but you don’t want to do that until you’ve gotten the duplicate Stake ready. But you need to go to sleep immediately if you want to talk to Su quickly, so... that seems like a job for Victor. He’s good at making things, and he’ll give 110% effort if he’s convinced it’ll help you. Okay. You try to clap your hands together to settle matters, but miss for obvious reasons. Your mood sours further. Somehow, you still think of your missing hand more as an annoyance than a life-changing maiming. Are you under the impression you’ll be able to regrow it? If you are, you need to leave the City of Glass as soon as you possibly can so you can find someone capable of working such magic. You’re well aware the longer this sort of thing goes untreated, the less likely it is to be recoverable. How long do you have? Days? Weeks? Longer? Realistically, it won’t sink in that it’s permanent until and unless you’ve had an expert try and fail to restore it. Before that, you’ll be able to hold onto hope. It’s not even a vain, desperate, illogical hope; it’s founded in magical fact and precedent. You’ll be okay. You’ll get healed. You have to believe that. As soon as you save Arthur, you’ll leave. You’ve got leads on your curse; you don’t need the City... probably. “...” It takes you quite a while to explain everything in enough detail to convince Victor to help. Your dream almost comes true a few times; he feels little sympathy for Arthur and only seems to consider him in relation to your well-being. You make use of what diplomatic skills you possess, trying to convince him that you’ll suffer if Arthur is left here and that he can prove himself a capable, powerful brother - stronger than Arthur, perhaps - by helping you rescue him.

9:46 PM

At last, he gives in and picks up the Stake to figure out how to duplicate it. The task won’t be easy, especially without a proper laboratory here, but he has more than enough determination to see it through regardless. As long as the Ring people don’t actually know how the Stake works, and as long as Victor actually does a good job, and as long as you don’t botch it when presenting it to them... After that, you express your desire to go back to sleep, pleading that you’re still exhausted from your injuries and the long conversation didn’t help. The excuse is more true than you’d prefer, but at least that’ll help you pass out quicker. He agrees immediately, saying you should rest as much as you need, and even offers to knock you out with magic. You politely refuse that one - the spell gives you a fever more often than not - and prepare for bed the old fashioned way. ... You find yourself running around a small park, fenced in on all sides by an intimidatingly high chain link fence. Unnervingly round stone balls dot the area on small pedestals; statues devoid of meaning. You’re playing tag. You’re trembling. Sweat from exertion and terror sticks your hair to your forehead and blocks your vision. Someone is chasing you, but they aren’t playing. You run faster. You can’t see. Every time you wipe your hair out of your eyes, it flops back down again in an instant. You take in your surroundings through brief glimpses. Inverse blinks. “Viviiii...” someone calls. You almost scream. Where? Where?! A man appears before you. He’s holding a pair of gardening shears. “Found you...” Victor rasps. He lops off your right hand. It falls away from your arm comically, leaving behind a clean, dark-red cylinder with a stub of perfectly white bone visible in the center. Like a cartoon. You scream and run in the other direction. Where can you go? Where can you hide? “Found you...” Your left hand is gone.

9:46 PM

“Found you...” You lose your right foot. Somehow, it doesn’t affect your speed. “Found you...” Losing your left foot prevents you from running. You have to crawl. “Don’t leave...” Snip. He chops off your legs at the knees. Snip. At the hips. Snip. Your arms fall away. You can’t move. You can only cry and sob and scream into the grass and dirt. “I found the problem...” he says, reaching down to cup your chin and force you to look up. “The gold...” The shears descend towards your eyes, points first. You can’t do anything but close them and wait for the end. Two pricks of momentary discomfort. You can’t see. Victor smiles in the darkness. “Now you’re all better.” “...” You lie there immobile for an unknown amount of time before a soft, gentle hand brushes over your forehead. Vision and mobility return with almost audible pops. Suyeon Che stands above you, wearing her no-nonsense maroon suit and a deep frown. “Bad dream?” she offers, helping you to your restored feet. “... Yes.” “Let’s get out of here. This park is creepy.” “Please.”

- You and Su can leave the dream without issue.

- ... Uh oh.

- Tell Su about Victor.

- Only explain the minimum she needs to know about your brother. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 57 A doorway forms in a nearby tree and you return to the soft, drizzly porch with Su. This time, a door to the rest of the implied house is open and you can see into a large great room with a fire crackling in its hearth. The rain almost resembles snow now, but it’s cozy inside. “I’m glad you’re still alive,” Su begins, exiting into the great room and sitting down near the fire. You briefly wonder why her dream resembles winter when it’s the middle of summer in reality. “I’ve been trying to reach you every night, but only got through today. What happened? Did you get the Stake?” “Well...” You explain what happened in a decent amount of detail, including Victor’s involvement and your concerns about his actions - both past and future. As you recount your experiences, your right hand fades away bit by bit until it’s gone. Your dream-body doesn’t necessarily need to reflect your real one, but it seems that without dreamwalking training, it tends to do so. “I definitely know someone who can help with your hand,” she declares first. “Her name’s Allie; I think you saw a dream projection of her for a few seconds when we went to meet Lantoon last time. The white-haired girl with the cat?” You nod, trying to contain the surge of hope - combined with a slight suspicion. Su has been unnervingly helpful to you, without asking for very much at all in turn. Every problem you have, she seems to have a solution. Still, you’re not about to turn down a chance like that out of hand. “Lantoon said she was his coworker, right? So she works with the government too. You think she’d be willing to help me?” “Oh, yeah! Allie’s really nice and most of her powers revolve around healing in some way or another. I’m sure she’ll have you all better in an hour or two. Just need to get you out of the City of Glass first, since she can’t enter.” “Can’t? If the other agents can - they’re on their way, right? - why can’t she?”

9:41 PM

Su nods and shrugs at the same time. “Lantoon’s on the boat right now, along with a few others. I think it’ll be another few days, but not much longer. As for why Allie can’t come...” She puts a finger to her lips in a “shush” gesture, then pouts. “That’s her secret, so I can’t tell you. Lantoon yelled at me for that last time. But you can ask her yourself when you meet her!” A memory of Su mentioning someone couldn’t come because they were “too full of silver” resurfaces, but you don’t have any better idea of what that means now than you did previously. Maybe it’s related to the Stake? It sure looks silvery. “... Okay. I guess I will. I think I’m going to leave once I rescue Arthur, since I don’t want to risk this becoming permanent.” You raise your right arm for a moment. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember Allie ever restoring a limb to someone more than a few days after they lost it. I don’t know if she can’t; it just hasn’t really come up. So that’s probably a good idea.” Su blinks. “So, the duplicate Stake, in that case. Your brother is working on it; does he need any help?” You shake your head. “Even if you offered, I’m sure he’d say no. Plus... I don’t really want to let him meet you or any of the government agents. I can’t say for sure that he’ll be friendly.” Su doesn’t seem that bothered by your statement. “Is he going to be able to make a convincing fake? And what are you going to do with the real one?” “I think he’ll be able to do it. As for the real one... I don’t know. Have you seen anything change since the chamber it was in got blown up? Like, physical matter destabilizing or anything?” “Nope! Nothing at all, and I’ve been keeping a good eye out!” She taps her cheek just below her eye. Which draws your attention to it, obviously. You blink.

9:41 PM

Her eyes are gold. Orange-yellow, reflective, and glittering with a shine beyond that of just the firelight. Did you not notice previously, or has something changed? Or - you wonder if your curse is interfering, but the blue light in her hand reminds you that she’s blocking it while you’re here. She said that last time. But then - the gold... What does that mean? Su blinks and her irises are dark green when they open again. You knew you wouldn’t have missed the gold last time! Okay, it must be a demon thing. Or a dead-person thing. God, she’s so weird. You should ask her, though, surely. But do you really dare trust whatever she says in response? And what if she realizes you’re on guard just by the question alone? You know you can’t trust anyone with gold eyes - not even yourself - and you were already kind of suspicious of her. She’s talking again. “I think the actual seal must be on the Stake itself,” she muses. “Based on what I’ve seen and what you told me, the pedestal was probably meant to charge it, and probably protect it too. With the mental attacks and the chains? It’s probably going to become an issue at some point if we can’t figure out how to refill its energy, but I doubt it’ll be a problem right now.” “That makes sense...” you agree, though you’re not completely sure it does. The mental attacks didn’t really feel like attacks; more just the natural consequence of being in the presence of a god. And surely you wouldn’t need something so elaborate just to recharge the thing. “Anyway, since it sounds like you don’t need my help with the Stake right now, and Lantoon can take charge of the real one once he gets there, do you want to hear what my demon friend found out about some fate/luck demons that might just be involved in your curse?” “Yes!” “Well...”

️ - Ask about her golden eyes.

- Don’t. (Winner:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 58 “You said you’re pretty sure the curse started with Cornelius, so we narrowed it down to demons with the right domains who were around at the right time and place. Plus, with the effects you’re seeing, it has to be a greater demon, so that narrowed it down further. After that, it was just a matter of time.” Su takes a breath, seeming to enjoy the dramatic moment. “Melphiztora,” she declares. “That’s your curse-demon, I’m almost certain.” A name. You have a name. Unfortunately... “Er, who is that? I don’t think I’ve heard of them...” “She’s a greater demon of fate and luck, who was active in the right place at the right time and who refused to talk to us when we tried to ask. Tried to kill us, actually, but I don’t think it was serious? Er, it doesn’t seem like she takes many priests - we couldn’t find any currently alive - and the few interactions with humans we could find records of were all... kinda weird. For example - oh, did you have a question?” You can’t help but ask. “She tried to kill you... you can be killed, even though you’re dead?” “...” Su blinks a few times. “It’s, um, not exactly like that, but... er, basically, yes. I guess? I’m sort of like a demon now, so I can be killed the same way they can...? Don’t try to stab me, though; it won’t work. If that’s what you’re thinking.” She seems a little uncomfortable. You suppose you can’t blame her. For some reason, the knowledge of how to kill her strikes you as very important to have. “S-sorry. Please continue.” “Right... Um, interactions with humans.” Su tries to get back into her groove, with some success. “So, we found a few records of her having kids with humans, mostly in medieval Europe, which caused all sorts of problems. Honestly, I didn’t even know demons could have kids with humans. It’s not something a lot of them do, apparently, due to the neutrality clause.” “Which is?”

6:08 PM

“It’s an agreement between all demons on the planet to avoid directly interfering in human events, with two exceptions: one, if the world is in danger; two, through a priest with a symbol like mine.” She holds out her hand so you can see the glowing blue metzmatan. “Obviously, having a kid with a human is pretty direct interference, and it’s hard to have kids with your priests for... um, multiple reasons, so it’s really uncommon.” “So how did she do it?” “I don’t know. It looks like either through a priest anyway, or no one noticed she violated the neutrality clause until now. Since, y’know, we would have noticed the world being in danger. But half-demons tend to be unstable, too powerful, prone to outbursts of emotion and magic, and tend to die young due to all of the above. As best I could find, all of her descendents from those incidents died out within a generation or two either naturally or by being hunted down as witches or monsters or the like.” You don’t particularly like the traits Su just listed as indicative of half-demons heritage. “Are you suggesting that Cornelius’s wife was a demon? And that I’m descended from her?” “No! Yes! Maybe!” She waves her hands at you, flustered. “Some of the signs do seem to fit, but we couldn’t find any evidence of her doing it again in the 1800s. Plus, I don’t think that would explain the curse and its sort of ‘progression’ kind of thing. If you’re a half-demon (or less, since you’re a couple generations down the tree), the traits manifest early and permanently. This sort of thing wouldn’t explain anything happening into your 20s or beyond.” “But it could be both,” you note. “It... it could be. I asked if we could check for sure, but Bholgalos said - that’s my demon friend, by the way - he said there’s no reliable test for demon blood at this level of dilution. He’d be able to tell if you were, like, Cornelius’ daughter or granddaughter, but his great-great-great-great... um, however many greats - not possible.”

6:08 PM

You hesitate. Something occurs to you. “What if I have a memory of someone who is Cornelius’ granddaughter? Do you know what a Leitman disc is?” “... No?” You quickly explain the concept and the fact that you have a disc with Edward and Eileen - children of Edgar, Cornelius’ son - recorded onto it. Su seems intrigued, but she can’t use the disc as she can’t physically manifest in the City of Glass. You could remember it into your dreams, but without perfect recall or a dreamwalker’s ability to physically bring the disc in with you, it wouldn’t be of any use. You offer to hand it over to Lantoon as well so he can bring it to her in person, but that’s about as far as you can get right now. “Anyway, if potentially being part-demon doesn’t explain my curse, then what is it? And how do I break it?” “That’s a tougher question. I still don’t really know, unfortunately. The idea of bloodline curses isn’t exactly new, but having a demon involved like this makes things a lot more complicated because her options are so broad. It might be useful to ask what she would get out of something like this. Your family is full of researchers, right? Does she get new knowledge of magic? But why - a greater demon can cast much more powerful spells than any human. Just to develop humanity’s magical abilities? Again: why? I just don’t know yet. But hopefully that’s at least something more than you knew before.” “... Yeah, it is. A lot. Thanks for everything you’ve found. I don’t know why you’re helping me so much, but... I’m grateful you are.” She smiles in a goofy sort of way. “Aw, happy to help!” “Why are your eyes gold sometimes?” you blurt out, sensing the conversation drawing to a conclusion and unable to come up with a sufficient segue. “Hm? Are they?” “You... don’t know they are?” “I haven’t noticed, no. I don’t spend a lot of time looking in mirrors anymore! When does it happen?”

6:08 PM

“When you pointed at your eye earlier, just for a moment until you blinked. Maybe some other times, but I only noticed that one...” “Hm!” Su pulls a hand mirror out of nowhere in particular and holds it up while pointing at her eye in the same way as before. You watch from the side, but her irises remain stubbornly dark green no matter how much she points or blinks. “You can’t do it...?” “Well, I can do it myself - I can look however I want in dreams, remember.” Su shifts her fingers; the blue light changes quality and her eyes are now bright gold, though a different gold than before. Another shift and they’re green again. “But I like to look like I did when I was alive most of the time. I definitely didn’t have gold eyes then!” “...”

️ - Warn her to be careful. The gold may be after her too. Somehow.

- Do not trust her. She must be lying or tricking you.

- Don’t say anything. [The mix of

️ or

will determine your internal attitude.] (Winner:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 59 “Be careful,” you warn. “I don’t know how, but the gold might be after you too.” “The... gold? Sorry, I don’t quite get what you mean.” You hesitate. What do you mean, really? Your curse is what’s responsible for the gold in your eyes, but Su shouldn’t have to worry about that; she’s not a Redmarsh. Plus, with her demon friends and dreamwalking powers, she’s apparently able to restrain its effects when you’re here anyway. But... “The gold in my eyes comes from my curse,” you explain, gently stretching one eye open wide so she can see the flakes of metallic color within. She reacts curiously, which means it’s still there. Still real, even here and now. Or is this another quirk of dream projection, where your own awareness of your body is causing the gold to appear regardless? Stop thinking about it. “You don’t share my curse, and you’re able to suppress it anyway, so you shouldn’t have to worry about it... but your eyes still turned gold. Maybe the demon - Mel... something - is stronger than you think. Maybe she’s gaining some sort of influence over you. I don’t know, but just keep an, er, an eye out.” She frowns, but nods anyway. “Okay. I don’t really know how that’d be possible, but it’s not like even I know much about my current state. Maybe there is something...” You talk for a little while longer, feeling awkward and sleepy, since at the moment all your plans are just waiting on other things to happen. Eventually, without much warning, you wake up. Victor quickly stands up as you blink awake. Your left wrist feels strange, but he successfully distracts you from whatever that might have been by showing you two lengths of mercurial, silvery metal, not quite identical in appearance, but close enough to leave you unsure which one is real. “Go ahead, guess,” he challenges you before you can even get up.

8:16 PM

“Er...” You look at both Stakes. They are clearly distinct - one of them has the pattern moving faster and more chaotically, and the colors are slightly more saturated - but you can’t remember what the original had looked like yesterday. “... Thaaaat one?” It’s a coin flip; you feel like the faster one seems more likely to be fake. Divine energy strikes you as a slow thing. “... I’ll make it better.” It seems you’re correct. Victor turns back to the desk and plunks both Stakes back atop a complicated array of magic circles, improvised clamps, and machinery of unknown origin. He then gets back to work, ignoring you completely. ... Which suits you just fine, so you don’t bother him. You quickly get dressed and check your wounds. Both improved overnight by more than you’d expect - “someone” may have been tending to you while he ought to have been sleeping (just a little creepy) - but you’re still fragile and slow. Any non-trivial attack would be an urgent danger. You’re certainly in no shape to go exploring inside the Tower, but you have a sneaking suspicion that’s exactly what you’ll need to do today. Or, if not today, very soon at least. You respond to Eridya’s nonchalant message asking if you’re alive with an equally nonchalant affirmative. Then, you contact Barnaby. “It took longer than I thought, but I got the Stake,” you write. “What now?” You feel comfortable sending this message already, as Victor’s fake Stake is already convincing enough, in your opinion. He hardly needs to improve it more. In fact, how could he possibly have gotten all this done in only 16 hours or so, most of which was overnight? Even assuming he didn’t sleep at all (you’re fairly confident in that one) he still should have had a hard time getting materials and designing the spell so quickly without a lab. Unless... has he forged magical artifacts before? If he already had a spell mostly prepared from something similar... Well, probably best not to ask.

8:16 PM

Barnaby’s response comes quickly, instructing you to bring the Stake to another nondescript intersection with as much discretion as you can muster. You suppose you’ll slip it into your bag, then, to try and avoid a repeat of the Krol idol incident. Also, you aren’t as late as you thought, as he schedules the handover to occur early in the evening - not long after the glass towers’ shadows will dip the City into darkness. Apparently, very few Divers have been allowed into the Tower so far - even many of those who claim to have been to the bottom of an abyssal trench have been turned away - and none have yet returned. So there’s still time for you to get in there and find something cool for them. You’re a little more hung up about the “none have yet returned” part than Barnaby is. He doesn’t seem too fussed, saying that the Divers are likely still exploring and don’t want to emerge yet. You wonder if maybe they can’t. After all, the Tower notice said that Divers could now enter, but not necessarily that anyone could leave. Unfortunately, if you want to save Arthur, you have very little choice in the matter. In all likelihood, you’re going into the Tower whether you want to or not. But you do have Victor, who is also a Diver and who has been to the bottom of the very same trench as you. He’s far less injured and extremely protective; as long as you can trust him to restrain himself, he’ll make a very powerful companion while exploring. As long as you can trust him, huh...

- Convince Victor to accompany you into the Tower.

- Go alone.

- Convince him to go alone.

- Do not enter the Tower. Save Arthur some other way. [How?] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 60 You don’t, to be honest. Maybe that makes you paranoid, or a bad sister, but you really believe Victor is too unstable right now to be trusted accompanying you into a dangerous situation. Well, any more dangerous than the City in general. So you should go alone. ... Yeah, right. You’d have to be a colossal moron to think that’s a good idea. You can hardly perform magic without your dominant hand - and certainly not quickly even if you can manage at all - so you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. You just had a length of metal speared through your abdomen (allegedly, but the injury is real enough regardless of what specifically caused it) so you’re moving slowly and would be all too easy to seriously hurt or even kill. You want to save Arthur, but you’re just not crazy enough to pretend you can do it yourself right now. But if you can’t go on your own and you don’t trust Victor to go with you... Well, then maybe he should go alone. He wouldn’t have to hold back without you there, and you’re sure you can motivate him sufficiently as long as he considers it protecting you. He’s experienced with this sort of exploration and has energy to spare. He’s perfect for the job. You nod to yourself, convinced but still nervous. That dream hasn’t left you, and you still don’t fully believe he didn’t cut off your hand. He loves you, but you’re still in danger. Don’t forget that. You spend some time preparing equipment, some time helping Victor with the Stakes, and some time deciding what you’re going to say to convince him. Before long, it’s time to deliver the Stake to Barnaby. Victor demands to come with you, of course, but after a few back-and-forths, you get him to agree to stay out of sight. You don’t want the Ring to know any more about him than they have to.

8:08 PM

So you do that. The meeting goes shockingly smoothly; Barnaby accepts the fake Stake and doesn’t call you out for fraud even after a closer inspection. Visually, it is extremely close; you’re only concerned about the magic signature. If they don’t know what they’re looking for, it shouldn’t be a problem. But if they somehow know what to expect, the fake one does appear somewhat more modern than it should. But he says nothing about it, beyond asking a few questions about your experience in the depths and what happened to your hand. You had hoped to hide that with your choice of outfit, but in retrospect it was never going to work. You had to sort of awkwardly use your left hand to present the Stake; he would have had to be very unobservant to not notice. After that, he just declares that you should enter the Tower as soon as possible and that Arthur will be returned to you in a condition depending entirely on the artifacts you bring to them from within it. You approach Victor about your plans after you get back. Or at least, you’re about to, but he broaches the topic first. “You’re not thinking of doing what that man was saying, are you? Going into some Tower thing full of magic and traps?” “No. I’m not-” You rephrase midway through your sentence, trying your best to avoid any negatives. It’s not easy. “I’m aware my condition is too poor to go by myself.” You leave that statement hanging for a few moments, waiting to see if he offers to accompany you immediately. Unfortunately, he just grunts with approval. “Good.” A pause; he changes the topic. “I checked the schedules while we were out today. There’s a ferry departing for Hong Kong tomorrow afternoon. We’re both going to be on it.”

8:08 PM

“Wh - what?” You knew he wanted you to leave, but you hadn’t expected him to be quite that aggressive. When did he even have time to verify the ferry’s timing? You know it would have been more complicated than just “checking the schedules.” Try to deflect, not reject... “Shouldn’t we wait for one going back to America...? We don’t have visas there...” You’re sure he just picked the first ferry departing for anywhere on Earth, not caring at all about where specifically. “You know that doesn’t matter. We can make whatever papers are needed. You need to leave as soon as possible. It isn’t safe for you here.” “I thought you agreed to help me rescue Arthur,” you protest in an even voice. “We just completed the first step with the duplicate Stake; the Tower is the second one. I won’t leave until he’s safe.” You wonder if you phrased that poorly. “You can’t go into the Tower,” he states in a similarly even tone. “So you can’t save him. So you just need to leave.” “...” The atmosphere is all wrong. You have to bring it up regardless. “You can, though. You’re a Diver, too, and a Redmarsh if that matters. You’re not as hurt, you’re really strong, and you can bring back the stuff they want from the Tower. You can help me save Arthur.” “No. I’m not leaving you alone.” “I can stay safe. I won’t go anywhere. I won’t go Diving or even go outside at all if that’s what it’ll take!” You noticed his expression hardening halfway through your protest and tried to raise the stakes, but doubt it worked. “No. Someone could break in, or trick you to come out, or even enter your dreams.” You try not to flinch at that one; does he know about Su? “It’s just not safe; you have to leave. It’s not negotiable.” “... I’ll leave, if you enter the Tower and save Arthur.” “Fine.” “...” Dammit; he’s just lying! Think... think! “Get packed, then.” Victor seems to consider the conversation over when you don’t respond immediately; he starts to stand up.

8:08 PM

“No; no, you’re not - I can’t... er, the Ring will only meet with me, not-” You let out an inelegant gasp as Victor stops in place, slowly turns, and sits back down. Not at his actions, but at his eyes. I went too far... “...” He just drums his fingers on the table. You desperately wrack your brain for something you can say to change his train of thought. “I won’t be safe if I just leave without Arthur,” you say with only a slight tremor. “You know that emotional instability is dangerous for us, and I’ll be very distraught if I leave my mentor behind to die.” He doesn’t say anything. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he considering your words? “P-plus, you’d definitely prove once and for all that you’re stronger and more impressive than Arthur, and a better mentor. I could... maybe-” He slams his fist onto the table. You flinch and shut up immediately. “It’s the gold in your fucking eyes,” he decides, looking up to meet your gaze. “I knew it. I knew my little sister would never be so idiotic; so dead set on a charlatan who’s turning her away from me. It’s just the gold... the gold...” His tone resonates with deep relief, but his words tingle with insanity. You’re beyond alarmed to spot a glimmer of reflective color within his irises. “Victor-” You cut yourself off before telling him to “calm down” - that never, ever works. Quick; QUICK come up with something else. Say something say someth- He stands up again, prompting you to do the same. You clench your fist tightly, heart pounding in your chest. Dreams flash through your mind. You are certain you’re in mortal danger. “Sit down,” he demands calmly. “Victor,” you try again, staying upright. “I love you. Please come back to me. Fight the curse; this isn’t you.”

8:08 PM

“I SAID SIT DOWN!” he roars, hurling himself over the table and tackling you with a sudden lunge. Thankfully, your head thumps into a pillow you had accidentally dropped off the bed earlier rather than knocking against the solid glass floor, but you’re winded and bruised all the same. The wound in your torso throbs. “You never listen to me anymore...” he breathes, clutching his head. “Gives me a headache like you wouldn’t believe...” “Please stop,” you whisper, allowing strained fear to show on your face instead of trying to control it. “You’re hurting me...” “...” Victor wavers. His fingers dig into his scalp. You have a moment to act as he hesitates. Your left hand closes around the glyph-covered scrap of paper hidden in your pocket in case of an emergency much like this. If you dare.

- Fight.

- Run.

- Plead.

- Flatter.

- Trust. [Do nothing.] [Only applies if

wins.]

️ - Kill.

- You can’t... (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 61 You don’t. Even here; even now. You can’t do it. You keep your voice soft and quiet, trying to bring him back. “Look at me. Please.” “...” He does. You’ve never seen his eyes this dark before, clouded with misdirected fury. That glint of gold is still there. He hardly seems to see you; his gaze focuses on a point somewhere behind your head. “Not you... not here...” His hands leave his head; he opens and closes his fingers as if grasping for something. “I’m here,” you reply. “It’s just me. Victor, come back. You know who I am...” “Can’t be trusted... can’t trust...” His eyes snap back into focus with a metallic gleam, focusing on yours. “Vivienne...” “That’s right. It’s just me.” “Do you trust me?” You hesitate, taken aback by his question. And, more alarmingly, by your immediate, instinctual desire to say “no.” Of course you don’t; look at what he’s doing right now! But you can’t say that, so- “Knew it,” he says after a second of silence. His voice starts to grow louder; he reaches behind him. “Knew it. I KNEW IT!” “Victor, STOP!” He’s holding his ritual knife, gleaming pale and perilously sharp. “Stop; I didn’t say anything. I do trust you; just-” “YOU LIE!” he interrupts. You shout through his interruption anyway. “I DON’T TRUST YOUR CURSE!” “...” Both of you stay silent, staring at the gold in each other’s eyes. You’re both lost to it. Helpless hatred. Your grip tightens on the paper in your pocket. You decided not to use it. You won’t use it. You want to. Your blood heats up. You will not. And you do trust your brother to make the same choice. “We’re both hopeless, then,” he murmurs. “Beyond saving.” He still hasn’t let go of the knife. “That’s not true,” you protest. “I’m fighting it right now. You can do the same. Please fight it. For me and yourself.” “IT CAN’T BE DONE!” he wails, lurching forward again. “YOU. JUST. DON’T. GET. IT!”

4:57 PM

With each punctuated word, he pounds his fist into the glass floor just beside your head. “It can...” you whisper, voice trembling as some part of you imagines him doing that just a few inches to the side. The bloodlust fades, leaving you with nothing but fear and a waning sense of hope. Maybe he is too far gone. No. You can’t believe that. “I’ll cut it out of you. I can’t be saved, but you still can. I’ll save you, Vivienne. I can still protect you.” Victor leans down, staring into your eyes. His left hand clamps onto your head, stopping you from moving around, while his right brings the knife closer. “I can see it. Don’t worry. I’ll save you.” Fear evolves to panic as the point of the knife descends towards your right eye. You bring both of your arms around, clutching at his wrist with the hand you still possess and trying desperately to shove him away with the other arm. “Th-this won’t help! Think about what you’re doing! STOP! VICTOR!!” “Hold still,” he grunts, then repeats it with a shout as you absolutely do not comply. “HOLD STILL!!” Victor rips his arm out of your grasp and flings a wild punch at your face. It connects with a jarring thump that seems to rattle your very thoughts around. An instant later, a hot, sharp pain blooms in your cheek to accompany the dull, dizzying pain of the strike itself. The knife must have nicked you. You fall limp, tears quickly mixing with the fresh blood on your face. “Victor,” you sob in final desperation. “Please... stop...” You can hardly see what he’s doing; tears blur your vision. A heavy, metallic thunk rings out on the floor nearby. Victor’s weight leaves your chest, where he had been pinning you down. “...” You lie there for several seconds, hardly daring to believe it’s over. “I’m sorry,” comes a low, rough voice from above.

4:57 PM

You sniffle, wiping your eyes so you can see Victor again. God, your cheek hurts. You’ll be lucky if nothing’s broken; that was a hell of a punch. “I’m just glad you beat it,” you reply, struggling to sit up. “I was so worr...ied...?” Victor isn’t kneeling in apologetic contrition. He’s not helping you off the floor. He’s standing, facing slightly away from you, and holding a magic tool you immediately recognize. Your blood feels like it’s freezing in place. You let out a strangled gasp and try to prepare something - anything - to save yourself, but the only thing you have is the piece of paper in your left pocket and you STILL just can’t bring yourself to- “I won’t hurt you. I’m so sorry. But you just won’t listen to me.” Victor activates the tool, casting that sleep spell he had used earlier and you had refused because it gives you a fever. You fall onto your back again, your head thumping against that same lucky pillow that’s surely saved you from several serious head injuries at this point. Everything starts to go dark, no matter how much you try to resist it. You try to say something at least - anything to convince him to stop, or help, or do anything other than what he’s currently doing - but your lips won’t move. All you can manage is a trailing-off mumble before you pass out, fast asleep. ... End of Part 1

4:57 PM

[There will be a brief intermission before Part 2 begins.]

️ - Be Victor.

- Be Arthur. [Vivienne will be somewhat indisposed when we begin Part 2. We’ll need someone else to be in the meantime.]

- Be Lantoon.

- Be Su.

- Be Allie.

- Remain Vivienne. [Time will progress faster as there won’t be a lot for her to do immediately.] ❓ - Be someone else. [Who?] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 62 Earlier... “Alright, that’s enough,” the man says, taking the glass phone away from you. “Give the pane back to Barnaby,” he instructs the person on the other end. Vivienne must have complied, as he listens briefly, nods, and hangs up. Then he turns back to you. The man is intimidating, like most of the guards you’ve seen around here, with a hefty build and a heavy glass bat hanging as a weapon at his hip. He wears a white chain around his neck, from which a plain golden ring is strung. All of them do. “Isn’t that nice,” he says casually. “You’ll be outta here in a week! ‘Least, you will if that Diver girl behaves.” “You will have no trouble with Vivienne, I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She means what she says.” The guard rolls his eyes. “‘Course. They all say that. Alright, back to bed, old man.” You comply without incident as the guard leads you out of the moderately-sized, barren glass room and up three flights of stairs to a long, dim hallway. Some of the glass panes along the hall are faintly transparent, suggesting windows may have been present originally, but now they’re too blurry to make out anything useful outside. It’s all dark at the moment, anyway. “You know the drill,” the guard notes as he pushes you into your room and shuts the door to lock it. “Someone’ll be by in the morning.” “Of course.” Heavy footsteps thump away and you’re left alone. You’re familiar with that particular guard, though you still don’t know his name. He’s not your exclusive caretaker, but he certainly shows up more often than anyone else and tends to be more polite than required. He’s never seriously harassed you, unlike some of the others, so you reward his consideration with some of your own. You’re never any trouble for him, which has hopefully been noticed by whoever schedules their shifts. He’s been showing up even more often lately, so that certainly seems plausible.

12:00 PM

You let out a deep breath and sit down on the thin bedding you’re allowed. A single dull light globe provides illumination from the ceiling when you touch a panel on the wall. Honestly, this place feels more like a cramped, run-down hotel room than a prison cell, with the notable restriction that you aren’t allowed to leave. It probably was exactly that originally, given what you’ve observed of the building’s layout. You’ve even got a bathroom in here, so you could potentially drown yourself if you wanted. Not that you would; it’s just interesting that this room would be a very poor choice for an interrogation subject with the resolve to do anything to avoid spilling their secrets. You suppose a Diver would have more trouble, and additionally suppose that these people seem more into kidnapping and ransom than interrogation. They’ve hardly asked you about anything not related to your apprentice, which was likely a serious mistake on their part. They know you’re clearly aware of magic on some level in order to arrive at the City of Glass at all, but as far as you can tell, no one here is aware you are a legitimate magician. Certainly if they were, they would have taken more pains to restrict your available writing materials. They haven’t been forthcoming enough to provide you actual ink and paper, but you always have the walls and plenty of the provided food can leave stains on glass. It took you a while to get over your initial despair to hatch something resembling a plan, but once you did... It’s not like you don’t trust Vivienne to do whatever it is these people want. But you’d be crazy to trust them to hold up their end of the bargain. Maybe they will and everything will be fine. But in the event that they don’t, or - hypothetical gods forbid - if something happens to Vivienne, well, that’s what your backup plan is for.

12:00 PM

You are limited in what spells you can weave without your reference books or proper materials. This structural glass seems to be significantly resistant to most enchantments, meaning glyphs you draw on it are weaker and less stable than normal. You’ve tried constructing a circle on the bedding, which doesn’t have this problem, but it’s both more obvious and regularly washed, so you’d have to be very quick. Drawing a sigil on your own body or clothes carries similar issues, but you certainly haven’t discounted the possibility. Still, for now, the glass seems the best option despite its limitations. You can draw fairly large circles in the spaces behind or under various pieces of furniture, and the added complexity possible with that extra time and space will be able to offset the poor base material as long as you’re clever. Which, not to toot your own horn, but you haven’t been studying this field for most of your career for nothing. The problem is more in deciding which method to use than in coming up with one at all.

12:00 PM

So the days go by as you add more and more sigils to the walls, floors, and even ceiling while you’re supposed to be sleeping. When you aren’t working on them, you hide them with a weak disguise charm you fashioned out of most of a roll of toilet paper, several saved packets’ worth of jam, a plastic spork (not glass, really!), and eight hours of frantic work. The power dwelling within your room grows, to the point where you’re now fairly confident you could escape if you wanted to try. You have several violent circles that could likely blast a hole in the outer wall, a few choices for invisibility, one to slow your fall in the event of needing to jump, and even a medium-range teleportation circle occupying almost the entire ceiling in the main room. That one you’re less confident in, but it’s a powerful option if it actually works. You’re honestly very impressed by the little disguise charm for being able to hide all this stuff; you’ve covered just above every surface in the room by now. But you don’t want to escape just yet. You’re not in immediate danger, and you’d very much rather be released than escape, if you have the choice. An escape would be frantic and obvious, carry a lot of risk, and certainly result in these people attempting to chase you down. It could harm Vivienne as well, since she doesn’t know your plans. You could easily envision a circumstance where you manage to break out, but then your unaware apprentice is captured instead when she goes to complete the deal to free you.

12:00 PM

So you’ll stay put for now. You know when you’re supposed to be released: in the next few days. You’re sure that (relatively) friendly guard fellow will tell you if something goes wrong, directly or otherwise. If everything goes well, you’ll never need the web of magic you’ve draped over your room. If not, however, you’ll certainly be glad it’s there.

- You are correct about the friendliness of the guard.

- You are not. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 63 Part 2 “Lantoon, we’ve got a problem. Where are you?” You pull away from whatever vague void you had been dreaming about, finding yourself in Su’s now-familiar house with gentle snow falling and a crackling fireplace. You know this was her childhood home, before the escalating and increasingly absurd sequence of events that led to her death. The snowfall reminds you somewhat of your own childhood, although your own home wasn’t so spacious. “We just arrived in the City of Glass. I am currently sleeping in order to dispel the mist barrier.” “Okay.” She’s pacing around rather than sitting on the couch like normal. “That’s good. I think something’s gone wrong with Vivienne.” “What evidence do you have?” “She’s sleeping right now, but her dreams are so confusing that I can’t find her anywhere. Everything’s chaotic and loud and really scary. Or it would be scary for a non-dreamwalker, at least. I’m not scared.” “So she’s having a nightmare. That hardly seems unusual.” “I can tell the difference!” Su pouts, putting her hands on her hips and spinning to face you. “I’d be able to find her if it was a normal nightmare! This is something magical.” “Very well. What is the problem, then?” Su is the dream expert here; you agreed to rely on her knowledge when preparing for this mission. And despite her changing mindset, she has generally been a reliable ally in the past. “I think it’s her brother. He’s a magician too, and he’s really unstable. I bet he put her to sleep for some reason. Maybe they had an argument or something?” “It is a concern,” you admit, considering your next move. “Ask Ten to get surveillance on the Redmarsh manor.” “You think he might try to take her back home?” “You explained that his primary motivation is to protect his sister. Removing her from danger by bringing her home seems plausible.” “Okay,” Su agrees. “I’ll go tell him once we’re done here.”

1:57 PM

As your director Ten is located on Earth and your communications can’t cross the City of Glass’s boundary, Su is one of the best and only ways to talk to HQ. She can only speak to people in the City through dreamwalking, due to her inability to manifest inside its bounds, but isn’t so limited on Earth. She’s fully capable of physically appearing and speaking to Ten in person. Or using a physical phone, which is her usual approach since getting into the secured building is a hassle for her. Apparently Vivienne was able to construct a magic tool that could eliminate this need for a dream-based messenger; you’d like to speak to her about it after this is all over. “Are you going straight to the apartment?” Su asks after a pause to write something down, presumably to tell Ten. “Can you tell me what you find there right away?” “We are. Agent Fei will be returning to sleep shortly after to speak with you.” It takes a toll on agents to keep drugging themselves to sleep in order to communicate with Su, so the team rotates that responsibility. You can’t do it all yourself; you need to be awake to lead the operation. “Fei, huh? I like her; she’s thorough.” “That is why she was selected for the first rotation.” “Okay; that’s all I wanted to tell you for now. You know everything else, I think. Oh, except I do have a message from a certain special someone!” Su grins happily and almost bounces in place, leaving you no doubt who the message is from. “You wanna hear it? I’ll tell you if you can guess who-” “The message is obviously from Agent Ortiez. Hurry up.” She pouts again. “You’re no fun. Okay, Allie says she’s been practicing her regrowth and she’s pretty sure she can handle even a pretty old injury as long as she’s got a reference for what the original was like. So if you can find, like, a picture of Vivienne or something before she got hurt, that’d be really helpful.”

1:57 PM

You almost sigh. “I doubt she would have brought a picture of herself to the City of Glass. Tell Agent Ortiez to search on her own. Surely such an image exists on the internet.” “Okayy~! I’ll tell Allie you believe in her and think she’s so smart she can figure it out on-” “Word for word, Suyeon. Do not exaggerate.” “... Fiiiine.” She spins on her heel and walks to the door leading back to the porch. “You’re such a buzzkill, Lantoon. Don’t you want to tell her how you really feel?” “I am not hiding my emotions from her. You are simply delusional.” “You’re the delusional one! Come on; she shows up in like half your dreams! You’ve got a crush on Allie but you won’t admit it~!” “Leave,” you order, not engaging with her antics any further. “Fine, fine. I’ll go deliver your messages. Good luck, by the way. Be careful; I don’t know what you’re going to find.” You nod. Su leaves. Your dream fades back into a more traditional structure, although you stay lucid and will remain so until you wake up. It would be nice if Su could stay serious for longer; that’s one of the changes in her mindset that’s been accelerating over the past few years. When you first met her, she had been levelheaded and reliable, but over time she’s gotten... well, like this. Still competent, friendly, and helpful, but overexciteable and with strange delusions about your personal relationships. You do care about Allie. She is one of your closest friends. But there’s certainly nothing romantic between you. Maybe if you bring all three of you into the same room and have Allie herself help explain...?

1:57 PM

See, this is the problem. You’re distracted when you should be focusing on the mission. The stakes are high; you’ve got the safety of at least two civilians to ensure, possible complications from Victor, and of course the Stake that might (or might not) dissolve all physical matter if anything happens to it. You can’t spare any mental capacity to entertain the fantasies of a semi-demon dreamwalker, even while literally sleeping. You have more productive thoughts to consider. Finally, you wake up to your alarm, quickly sitting up and efficiently donning your equipment. Other agents in the room are doing the same. Someone verifies that the mist is gone; you stride to a window to confirm for yourself. Ordinary-looking people walk below, not ghostly wraiths. You’re on the clock now, and it’s ticking fast. Time to move. [What sort of leads do you find to investigate? Not necessarily FPTP.]

- A broker named Eridya.

- A Ring contact named Barnaby. ⏫ - The Tower. ⏬ - An abyssal trench that once held the Stake.

- The Stake. It’s just been left behind, apparently? ❓ - Something else. [Specify in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 64 “Romas, Cal,” you state. The two men in question hurriedly snap to attention. “Test the PRS field, cautiously. We don’t know what it might do here.” “Sir!” Both agents respond quickly, with Cal helping Romas put on one of the PRS backpacks - personal reality stabilizers - your team brought along. You haven’t yet tested them in the City of Glass; the place is so steeped in magic you were worried it could ruin the transfer if you tried on the ferry, then you’ve been too busy getting set up after you arrived. Now, however, you need to know what they do. They’re designed to re-assert proper Earth reality, but what that means in a place as alien as this is anyone’s guess. They might not even be safe to use. Which would be a significant problem, but it’s a problem you need to be aware of if it exists. “Fei, Ms Che is in one of her moods again. Keep her focused when it’s time.” She nods, well aware of Su’s recent tendencies. “The rest of you, we’re moving out shortly.” You relay the information you gathered in your dream to the agents as everyone prepares. Romas and Cal go outside to test the PRS device - you don’t want them endangering the rest of your group - and return after a few minutes with some bad news. As expected, the PRS doesn’t work properly in the City of Glass. It re-asserts normal Earth reality, alright, but that isn’t helpful here. It seems that wherever you are in the “real” world is actually just the vacuum of space, so turning on one of the devices begins to expose the user to interstellar void. Thankfully, the agents were careful enough to avoid injury, experimenting only with the lowest power required to understand the effects. It might be scientifically interesting to experiment with higher power levels, but you’ll leave that to the scientists. All you need to know is that enforcing a stable reality here is a good way to get your team killed.

4:45 PM

This is a problem. AIB agents are primarily normal humans - highly trained and physically fit, of course, but normal nonetheless - which means your first response to magical threats is often to neutralize their abilities with a reality stabilized field. From there, you can engage with the threat on even footing. That’s not an option here, and your usual secondary plan - bringing in one of the agents capable of using magic, like Ortiez - is also not possible. Apparently her silver blood reacts poorly to the dimension; trying to bring her here would disturb the delicate ritual required and you’d end up just going on a normal ferry ride. That’s not to say you’re out of tricks, but it is to say that you’re a little more on-edge than normal, without the easy assurance of a battle-tested plan. It doesn’t take long to arrive at the address Su provided. The entrance is around back, accessible via an alleyway made almost entirely of the solid water common to the City. Not that the paving material matters much to your group, as none of you are Divers. It seems you can sink into the water by turning on a PRS device, but doing that would be dangerous and foolish due to the previously discovered issues. You have Romas, Cal, and Bowman take point while the rest of you cover them from below. No one answers the door after several attempts, so you give clearance to break it open. The three agents sweep the interior quickly, finding no danger and allowing everyone else to enter. Now you can really start the investigation.

4:46 PM

There’s clear evidence of a fight. Traces of blood on the floor, disordered furniture, and a discarded scrap of paper scribed with the strange sigils common to what your scientists refer to as “glyphic” or “golden” magic. Being able to use magic like this would be extremely useful to your agents - and it should be possible - but so far no one has been able to create any glyph-based effects or diagnose why it isn’t working. Even Su can’t explain, beyond some vague mutterings (usually only extractable when you get her drunk) that she has so far declined to clarify. Frustrating. Some other artifacts foster additional clues. A bag bigger on the inside than the out is discovered stuffed underneath the bed, containing Vivienne’s journal, a sketchbook with dozens of glyphic patterns on its pages, several tools of unknown origin and use, and... a length of silvery metal with a reflective, mercurial surface. You stare at the stake with your brown deeply furrowed. It is unmistakably the Stake - of the Imprisoned God - or at least a well-crafted fake. But why would it be here, just left under the bed for anyone to find? If it’s the real Stake, its placement is baffling. No one would want to leave such a powerful artifact out of their control. If it’s a fake, leaving it here makes a little more sense, but leaving the original is so unlikely that the fakery seems easy to prove. And you know Vivienne is aware of its powers, so... perhaps Victor wasn’t?

4:46 PM

If he put her to sleep as Su seems to believe, and if he didn’t know about the Stake, then he wouldn’t necessarily have any reason to bring it. Perhaps Vivienne purposefully didn’t tell him so it could be passed along to you, as agreed? Ah, and here’s the Leitman disc she described as well. You can give that to Su once you return to Earth. And you’ll also need someone to analyze the Stake, so you’ll keep that with you as well. It certainly is magical to some degree - your limited tools can tell you that much - but it’s beyond your portable kit to determine whether it’s the authentic article. You and Fei read the journal, summarizing for the other agents while they search the place for any further clues. Vivienne was pretty thorough in her notes, which is a great help. You learn a number of things from her writing, including the contact details of a broker named Eridya and the Ring contact Barnaby she had been working with. The increasingly shaky sentences towards the end also detail her mounting worry about what Victor might do, and some countermeasures she was apparently very wary of deploying. The very last entry ends just before leaving to give the Stake to Barnaby. Given one of your objectives is to secure Arthur’s safety, it seems that dealing with the Ring would be a logical next step. Agent Fei prepares her sleeping pills to communicate with Su, but you’ll need to form a plan first.

4:46 PM

[You can suggest extra details for any of the plans in #story_discussion.]

- Call Barnaby and explain that Vivienne is no longer in any position to honor their deal, and that they should return Arthur.

️ - Use your official authority to demand him back. You’re not exactly in your jurisdiction right now, but you doubt anyone will mind.

- Bamboozle. Tail, track, observe, break out - something like that. You don’t need to negotiate.

- Offer something else for Arthur. You can’t enter the Tower, but maybe they have something else they’d like?

- Also try to get the other Stake back. You never know if there was a switcheroo and the one you have now is actually fake.

- You’re confident you have the real one. No need. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 65 The team splits up for the rest of the day. Fei returns from her talk with Suyeon armed with a few more tests to carry out on the Stake to determine its authenticity. It passes them all, though that doesn’t necessarily prove it’s not a fake. Just that it’s either real or extremely sophisticated. Still, given how little time was available to make the fake one, you figure it’s extremely likely to be the real one. She also relays that Ten has agreed to your surveillance suggestion and that he’s left Agent Ortiez on standby in case you need her once you return. That blandly paraphrased note tells you two things: he’s not trying to keep her away from this mission by sending her somewhere else, and she didn’t force her way onto whatever team was sent to the Redmarsh manor. You had been somewhat concerned she would, so this news is heartening. Bowman and Drait check in with the broker that Vivienne had been working with. From her, they learn a little about Arthur, Vivienne, Diving and the City generally, and the consequences of the Tower’s recent decree. You also receive some limited extra information on the Ring’s operations and the god Krol, though none of it is exceptionally helpful at the moment. What is somewhat more helpful is the membra they’re able to obtain by selling some less-important information and artifacts. You, Ramos, Cal, and Daniels can then use that membra to purchase a pane and set up a meeting with Barnaby. The former pair communicates directly, negotiating for Arthur’s release with what resources you possess, while the latter pair acts as backup while attempting to locate the structure where he’s being held. Barnaby himself doesn’t visit it - you’d be surprised if he even knew where it was - and it’s difficult to get a proper trace without any of your usual intelligence tools.

4:58 PM

You’re unable to persuade the Ring to accept anything less than an artifact from the Tower in exchange, and you imagine they’re now aware that Vivienne is no longer able to retrieve one for them. You don’t explicitly admit where you got your information or that you’ve been in contact with her, but it isn’t difficult to put together based on the identity of the person you’re asking after. After their first tasks, you send Fei, Bowman, and Drait to the docks to work out what ferries Victor may have used if he did take Vivienne out of the City, and also put together a few options for your own extraction. You’re not here for a long stay and you need to get these artifacts back to HQ before something happens to them. Even with the transcribed instructions originally from Vivienne, the three agents have a very tough time working out the precise details. It’s more efficient to simply buy the information from a broker - apparently some individuals in the City of Glass make some extra membra on the side by performing these convoluted calculations for those who wish to transit to and from Earth. With this in mind, it becomes clear that it wouldn’t have taken nearly as much work as Vivienne had expected to determine how to leave. Your team is able to accomplish it in a matter of hours, without significant prior knowledge. That night, there’s an unexpected commotion in one of the districts near the City’s northwestern edge. A bit of investigation in the morning quickly reveals a probable source of the disturbance, and you have Drait return to sleep almost immediately to get in touch with your mutual semi-demon acquaintance. You’re hardly idle while waiting for him to wake up; the room is becoming a tangle of printouts, laptops, and other equipment as everyone digs into correlating what information you have. Everyone but you and Fei (and the sleeping Drait) are sent back out accordingly to sweep for the individual you believe to be responsible.

4:58 PM

Drait offers you a confident grin when he finally awakens. “Found him.” From there, it’s easy to have several of your agents converge on Arthur’s reported location, make contact, and bring him back to your temporary base. The disturbance had been a series of small explosions from the upper floor of a seemingly-closed hotel. Your tools picked up traces of golden magic on the scene, and Daniels, one of your more perceptive agents, noticed a few strangely-behaving “officials” helping with the cleanup. Ring members. You thus asked Drait to get Su to try dreamwalking to Arthur again, anticipating that he would need to rest shortly after performing such arduous spells in the middle of the night. After several failed attempts, she managed to get a connection and explained her position and relationship with Vivienne. That was enough to convince him to tell Drait his location, finally allowing Ramos, Cal, Daniels, and Bowman to bring him back to you. “Special Agent Cameron Lantoon, US government,” you introduce yourself as you shake hands with the thin, haggard-looking professor. You want him to be immediately aware where his secrets will go if he decides to share them. “Pleased to meet you at last, Dr Rosenset.” “Hum, likewise. Arthur Rosenset at your service, as it seems you already know. Goodness, your dreamwalkers gave me quite a fright this morning! I initially believed them to be pursuing Ring members and thought I had made a grave miscalculation!” Drait waves from behind you, apologizing briefly for the confusion, but leaves you broadly in charge of the conversation. “Now, if I’m understanding all of this properly, Vivienne is not here, yes?” “Correct.” “And you government folks are here... on her request? In order to rescue me? Thank you, by the way.”

4:58 PM

A nod. “Partially. Your safety is one of our objectives, but so is recovering your apprentice.” You omit mention of the Stake; Arthur hadn’t been around for any of it and doesn’t need to know. “It is convenient that you managed to escape on your own. I had expected to spend several more days here, but now we should be able to leave almost immediately.” “Er, what about Vivienne? Is she no longer here?” “We believe her brother has taken her back to Earth. If you have any way of confirming her location, please share.” “Her brother...?” Arthur mutters briefly. “Why would he be here? And why would she go with him?” “Her brother is also a capable magician, and we believe he kidnapped her.” “Oh - oh dear. Truly? She had never spoken of him in such a way...” “Can you detect her location? I hesitate to ask in your current state, but if she is still within the City of Glass, leaving would be a mistake.” Arthur straightens up, despite his clear exhaustion. “Of course I can cast a divining rite. I just need some paper, something to write with, my books if you found them, er...” He continues with a few more materials, ticking them off on his fingers as he counts.

- Arthur’s stuff is still here.

- Victor must have taken the books. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 66 Thankfully, some of the books you had found in your earlier canvas are marked with Arthur’s name and contain the patterns he needs to construct the rite. Drait and Fei help him with the more physically taxing preparation, additionally asking him about the purpose of various parts of the circle. It’s not often you have a chance to speak with a friendly magician willing to share information; gathering intelligence is always important. “This is a wide-area tracking rite,” Arthur explains while scribing out glyph after glyph by reference from several of his books. “It works much like the smaller tracking tools less-experienced magicians use, but at a significantly higher level of power. A circle of this size should be able to cover about twenty to thirty miles in any direction, which is hopefully enough to check the entire City.” “How do you define what you’re searching for?” Fei asks, leaning closer to the glyphs. She’s the inquisitive type and one of the most consistent volunteers for the AIB’s tests with golden magic. “This band here.” Arthur points out a wide arc near the circle’s center, spiraling gently around a middling-size core. You don’t recognize most of the symbols, but you do catch sight of Suyeon’s metzmatan in that core. Perhaps it’s used as an anchor. “The specifier band requires the caster to describe their relationship with the target, as the ritual essentially extends my senses to search. Since it’s using ‘my eyes,’ as it were, it needs to know what I think of the target, rather than the objective truth - which itself doesn’t necessarily exist. So in this chain, I’ve used these glyphs that indicate a mentorship, this link that describes trust, this...” The man continues explaining his process, receiving fascinated attention from his two “students.” You’d stop them, but he’s still drawing with admirable concentration as he speaks. It doesn’t seem like it will hurt anything to let him keep going.

5:16 PM

“Hum... there,” he announces, stepping back after re-checking everything. “It’s ready to be activated. Unfortunately, I will have to ask for assistance doing so; I’m pitifully tired and don’t have the stamina to do so on my own.” “What will this assistance entail?” you ask, intervening before Drait or Fei can volunteer. “The helpers will have to join hands with me, stand in specific spots, and fuel the magic with their own stamina. They’ll be quite tired afterwards, but I promise there will be no dangerous effects.” “Hm. Go ahead, then.” You’re familiar with the concept of being a battery from Allie’s constant struggles with running herself out of energy from magic overuse. Golden magic must work on similar principles. As expected, Drait and Fei are happy to assist and the ritual soon proceeds. Arthur speaks a long incantation, the circle shimmers with a heat-like distortion, and... that’s it. “Whew,” Arthur exhales, stepping back. The two agents are clearly tired from their exertion, but Arthur seems almost ready to pass out even with their help. “That was a negative result. She isn’t here.” You nod. “Then rest. You two as well. Everyone else, wrap up what you can. We leave tomorrow afternoon on the first ferry back.” ... “Hey again,” Su says, swimming into your dream in a more literal sense than usual. You were dreaming about the ocean, it seems, and she climbs out of the surf to sit down huffily on a nearby lounge chair. “I’m so tired...” she groans, rubbing her face. “This is all your fault.” “You agreed to help with this mission,” you remind her. “I knowwwwww.” Su leans back further, almost at risk of tipping over backwards. She does look exhausted, without the energy she had displayed even this morning. And the fact that she came into your dream rather than pulling you into hers is another sign that she’s just trying to save what power she can. “You AIB guys have been sending me all over the place delivering messages! I’m not a courier!”

5:16 PM

“Speaking of, I have a report for HQ.” “AAAAAaaa...” she trails off, grumbling. “Fine. Let’s hear it. You better be on your way back so I don’t have to do this much longer.” You summarize your recent activities for Ten, watching Su write them down. She’ll complain, but she’ll do her job. “The schedule has us returning to Valencia, Spain, in roughly two days. We’ll need air travel arranged before we arrive.” “Spain...?” “The next ferry to the US is predicted to be a full week later.” “Okay then. Everyone you brought plus Arthur?” “Correct.” “Is that all you need? Any packages to deliver? Advertisements? Spam mail? Go ahead, pile it on!” She smacks her head, giving herself a postal worker’s cap, and salutes. “Well, since you asked...” “I take it back!” She turns away to pout, not having expected you to go along with it. You rarely joke around. “Just listen to your messages from Ten and go back to sleep. I need to go to bed myself...” “Go ahead.” “Okay, okay...” She returns her outfit to normal. “The Redmarsh manor is protected by a magic barrier, so scouts can’t get close. I bet you’ll never guess who they wanted to go poke at it!” “No one. This is surveillance only.” “... You were supposed to feel bad for me, not get it right.” Su sighs. “They did want me to at least look at it, but I don’t know much about barriers and stuff. Just dreams. Intaqui probably would, but he’s busy with that other demon that’s related to the Redmarsh curse. She’s doing something dangerous and he’s trying to figure out what. So don’t expect to be bailed out by him again.” “We have not had much contact with your patron, let alone-” “It was a warning for me, not you! Anyway, I’ll tell you what’s going on once I know anything about it, but for now just be careful of, like, curses. I guess.” “... Noted.”

5:16 PM

“Okay, um, the barrier didn’t help, but it looks like there’s only a few servants and the wife in the manor right now. Someone else could be hiding somewhere, but that’s all anyone’s seen yet. Nothing weird happening so far.” “Good.” “What else... Oh, Allie found a picture of Vivienne from her college graduation with her hand in view, so that should be fine. That’s only a few months old at this point, I think.” “What is she intending to do when we return?” “Isn’t it obvious? She’s gonna come with youuu~ to rescue Vivienne!” It is obvious that’s what she would want to do. But... “Ten agreed?” “Obvi! He’s not gonna put, like, April on something like this.” “I believed he was reluctant to put Ortiez in contact with golden magic.” “Apparently not that reluctant! Anyway, this is great, right? You get to hang out with her and save the day again, just like last year, and the year before that, and-” “You are only reminding me of harrowing missions where one or both of us were regularly in mortal peril.” “You’re so grumpy, Lantoon. Wasn’t your trip to Brazil romantic?” “We were there to rescue a kidnapping victim.” Suyeon rolls her eyes at you. Something about the color briefly catches your attention, but by the time you focus, they’re just the same dark green as always. You suppose you are dreaming, after all.

- Something’s off with Suyeon. Interrogate her. [Specifying what your concern(s) is/are will greatly increase the efficiency of this option.]

- She’s just weird and tired. Leave her alone. You don’t want to make her legitimately angry right before you’ll be working with her in reality. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 67 “Suyeon, rest,” you instruct her. “We will return shortly, so your messenger duties are nearly complete.” “... Alright. Hope everything goes smooth on the way back.” “Indeed.” And that’s that. She steps out of your dream, hopefully to deliver your message and then go to sleep. Or whatever it is she does that serves the same purpose. ... “Lotta people on this boat,” Bowman comments casually, standing nearby as you watch the City’s glass towers fade back into the omnipresent fog. “Too many, I’d say.” “Agreed.” You had noticed as well. Most ferries bound for Earth carry only a handful of travelers past the City’ boundaries, but this one still holds nearly two dozen passengers as it makes for the open ocean. “Daniels is investigating.” “On top of it as always,” she says, leaning against the railing. “You think they’re Ring people?” “Perhaps. Stay sharp.” “Is a fight gonna mess with the transfer?” “...” You don’t know. But you can hazard a guess. “It relies on precise timing. If the schedule is interrupted, that does seem likely.” “So no big booms,” Bowman decides. “‘Least, not till we’re back on the Earth ocean.” “Not then either, if possible,” you chide. “Once we return, we will be under Spanish jurisdiction. Do not make this into an international incident.” “I’ll try.” She grimaces. “But if it’s me or the diplomats...” “I understand.” Daniels returns in the next fifteen minutes, sidling over to your side as Bowman watches the deck for anything suspicious. “Eight of them,” he confirms. “I couldn’t check them all, but enough were talking to each other I’m pretty confident.” “Outnumbered,” you note in a neutral tone. “Are they Ring or some other opportunists?” “Not sure. I think at least one guy is Ring - the red bowler hat fellow - but at least two of them didn’t seem the type. Just hired thugs. I’m thinking there are a few Ring people, then some contractors.” “Any of them dangerous?”

9:26 PM

Daniels wiggles his hand noncommittally. “Individually? Probably not a match for any of us. All at once, when we’ve also got to keep things quiet and keep our guest safe? Maybe. Depends on what sort of magic they’ve got.” You frown. “What are they doing so far?” “Gathering info, just like us. Trying to see who’s with us, who’s not involved, and where the doctor is. I doubt they’ve clocked all of us yet, but some of us certainly stand out. No offense, sir.” Your physique and bearing make it difficult for you to pose as an ordinary civilian. You’re used to it. Helps draw attention away from your less-obvious team members. Daniels, Cal, and Fei in particular are decent at blending in, while you, Bowman, Romas, and Drait are definitely not. “Keep an eye out for weapons and post Cal near Rosenset as a sentry. Gather information but do not engage yet. We need to know the risks before we take them on.” “Understood.” Daniels heads off again to make contact with the rest of your team, most of whom are spread out around the boat pretending to be regular passengers. Bowman returns to lean against the railing again. She’s too muscular and too obviously on guard to pass as a civilian, so she’s sticking with you for mutual safety. “Tall woman on the upper deck,” she murmurs. “Gangly guy with her. Givin’ me bad vibes.” You casually glance upwards and catch a glimpse of the pair in question. They’re obviously trying not to look at you. Amateurish. “Did they notice Daniels?” Bowman shakes her head. “He was gone before they showed up. Hey, careful. Holding something.” You had noticed as well, at about the same time. The tall woman is holding a slim tube, like a long straw. She dips it into a drink, speaking to the gangly man. “Evade,” you order, setting off towards the ferry’s interior. As Bowman moves to follow, you notice the woman upstairs pull the “straw” out of her drink and aim it at Bowman, trailing just behind and less protected by the wall.

9:26 PM

She leaps a few paces forward, as if she had just forgotten to ask you a question, and something small and blue splats on the deck where she had just been. Liquid quickly evaporates into sweet-smelling mist. You both enter the inner hallways, unharmed. “That must’ve been poison; this feels like a spy thriller,” Bowman states, grinning. “Exciting!” She’s a little odd in the head. A lot of your agents are. Still, that little interaction means that your adversaries aren’t above direct (if fairly low-key) attacks. Holding back to gather information while under fire seems irresponsible. How are you going to handle this?

️ - Gather everyone; hole up and defend the doctor and each other.

‍

- Buddy up and go hunting. Take out your adversaries.

- Stay quiet; stay sneaky. Have each agent eliminate one enemy.

- Be aggressive. Deal with this situation immediately before they can get the upper hand. ❓ - [Or some other plan...? Specify in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

‍

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 68 At this point, you agree to use the radio. Speaking in person had seemed less conspicuous at the time, in case your enemies had tools to spot unexpected broadcasts, but you need to deliver instructions quickly. You speak with brevity, informing the other agents of the attack and their new directives to eliminate the threat. Quietly, cautiously, and in pairs so everyone has someone to watch their back. Except for Cal, that is; you have seven agents to assign, including yourself, and you need someone to watch Rosenset just in case. “You and me, then?” Bowman asks. “Indeed.” “Wanna see if we can take out that woman and her buddy?” You consider that option. They know what you look like, so you won’t have the element of surprise. However, you also don’t know what all of your opponents look like, so it’s to your advantage to target a pair you’ve already seen. Additionally, you don’t need to be unknown to your targets if they’re already dead by the time they spot you. “Very well. The stairs are to the left.” “Lemme try and lure ‘em down here,” Bowman suggests as you head up. “You wait here so we can get ‘em out of sight. Don’t wanna have anyone panic and alert the crew.” You aren’t the most enthusiastic. “Do not attempt to engage on your own,” you warn the hotheaded agent. “Return here as soon as practical.” “You got it, chief.” Bowman finishes her ascent and slips out onto the upper deck.

8:59 PM

You take a few paces back down, returning to the lower level, and reach behind your back. Your hand closes on nothing but thin air for a moment before a smooth grip falls into your grasp. In moments, you’ve retrieved a sleek white pistol from nowhere and now hold it ready for immediate use. The gun is a magical item, of a sort, but one that you don’t have to know any magic yourself to use. It was originally made by Ortiez’s sister, and was passed on to you after her death two years ago. Allie herself has no need for a weapon like that, but she still wanted someone close to her sister to use it. It serves you well. The weapon is near-silent, eerily accurate, and powerful to boot. In addition to the more obvious feature of being stored in thin air instead of a standard holster, of course. Now you just have to wait. “...” Calm, collected. Bowman may be reckless at times, but she’s competent. It may take her a while to lure the enemy pair over here without raising suspicions. Even longer to do so in a safer manner without risking being shot at again. Although you doubt she’ll bother with too much effort in that regard. And as expected, you are very correct. Bowman bursts through the door a few minutes later, hurtling down the stairs several at a time. “Down, hurry!” You follow her lead, dipping into the hallway you cleared earlier as the stairway door creaks again. There’s blue liquid on her back. You don’t say anything yet, instead positioning yourself in ambush as Bowman’s pursuers catch up. Aim, pause, and... Three flashes from the weapon in your hands. The gangly man drops on the first, while the woman takes two. Both collapse in a tangled heap at the base of the stairs. “You miss or something?” Bowman asks, hurrying forward to confirm the kills. “Why three?” “Armor, I believe,” you answer. “Check the woman’s chest.” “Lantoon, you dog,” she banters, but does so anyway. “Glass plate? I guess that makes sense. You cracked it good with that first shot.”

8:59 PM

The two of you take some time to clean up, dumping the bodies overboard and wiping up the small amount of blood that managed to spill out in the meantime. It’s almost a surprise that no one interrupts, but the crew is small and busy on the bridge, while the only passengers that aren’t part of this conflict are seemingly in their rooms. Someone does come by a few minutes after you finish, giving the stairs hardly even a passing glance. Success. “Bowman,” you remember. “The liquid on your back; you were shot. You aren’t injured?” She shakes her head. “Didn’t even make it through my jacket, let alone the armor. I doubt I wanna wear this again, just in case, but look - nothing there at all, not even a stain.” You inspect the back of her shirt just to be safe, but it’s as she says. The liquid had only splattered onto her water-resistant jacket, failing to penetrate even a single layer of clothing. “Concerning,” you decide. “What sort of adversary would use weapons unable to harm even a modestly dressed opponent?” Bowman shrugs. “Maybe it was meant to be drunk, or sprayed on from close range or something. Maybe she was improvising with the blowgun kinda thing?” “Perhaps...” You’re not convinced. “Return to your cabin to change. Dispose of the jacket and shirt.” “You don’t wanna keep ‘em to analyze the liquid?” “We are only assuming the liquid is harmful. It could be a tracking solution or some similar subterfuge. Dispose of them.” Another shrug. “You got it.” You escort Bowman back to her cabin and keep watch while she changes, then take a stroll around the ferry. It’s looking a lot emptier than before.

8:59 PM

When you meet up with Daniels and Romas, they’re able to support that, and a call-in over the radio confirms it. Eight enemies eliminated; zero agents injured. All of the Ring adversaries were amateurish, poorly trained in matters of combat or spycraft. None of you were ever in serious danger, and Rosenset never even has to know what could have happened if he had been on his own. It does nag at you a little, though. Why were all of these low-level thugs sent instead of more capable combatants? Were these the best the Ring had? Did they expect to only be facing down one exhausted professor rather than seven trained agents? Or has this whole thing just been a distraction somehow?

- Be Vivienne for a bit.

- Keep being Lantoon. ❓ - Be someone else. [Specify, if you’d like; otherwise it’s my choice.] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 69 ... Consciousness slowly returns alongside a heavy thumping and a suffocating heat. It doesn’t take long to understand that both of these things are coming from you. Your heartbeat is too loud and you have a fever. Your throat feels like you’ve swallowed a cotton ball. You’re clearly very sick. Everything sucks. “...” Opening your eyes leads to momentary confusion. It’s your room - not the one in the City of Glass, but the one back home. You’re tucked tightly into bed, with a damp cloth on your forehead and a bottle of water on the nightstand. No one’s here at the moment, but the nearby chair and still-damp cloth indicates someone was here not long before. Why are you home again? What happened...? You extricate your arms from the covers and try to rub your face, but end up bonking yourself with your wrist. Memory starts to return as you stare at your missing hand. Victor showed up. He lost his mind. He knocked you out with the spell... and then...? It’s a total blank from then until now. Not even any dreams; the tool rarely produces any. That explains why you have such a bad fever, at least. He must have re-applied it several times over on the ferry back, stressing your body more each time. Now that you’re awake, you should recover in a day or two. Your left hand is still attached to your wrist exactly as it should be, and your eyes remain in their sockets. Given what Victor had said and done just before he knocked you out, you’re extremely relieved by those observations. In fact, aside from your right hand and the ongoing fever, you feel pretty good. Your cheek doesn’t hurt where he punched you, the wound in your torso feels okay, and even your wrist feels normal-ish - if a little light.

4:35 PM

After a series of long drinks from the bottle, you wrestle your way out of the covers and stand up, swaying and shivering with feverish chills. You probably shouldn’t be doing this, but you’re not about to just lie there until you understand the situation. Are you okay now, or do you need to escape? Your room is on the manor’s second floor. A peek out the windows reveals nothing out of the ordinary on the grounds - no bars, guards, or forcefields preventing you from leaving - and a quick poke through the closets, attached bathroom, and furniture shows nothing seriously out of place. After that, you try the door and find it unlocked. Good. You tip-toe into the hallway, a little nervous despite how benign everything has been so far. The main staircase is just down the hall to the left. Your footsteps are silent on the soft, plush carpet and portraits of your ancestors stare disapprovingly at you from above. In that silence, you start to hear sizzling, clattering, and quiet, muffled voices from downstairs. Is someone in the kitchen? Did Victor recover his senses after bringing you home? Is everything really just okay now? You’re stopped at the top of the staircase. There’s a softly gleaming barrier stretching across the top of it that appears as you get close, shimmering like an oil slick. For completeness’ sake, you touch it with your not-hand (you aren’t about to risk your one remaining hand in case you’re wrong) and, as predicted, are simply prevented from going any farther. The barrier feels smooth and a little warm, like a window near a fireplace. So things aren’t quite okay after all. The stairs up to the third floor are blocked by a similar barrier, while the two smaller staircases on either end of the manor’s main corridor have doors and are simply locked. Yes, although you can enter any room on the second floor, it seems you’re trapped here.

4:35 PM

You’re vaguely familiar with the barrier spells from studying the manor’s original plans ages ago, but your head is spinning and your body trembles with chills. You’re being very irresponsible walking around in this state and you have learned something about the situation. At this point, the best thing you can do is rest. Once you’re healthy again, you can figure out what to do next. With that, you return to your room and crawl back into bed, exhausted from the exploration. ... Your fever has broken by the time you next wake up. You’re feeling a lot better, though still kind of gross and uncoordinated from all the sleeping recently. This time, someone has left an assortment of dried fruits, nuts, and the like alongside the refilled water. Presumably they noticed you had woken up at some point and would likely need some food. They were correct; you’re starving. You haven’t eaten anything in probably several days to a week now, depending on how long the ferry took and how much work it was for Victor to get you both back from Hong Kong. ... How did he get you through customs and onto a plane without raising suspicions? “Sorry, this is just my comatose sister. Don’t worry, she’s not dead. No, she doesn’t need a doctor. I’ve got it under control.” Probably not. How, then? By the time you’re done eating, you’re still alone. You do a lap of the hallway to see if anything has changed, but aside from slightly different sounds coming from downstairs, nothing has. You consider calling out to see if anyone will show up, but decide to get a little more presentable first. You’ve got all your clothes and your bathroom again, so why not take advantage? You haven’t showered in a few days to a week either, presumably.

4:35 PM

After cleaning up and changing into something more appropriate than a nightgown, you remember that phones exist and try to find yours. It’s not here, to little surprise. If you’re under house arrest, Victor probably doesn’t want you calling anyone. Similarly, your tools and pre-prepared circles are gone, including the one you didn’t use against him in your confrontation. You wonder what he thought when he found it. Well, it’s not like you have no means to prepare new spells. All you need is a writing material and a surface; it’s very tough to completely restrict magicians like you. After all, every human comes pre-filled with a perfectly adequate writing material if you’ve got enough resolve to cut yourself, and literally anything flat and solid will do as a surface. Of course, you don’t want to resort to blood magic right away if you have a choice, and you’d really like to understand Victor’s current state of mind before you start casting spells. Maybe he’s calmed down and will just let you out if you seem reasonable to him? Maybe he’s even more on edge and will try to kill you if you try to escape? You need to know. ... You’re being awfully calm about this.

- Go exploring while you wait. Check some other rooms.

- Investigate the barriers more closely.

- Yell near the main staircase. Surely someone will come check if you make enough noise.

- Tidy up. Your thoughts, your room, your stuff; whatever. Get organized. [When someone comes, who is it?]

- Victor. Who else?

- Mom.

‍

- A servant.

- No one. You remain alone. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 70 ... So you might as well take advantage of your steady mood and gather as much information as you can before someone inevitably (hopefully) shows up to talk. Maybe it’ll be Victor, but you haven’t forgotten that your parents are both still here as well - at least, they were the last you knew. It would be nice to know if your dad is still okay, and how mom is handling his decline. Actually, you vaguely remember Victor telling you he locked your dad on the third floor to prevent his escape. The fact that the barrier to the stairs there is still intact doesn’t necessarily mean he’s still there, but it certainly points that way. You’re not sure exactly how you feel about that, really. You left before he started getting truly scary, so most of your memories with him are positive. Some definitely aren’t, but most of them. Sad, you suppose. You’re likely too late to save him. Are you too late to save Victor, though? “...” And yourself, of course. Can’t be acting like this doesn’t affect you. The gold has spread again; you’ve got three equidistant flecks in your irises now. Kind of fetching, actually, if you didn’t know what they indicate. A gilded triangle. You’d better be careful. If the curse is progressing in you faster than most - which the extra gold means is almost certainly the case - then you’ll quickly start becoming far too willing to do... well, anything, really. As long as it’s something you want to do or will lead to knowledge. You know how your thoughts are likely to change. You’re just not sure how much that’ll help you. Okay; pay attention, Vivienne. Can’t just be sitting around here waiting for something to happen. You’re smart, you’re powerful, and you can make a difference in this situation. What do you need to know? What do you need to do? Who can you count on to help you?

9:46 PM

You ponder that last question for a few moments. Dad and Victor... probably not. Victor has already proven himself willing to seriously hurt you for what he considers to be your own protection, and if he’s to be believed (which you should verify), dad’s even worse. Mom... you’re not sure. You’d really like to talk to her. The house servants... no clue. You don’t know most of them very well and none of them are steeped in magic like your family. You probably shouldn’t rely on them, especially if doing so would put them at risk. ... The US government? You almost laugh at yourself for that, but it’s not as absurd as it sounds. Su and Agent Lantoon and the others have some reason to help you, and if magic users are as rare as they seemed to think, maybe even more. You don’t know what happened to the Stake after your fight with Victor - if he brought it with you, then the government agents will have no choice but to track it down. You’re not sure if that would be a good thing overall, but you feel like you can probably trust them more than your brother at this point. Of course, you won’t be able to get in contact with Su via dreamwalking while at home - the manor’s barrier prevents all but the strongest attempts to get into your head. Okay. You have some possible allies. Now, you should scope out the rest of the rooms on this floor and see what resources you have to work with. A prepared magician is a strong magician; Arthur liked cheesy sayings like that. You hope he’s okay. Maybe the agents managed to help him. If they found your journal, they should have had enough information to do so. Alright, get up. Get searching.

9:46 PM

Most of the rooms on the second floor are living quarters: bedrooms, attached baths, parlors and the like all arranged into luxurious suites for members of the Redmarsh family long-since passed away. This manor is old and the family was once much larger than it is now. Most of these rooms aren’t entered aside from occasional cleaning staff maintaining them for occupants who will likely never arrive. And you, now. Whoever chose to give you free reign over the entire second floor was not very thorough in removing objects that could aid in your possible escape. A cursory attempt was clearly made to remove obviously dangerous objects - you don’t find any tools, cutlery, or similar utilities - but they missed a lot. You find a case of colored pencils in a nightstand in the second room you visit, immediately restoring your ability to draw sigils (with your non-dominant hand, though). Assortments of paper and rolls of fabric present themselves not long after, along with old clothes abandoned mid-alteration. Maybe the previous occupant had been a seamstress? Why wasn’t it cleaned out, though? No magic books or premade spells are visible - not that you had expected anything so convenient - but there are a number of texts in a large office near the middle of the floor that had once been used by Cornelius. If you need to reference anything on science or philosophy, you’ll have a decent chance here. Most intriguingly, you find a window that opens. Near the very northern end of the building, one of the windows simply isn’t locked and doesn’t have a barrier to stop your arm from poking out into empty air. You are on the second floor and don’t have any immediate means of slowing a fall (you don’t have every useful glyph memorized!) but you could probably cobble together enough protective symbols to avoid serious injury if you jumped. Assuming no one re-locks the window before you get back here after preparing that spell. Do you even want to leave, if you can?

9:46 PM

“Vivienne!” You spin around in surprise, hastily pretending like you hadn’t just been considering leaping out the window, and spot a taller, softer, less unfortunately pallid version of you bustling along the hall in your direction. A uniformed servant trails behind, trying to balance not spilling anything off a platter and keeping up with her lady. “Mom?” “You’re awake at last! I do hope you haven’t been waiting long.” “No, not long...” you murmur, somewhat in a daze despite having expected this could happen. “It’s so good to see you again!” Mom stops nearby, opening her arms for a hug.

- “It’s good to see you too.”

‍

- “It’s... good to see you too...?”

- “...”

- “What’s with the barriers? What is going on?” (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 71 Snapping yourself out of it, you fold your arms and don’t accept the proffered hug. “What’s with the barriers?” you ask sharply. “What is going on?” Her smile drops quickly. “Not even a hug for your own mother?” “Maybe, if she isn’t also my jailor.” You stay put, repeating yourself. “Why am I locked up? What is going on?” A sigh. “Let’s at least have lunch while we talk. You need to rebuild your strength.” You are still very hungry. A small, paranoid part of yourself warns of poison, but you doubt anyone who wants to kill you would go through such indirect means in this situation. Plus, it’s not like you thought of that the last time you ate something, so you’re already screwed if you’re wrong. “... Fine.” The smile returns and mom leads you and the servant back to your room, where the platter is uncovered to reveal an assortment of tiny toasted sandwiches with optional spreads. You examine one near the end and end up taking a bite. Fruity, like those dessert cakes. Maybe you can find one with a little more substance. “Alright,” you say after the first bite. “We’re having lunch. Now, what’s going on?” Mom seems to get why you’re being impatient, as she doesn’t delay any longer. “Your brother brought you home to rest. There’s simply the worry that you could be a danger to yourself if given your tools or the ability to leave the grounds. With the curse acting upon you so severely at this age, it’s only natural to give it as few opportunities as possible to cause havoc.” Speaking about it seems to activate something coiled inside your brain. Your eyes focus briefly and uncontrollably on the little wooden toothpicks that hold some of the sandwiches together. By the time your gaze returns to your mom, you’re already imagining gouging her eyes out with the flimsy spikes.

9:05 PM

You clasp your hands together like a prim, proper lady (sort of; you’re kind of just grabbing onto your wrist), to keep yourself from reaching out to make that image come true. “That’s hardly fair,” you say, maintaining admirable composure. “You know our research showed the curse acts strongest on emotionally unstable people. Being stuck here is not going to do me any favors.” “Hence why you have been given the entire second floor to visit at your leisure. If you are truly still in command of your faculties, this arrangement should only be temporary.” Mom lowers her voice a little, but only for effect. Both other people in the room can still hear her. “Victor was very concerned about your health, and he told me many alarming stories about where you’ve been and what you’ve done. Did you really lie to us and visit an extradimensional city when you should have been in Europe?” “...” You fidget a little on the chair. “Yes. But it was for a good reason! I was researching the curse, trying to save us!” “And you intended to keep that knowledge to yourself? Your brother felt very betrayed by your lack of trust in him. Your father is taking it even worse.” You hesitate. “Dad’s still alive, then?” “Of course. He’s on the third floor, for similar reasons that you’re on the second. But his episodes are much worse. I’m afraid he likely doesn’t have long left, which is why he was so hurt that you kept this from him.”

9:05 PM

Dammit, you won’t be guilt-tripped on this. You had very good reasons to keep this search to yourself, and your current predicament is certainly one of them! “I wasn’t intending to keep it to myself once I found a solution,” you explain, still managing to keep your voice steady despite the increasingly unnerving scenes of violence the curse is playing out in front of your eyes. You clench your hand even tighter to ensure it stays put. “I was just acting out of self-preservation. You’re well aware of what the men of this family can do if involved in matters like that.” Mom glances to the side. She knows. “I wanted to find the cure before the curse could overtake me or Victor. He even agreed that I should work this way to keep myself out of danger. He didn’t want to hurt me either, but now look at what he’s done!” You thrust out your right not-hand, suddenly releasing your left. Another sandwich is grasped in it before you know it; it takes a lot of focus to discard the toothpick without wielding it. “Victor said you lost your hand in an unfortunate circumstance of your own creation. Chained in a cavern, or something of the sort.” “I... was unconscious at the time,” you admit, not willing to claim something you don’t actually know. “But afterwards, he threatened me, hit me, and very nearly cut out my eyes! Mom, he’s way more dangerous than me. I don’t know exactly what he’s told you, but I bet at least some of it is a lie.” “Vivienne, dear, how can I believe you with that gold in your eyes? How can you even believe yourself?” “The gold can only affect my vision,” you state. “I heard him, felt him, and I know what I experienced is true.” “But the curse can affect your thoughts as well,” mom reminds you. “How can you be certain this wasn’t just a dream? How do you know you’re awake right now?”

9:05 PM

“...” No. You won’t be gaslit by your own mom. “I’ve learned a little about dreamwalking. I can’t perform the rites, but I can tell when I’m dreaming. I wasn’t then and I’m not now.” Mom places a hand on her cheek, acting as if troubled but without the expression to match. “Then I suppose you had better give your side of the story, too. Don’t worry, I have time.”

️ - Tell her.

- Hold something back. [What?]

- Don’t. [If you don’t select one, an option will be chosen for you.]

- Stab your mom.

- Stab the servant.

- Stab yourself. (Winners:

️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 72 “That’s... probably a good idea.” You sit down. You’re not sure when you stood up. “Let me start at the beginning...” You tell her what happened. It takes a while, but she has time and so do you. Not like you’d be going anywhere. You talk about how you learned of the City, why you kept it from your family, your arrival with Arthur, your status as a Diver, the brokers, the Leitman disc, the Krol idol, the Ring, your conversations with Su about the Stake, the trench, Victor’s arrival, and on and on. The only thing you leave out - since it’s not relevant and would only cause you more grief - is anything to do with the government agents. You never even met them in reality, after all. As your mom is so keen to remind you, it could have just been a dream. She listens, interjects, and asks questions as you would expect an attentive mother would. Doesn’t harass you about the points where your story differs from Victor, but just asks for clarification. Seems perfectly reasonable. You can’t sustain your anger against her, and in fact you’re not entirely sure why you’re so mad. Nor why that feeling is only getting stronger as you continue speaking. The servant clears away the platter and the toothpicks with it, returning instead with a firm cheesecake and the forks used to eat it. You can’t direct your anger at her, or your mother, but it has to go somewhere. You briefly consider telling mom she has to leave because you’re about to snap, but shake that thought out of your head; that would only prove her right that you’re too dangerous to be released. Why are you so upset? What are you mad about?

5:22 PM

You find yourself unwilling to let the fork go after finishing your dessert, clasping the metal in your hand as it warms. You’re still saying something, but you can hardly hear yourself. The cutlery isn’t terribly sharp, but it’s sharp enough. You have to vent this anger somehow or you’re going to explode. But if you can’t bring yourself to stab anyone else in the room with you... A tiny little twitch is the only tell you give as blood begins to bead out of your thigh, invisible beneath the table. The unclear, directionless anger seems to stream out alongside the blood as you take out your frustrations on the one person here who won’t object. Pain brings some amount of clarity and you realize you’ve been rambling, skirting around the end of the tale. You quickly conclude by describing your last confrontation with Victor before finally closing your mouth. “You have certainly given me a lot to think about,” mom admits. “Particularly around this ‘Melphiztora’ demon and its relation to our curse. If what you say is true, then not only is your brother far less stable than he lets on, but also we are far closer to understanding the source of our curse than ever before.” You give a strained smile, digging the fork deeper into your leg to release the anger faster. It hurts. A lot more than you expected, actually. You twitch again, but say nothing. “Of course, the truth of your words cannot be assumed, dear daughter. I’m sure you understand.” You nod. The gold. Mom stands. “I will perform my own investigations and speak with your brother as necessary. As the only one who has yet to succumb to the curse, I must verify your claims myself.” She’s proud of that. Of being the last one left. You open your mouth. Gold gleams in her eyes, too. Can she not see it, or is it one of your hallucinations? You don’t dare to ask. “I understand,” you agree.

5:23 PM

“Be good,” she advises you. “I’ll be back again soon.” She doesn’t try to hug you or even make you stand up. She just leaves along with the servant. You let out a shaky breath after a minute, then carefully stand on a shaky, smarting leg to peek out the door. They’re really gone, not just waiting somewhere to ambush you about the stolen fork. Suddenly, you hate it. You tear the utensil out of your leg and throw it across the room, sending it clattering against the far wall in a splatter of tiny blood droplets. Several streams of crimson curl towards your ankle. Your breathing is unreasonably heavy. Clean up; you have to... to clean up. They can’t know. You retreat into the bathroom and wash your fresh wounds, wincing occasionally out of actual pain or at the knowledge of how deep you went. The fork wasn’t even that sharp; just how hard were you pressing? A clean bandage to stop further bleeding should be enough. You lie down on the floor, not willing to risk staining your bedsheets until you’ve confirmed that, and try (and fail) not to think. Your leg aches in time with your heartbeat. What the hell is wrong with you? That wasn’t research; that wasn’t something you wanted to do. The curse shouldn’t have made you do that. It shouldn’t be able to. So why...? What did you even say to mom? You can hardly recall. She’s investigating something; comparing it to what Victor said. Do you care? What’s she going to do even if she finds out you were being truthful? She can’t do anything about a greater demon on her own, and it’s not like she’s wrong that you’re dangerous. You just proved that to yourself. Should you just accept being stuck here? Would that be for the best? While away the rest of your days lounging and reading as the curse slowly overtakes what’s left of your family? What can you even do if you do get out?

5:23 PM

All the anger has drained out, leaving you feeling exhausted and hollow. You stumble to your feet, check the bandage, and limp back into your bedroom. Find the fork. Pick it up. Press the tines against your palm, your wrist, your neck. You don’t feel anything but the metal. No urges; not right now. Good. Your thoughts aren’t entirely your own, certainly, but right now you can assume they’re close enough. You should decide what to do about that window before a servant notices it. ⏩ - Escape. You’re pretty sure you can. [Where will you go; what will you do?] ⏸️ - Prepare. Try to conceal it somehow and get the charm ready, but don’t escape. ⏹️ - Leave it alone. Maybe even indicate you noticed but actively didn’t escape. You might seem more trustworthy. (Winner: ⏸️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 73 “...” Not now; not yet. You’re not ready. But you really should get prepared just in case you need a quick exit. Wincing, you hobble to the other room and gather the writing materials you pilfered earlier. Sigils to break a fall, plus, er, ones to disguise the lack of a lock...? How would you even go about doing that? You shake your head to dispel your doubts. You’ll figure something out. ... “Lantoon!” Allie says admonishingly as she slips into the meeting room. “Why are you the first one here? You’re supposed to be resting today!” As usual, her first concern is whether you’re pushing yourself too hard. “I rested on the ferry and the plane. I’m more than ready to get back into action.” She narrows her eyes at you. Her ghostly grey irises, bordering on white, indicate she didn’t put in her colored contacts today, which in turn indicates she rushed her morning routine and forgot. Her ghostly white hair, on the other hand, indicates nothing at all. It can’t be dyed and she rarely bothers to hide it. “If you say so. I bet you were studying intel the whole way back, though.” You shrug. You were. “I’ll be fine, Ortiez. You, on the other hand, seem to have been in a hurry this morning.” Allie twitches slightly, closing her eyes. “I noticed in the elevator. I considered wearing my sunglasses indoors to hide them, but that’d look way more out of place.” She’s kind of sensitive about her eyes. Her original irises were green, but they faded to grey, then near-white after the incident that created her abilities. She thinks they look unsettlingly weird without contacts to restore their original color. “I’d like to see you greet Ten with your sunglasses on.” She giggles. “Double finger guns, too?” “Of course.” You snap your fingers, then retrieve a case from your bag. “Actually, even better...”

9:51 PM

You hand her the case and she opens it to reveal a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. The epitome of... well, some sort of fashion, at least. “Why do you have these?” she laughs, pulling them out to peer through the lenses. “They’re not prescription, so... do you think they’re cool?” “They’re for medusa defense,” you say, straight-faced. Allie blinks several times. “Even I know that’s not a real thing. Here, put ‘em on and strike a pose.” You oblige her, folding your arms and raising your chin like a true movie star secret agent. Allie breaks out laughing after taking a picture. “You’re so cool, Lantoon! I love it!” “You next,” you say, handing the glasses back. Allie obliges as well, pointing double finger guns at the door as originally suggested. “These could be your new every-day wear,” you propose, taking a picture in exchange. “The mirror’s color goes well with your hair.” Allie smiles again. It’s nice to see her so happy just joking around like this; she’s had a rough few years. The door eases open not long after and a thin, stooped man in his late sixties steps inside: Ten, the AIB’s Director of Field Operations. Allie does the pose again, flashing him a pair of finger guns. “Morning, Ten!” He doesn’t say anything, but he does raise his eyebrows briefly. Allie snickers and takes off the glasses, returning them to you and returning her demeanor to one a little more businesslike. A few other agents file in afterwards. Some you recognize; some you don’t. Daniels and Fei are present to represent the group on the ferry and relay any orders to the rest of the team. In all, there are slightly less than a dozen people in the room. Typical government (in)efficiency; you doubt more than half those people will actually speak.

9:52 PM

“Everyone here has been briefed on the Redmarsh scenario,” Ten announces in his scratchy but powerful voice. “Current intelligence suggests all four living Redmarsh family members, alongside a small staff, are on site in the manor here.” He taps a satellite view, zooming into a lightly forested region towards the Eastern edge of the country. “Surveillance teams have not spotted any dangerous activities or signs of distress.” He looks briefly around the room, pausing on you and Ortiez. “No lacre or offensive magic has been detected. We have no reason to intervene.” “Ten, the sister’s being held captive there,” Allie protests. “We have every reason to save her.” “We have no evidence of that,” he explains tiredly. “If we send someone up to the house and knock on the door and ask to see her, is she gonna come out? No! Because she’s kidnapped.” “She is an adult residing at her own place of residence with her own family. Despite the barrier over the manor, there is no evidence of magic being directly involved in her situation. Agent Ortiez, this is the jurisdiction of the local police, not federal forces.” “But - but what if they can’t get in ‘cause of the barrier?” “A state trooper was able to gain access to the manor this morning and spoke with Mary Redmarsh, the wife. She indicated there was no issue, that her daughter was merely sick and resting, and did not seem distressed in any way. We have no evidence to support any further action.” “...” Allie looks down at the table. “In related news,” Ten continues, “the so-called Stake of the Imprisoned God is certainly an artifact of some concern. Analysis is still ongoing, but nothing has yet been uncovered that concerns field agents. The research team wishes to extend its gratitude to those who participated in recovering it, and those who convinced Dr Rosenset to assist.” Some scattered nods. Someone nudges Daniels’ shoulder.

9:52 PM

“The situation is currently stable,” Ten concludes. “Good work, agents. The next steps pertain to investigating the members of a group known as the Ring and research into the City of Glass...” You emerge from the increasingly warm meeting room forty minutes later and are immediately pulled into the elevator by Ortiez. “We’re going on a walk,” she informs you. It seems you don’t have a choice. “I can’t believe him!” she complains as you make your way out into the hot summer sunlight. “We’re just not gonna do anything? What about Su and that demon? What about all those worrying notes? What about me healing her hand?” “If this is not a special case, it is outside our scope,” you say carefully, using vague terminology to discuss magic when outside the AIB building. Really, you probably should have stayed inside - for secrecy and because it’s too hot - but you want to let Allie blow off some steam. “The local police are capable of pursuing their own investigation.” “I don’t buy it,” she huffs. “It so totally is a special case. If we can’t find any evidence, we just need to look harder, not give up.” “Would you have federal agents investigate every little rumor? Perform constant surveillance on innocents? What kind of three-letter agency do you think we are? We only have the words of a rather troubled young lady to indicate anything contrary to the state trooper’s testimony.”

9:52 PM

“Come on, Lantoon! This is different; you were there and you talked to her! Surely you don’t buy that there’s nothing to be worried about.”

- She’s right. You don’t.

- She’s wrong. You do. [What will you do about it? Vague and not FPTP. Some options may change meanings depending on whether you agree with Allie or not. You can clarify in #story_discussion if you’d like.]

- Talk to the researchers.

- Talk to Arthur.

- Talk to Su.

️ - Talk to the other agents.

- Re-convince Ten. [How?]

- Re-convince Allie. [How?]

- You may not be able to act officially, but nothing’s stopping Allie from visiting the person whose hand she promised to restore, on her own time. Or you from going with her, on your own time. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 74 “Of course I don’t,” you agree without pause. “The situation in the City was beyond suspicious and it’s very clear that she feared her brother towards the end. Suyeon would have more details, as she spoke to her more than I did.” “I want to talk to her,” Allie declares. “I’m sure the feeling is mutual, despite her issues with your physiology.” Su has trouble maintaining her manifestation around Allie. Her magic doesn’t work well near those with silver blood. “Speaking of, I think it’s like that thing with lactose intolerant people,” Allie suggests. “You know, where they always seem way more likely to eat a gallon of ice cream than anyone else?” “You’re the milk in this scenario?” “I’m the ice cream!” she pouts. “I’m too sweet to be milk!” “And too unhealthy to be around,” you say quietly. “Hey! Only for Su! You don’t have to worry about it.” “No,” you agree. “I only have to worry about the life-threatening scenarios that so often accompany your friendship.” “That’s not my fault,” she protests. “That’s more like... um, if you tried stealing your ice cream and got chased down by a security guard.” “Hmm...” “Oh, Lantoon!” Allie smacks her fist into her palm. “If Ten won’t let us go officially, why don’t we both just take some ‘vacation?’ He can’t complain about me going to grow her hand back since I said I would, and you helping me out on your own time.” “He may object to his most irreplaceable agent immediately putting herself in danger.” “But that’s the important part! If he thinks there’s danger, then he’d have to admit we should be involved officially! Plus, we don’t have to tell him where we’re going.” A moment’s pause. “Also, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to; I kinda just assumed you would...” “I doubt it will work out exactly like that,” you mutter. “Speak with Suyeon first, then decide if you still want to pick a fight with Ten. If so, I will accompany you.”

9:57 PM

“Thanks. I’ll owe you one; do you have any personal missions you need help with?” “I do, actually. And it’s perfect timing: I want you to help explain our relationship to Suyeon. She is increasingly convinced that I’m in love with you.” “Aren’t you?” Allie holds her questioning expression just long enough to almost (but not quite) make you wonder if she’s being sincere, then giggles. “Sure, I can do that. I’m not convinced you... Hmmm.” She taps her chin. “Go on,” you request, curious. “No, I was going to say I didn’t think you could love anyone, but I know you better than that by now. You’re just not in love with me.” “...” “Heh,” she smirks, sidling a little closer as you turn away. “Thought so.” ... “Allie!” Su calls, jogging into view from the shore. She’s wearing a colorful, flowy summer outfit and seems a lot less exhausted than the last time you saw her. Good. “What the heck; you guys got ice cream? Where’s mine?!” Indeed, Allie’s dairy-based analogy had led to a brief detour on your way to the edge of the city. However, in response to Su’s exaggerated complaining... “Right here!” Allie says, holding out the cone in her left hand. “It’s raspberry.” “Wh - really?” Su slows to a stop, surprised. “You got one for me?” “Yeah! You’re our friend, right?” “... Th-that’s so sweet!” Su nips closer and quickly takes the cone, then backs off before her arms can turn transparent. Curls of mist steam from her hands. Allie grins at you, her sweetness having been confirmed by an independent observer. “Thanks; it’s so hot here. I forget when I haven’t been manifested in a while, but man is summer annoying.”

9:57 PM

You spend the next few minutes catching up on less important things and quickly finishing your respective treats before the sun can ruin everything. After that, it’s business time. Su tells Allie of her conversations with Vivienne - you’ve already heard this, but the refresher is helpful - and goes over some of what she’s learned about the demon, the Stake, and the situation in general. You also make sure to hand over the Lietman disc you indirectly received from Vivienne and had been holding onto all this time. “So,” Allie begins after that’s all settled. “I guess I should be more worried about the Stake, but to be honest, I don’t really care? Is that bad?” Su shrugs. “That’s up to your researchers, I guess. It’s your problem now; don’t blow up the world, please.” “If it even does that.” “Sure. But yeah, I think it’s dealt with enough for now. Worrying about it’d be a waste of effort.” “And you think worrying about Vivienne isn’t? I mean, it’s not like whatever happens to her is going to affect the country or world now that we’ve got the Stake.” A pause. “It’s probably selfish to wish it hadn’t been there when you showed up. If Victor took it, we’d definitely be able to just go in officially.” Allie looks over at you. You shake your head. “Actions, Ortiez. Considering how things might have been is not selfish.” “... I guess I get where Ten’s coming from,” she admits. “The big deal of this mission was always the Stake, wasn’t it? After we got that back safe, everything else was just a bonus.” “You no longer wish to go?” you ask, though you already know the answer. “No! I still want to help her! Plus, we could still learn useful things about demons and dreamwalking and gold magic and all that stuff. I just... get it more, now.” “I am concerned about this demon,” you admit, eyeing Su. “Attempting to interfere with its plans is likely beyond our capabilities. At least, directly.”

9:57 PM

“Yeah, same. Intaqui hasn’t been able to pin down exactly what she’s doing, but hopefully she’ll at least be distracted trying to hide from him and won’t be able to mess with you.” “Can we expect support?” “I mean, yeah, obvi. I’ll come with you and Bholgalos will be around for backup if we need him. He’s been sticking close to me ever since my eyes turned gold that one time.” “You said nothing about that.” “Did I not?” Su smiles confusedly. “Er, the last time I spoke to Vivienne...” She explains briefly Redmarsh’s concern that the curse’s demon might be gaining influence over her. “I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about, but Bholgalos is just overprotective. So, yeah, he can help too. A little. You know, with the neutrality clause.” You and Allie glance at each other. You’re clearly in agreement that Bholgalos is likely more correct than Su in how worried to be here. Even leaving aside everything else, the fact that she “forgot” to mention this at least twice during her recaps is concerning enough. “Well, er, happy for the help,” Allie decides. “We’ll let you know once the travel is booked and everything. I don’t know if Ten’s gonna be a jerk about the ‘advance notice about vacation’ rule.” “‘Kay. I’ll see what more I can do about that demon beforehand. Hopefully Intaqui will get somewhere soon.” A few nods. “Also, Lantoon isn’t in love with me.” You close your eyes as Su does a double take. “You could have been a little more tactful,” you suggest.

- Speak with the researchers and Arthur before leaving.

- Offer to bring Arthur along.

- Just leave earlier instead. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 75 ... “We’re approved,” Allie says from the passenger seat, tapping at her phone. “I’ll get the tickets.” “Did he say anything else?” you ask. “Just the usual warnings and complaints.” She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, and that we can’t put the travel bill as a work expense.” “Were you going to try?” “I mean...” Allie glances up, smiling just a little guiltily. “Nooooo?” You roll your eyes, then notice your exit and prepare to turn. “What do you even use all this money for? I doubt you’re paid less than I am.” “Stuff! Things!” “Very convincing. Is Buttercream extorting you?” “No! He’s a good boy; he would never demand anything!” She hesitates. “Plus, I save money on vet bills by being able to just heal him if he ever gets hurt.” “Does that work for vaccinations, too?” you reply, actually curious. “I believe you were working on something similar.” “... No, not yet. I can’t do that sort of prevention, so I still have to take him in for that. But, like, if he gets all sneezy or something, I can usually cure it myself.” You nod; that part is nothing new. Allie can treat most diseases, up to and including the big names like cancer, which means she’s constantly in demand from political higher-ups who know of her abilities. She usually spends one day a week in a hospital helping who she can without completely exhausting herself. “I have wondered if you bother to get vaccinations yourself anymore. Beyond being able to cure yourself, do the normal formulas even work on you?” Allie shrugs. “I’ve never gotten sick since becoming lacre-blooded, but I’ve gotten a few shots when the doctors wanted to test. Apparently there wasn’t any difference in my immune levels before and after, so I haven’t bothered with any since then.” “I suppose that makes sense. You would likely need a vaccine developed specifically for your physiology to be effective, but if you seemingly can’t get sick regardless...”

5:18 PM

“Yep, that’s about it.” She hesitates as you enter the parking structure, looking out the window with a slight shudder. “Feeling alright?” “... I hate this place. But I’ll be fine.” You nod, then park, get out, and walk with her to the elevator. You’re a few dozen miles outside of the city here, at a secured AIB site built above the ruins of the Factory. The specifics of what the Factory was aren’t the important part: the important part is that the ruins are flooded with the silver-white liquid known as lacre. It’s the same stuff that replaced Allie’s blood when she got her powers, and it has an almost magnetic attraction to her. You feel nothing up here, but you’re sure she feels a strong, uncomfortable tug even through layers of concrete and earth. Indeed, her posture is a little straighter than usual and her steps a little less steady as she tries to counteract the invisible pull. Obviously, Allie doesn’t come here very often. But if you want to visit the researchers working on the Stake, this is where you have to go. The pull gets stronger as you descend; you can tell as Allie keeps shuffling around and changing her posture in the elevator. Lacre is awful stuf for ordinary people, too - toxic, radioactive, flammable, explosive; just about every special characteristic available in the hazard diamond - so the facility is built with serious shielding to block its effects. But the only means currently known to block that pull is through reality stabilization, which isn’t an option for Allie. After checking in at the lobby downstairs and passing through the security checkpoint, you’re finally led to a chamber lined with panels of iridescent metal. Sealed inside a glass box in the center is the Stake of the Imprisoned God, and standing around it are a half-dozen researchers in protective gear. Several strange machines are attached to the outside; you have no idea what any of them do.

5:18 PM

“H-hi, agents,” one of the researchers says, turning to notice your entry. “Feeling okay?” “I’m fine,” Allie replies. It’s obvious the question was directed at her. “Figure anything out, Eden?” They nod a few times. “Everyone, let’s leave the tests to run. I can report to the agents if you all want to have lunch?” “Are you going to forget to eat again?” one of the others asks. “N-no! Er, please bring me back something too?” That seems to satisfy the other researcher and everyone leaves the room, including the three of you. There’s no need to stay in the experimentation chamber where you really should be wearing protective gear when you could head somewhere meant for safe human habitation. In other words, down the hall to a kitchenette / break room sort of area. There are a few other researchers sitting around, and some of them notice the two of you with some degree of surprise, but no one bothers you. For your part, you don’t really know anyone here except Eden; you rarely have reason to stop by. “Where is Dr Rosenset?” you ask. He wasn’t in the group, but you were told he’s at this facility. Eden jumps a little as you speak. They’re a nervous fellow, small and mousy and still anxious about what they did to Allie during the incident two years ago. Sometimes, you get the feeling they still expect you to attack them for their past crimes. “He’s experimenting with golden magic on the next layer up. It has some destructive interactions with lacre, and it’s extremely useful to have a specialist available.”

5:18 PM

“Can you ask him to come here? I’d like to talk with him,” Allie says. “Er, yes. I’ll just message him...” “He’s already in the chat?” she wonders. “He’s been here like a day.” “Well, I’ll message someone with him...” Time passes, but not much. “The Stake,” you offer. “What have you discovered?” “Right! Well...” ✅ - The Stake is the real deal.

- It doesn’t actually do anything.

- This one is the fake. (Winner: ✅ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 76 In brief, this Stake appears to be “the real deal.” Eden goes into some detail about the tests they’ve run and the concerning results they’ve found. Words like “resonance,” “spectrum,” and “stabilization” make multiple appearances, but neither you nor Allie have the required background to grasp the specifics. Still, you’re both familiar enough with lacre-powered artifacts to understand the Stake is powerful. And that’s bad news. “You want me to poke at it, don’t you?” Allie grumbles, stretching her arms almost across the table while you wait for Rosenset to arrive. “Also, I thought I couldn’t even go to the City of Glass because I was too full of lacre. But this Stake can come through just fine? What gives?” “Well, er, yes, probably,” Eden admits. “I don’t believe it has a mind, though. S-so you should find it easier to deal with.” “But it’s got a lot of lacre,” she counters. “Might manifest one any day now. I guess I can try to disperse it if I see one forming... But seriously, how’d it get into the City? Is it weaker than me?” “Well, er, yes. A-at the moment, at least.” Eden points at a nearby vending machine. “If you’re this full bottle of soda, then the Stake would be like a nearly-empty 2L bottle. It has a huge capacity, but it’s almost empty.” “Should I be offended? Why am I being compared to so many drinks today?” “S-sorry!” She frowns. “I still don’t get it, though. You said even a simple PRS can drop you out of the City into empty space; right, Lantoon?” You nod. “So if it has this huge capacity, it was probably full at some point. How’d it not break through then, if lacre is so destabilizing to the City?” Eden raises their hands in a partial shrug. “It would have happened so long ago there’s not much hope of knowing. Maybe things worked differently back then? Or it might have only recently entered the City at all.”

9:12 PM

Now it’s your turn to frown. “Redmarsh’s journal indicated she found the Stake in a deep underwater cavern. It hardly seemed recent.” “T-then it was the ‘long time ago’ explanation, probably! Sorry, I don’t know...” “Okay, so what does it do?” Allie asks, changing the topic a little. “Do you think it’s actually gonna destroy all solid matter?” “No,” Eden says, and this is the most confident they’ve sounded since you arrived. “We haven’t seen any evidence of some ‘imprisoned god’ this Stake keeps trapped, especially not with how little power it has left. You could probably control it right now, in fact.” Allie seems a little uneasy at that, but doesn’t interrupt. She, uniquely, can manipulate raw liquid lacre, which is yet another skill that makes her invaluable to the AIB. But the same connection that grants her that control also makes her uniquely vulnerable to corruption by the same substance. You can only ponder what apocalyptic “lost control of the god-Stake” scenario is running through her overactive imagination right now. “No, the signature reminds us a lot more of the, um, the micro-dimension Agent Lantoon uses. A-among others, of course! More like it’s connecting something rather than trapping it!” You understand why Eden was being hesitant referring to your gun, but their stammering only drew more attention to it. Allie looks down and presses her lips together. You respond instead. “You suggest the Stake acts as a gateway?” “Yes,” they nod. “It’s hard to know where it leads since it’s almost out of power, but a guess would be somewhere related to Krol. Like, a place where space and physical matter don’t exist.” Allie blinks. “Nothing...?” Eden blinks in return. “Pardon me?” “No, not nothing; Nothing. The place I went when I - ah, er, good day, doctor.” “Goodness; pardon me,” Dr Rosenset responds, approaching your group. “I hardly meant to interrupt.”

9:13 PM

“No, that’s okay...” Allie murmurs. She seems dazed, though it’s unclear why. “I was done talking anyway.” You glance at her; she was obviously interrupted in the middle of a sentence. She shakes her head just once; she’ll talk about it later. “Well, if it’s no trouble...” Rosenset introduces himself to Allie and sits down. The researcher accompanying him brought along a selection of lunch and snack foods, distributing them among the table and warning Eden to eat before departing. “I don’t mean to impose,” he continues, “but would either of you have any idea how Vivienne is doing? The staff here are quite polite, but no one seems quite certain how much I should be told.” “I’m still kinda shocked they let you in here at all,” Allie admits. “You don’t have any sort of clearance. Lantoon, can I tell him anything?” Your frown deepens. “I doubt it would be wise. We should not endanger him.” She purses her lips for a moment, but accepts your response. “Sorry,” she says to Rosenset. “Lantoon’s the boss. She’s not, like, dead, though,” she continues, immediately contradicting herself. “Pretty sure.” “Ortiez,” you rumble. “What would you say you just did?” She blinks. “That was hardly anything! Come on; it’s not like I can lie! You know that!” You certainly do. Allie is the worst liar you know. “Keep the rest silent.” “Well, I understand,” Rosenset says amicably. “But if there’s anything I can do to help her, or you in return for helping her, just say the word.”

9:13 PM

↩️ - You changed your mind; ask him to come along.

- Allie changed her mind; you’re just going along with her.

- Don’t bring him along; keep him safe. [He can help you by...]

- Telling you about Vivienne and her family.

- Figuring out why no one at the AIB can use golden magic.

️ - Helping to research the Stake.

- Staying out of trouble; he doesn’t need to repay you. ❓ - Something else? [Suggest in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

by random chance,

) (edited)

⁨@Story Notifications⁩ Scene 77 “I want to know about Vivienne and her family,” Allie says almost immediately. If we’re going to go save her, I want to know what... er, we’re... going to be... y-yeah...” She wilts under your glare, trailing off at the end of her sentence. “Ortiez, quiet,” you order. Frankly, it’s astonishing she’s lasted so long in a top secret agency with this sort of anti-secrecy tendency. It’s not usually quite this bad, though; she’s either distracted or leaking information on purpose. “...” At least she has the grace to look sorry. Dr Rosenset, similarly, has the grace to mostly overlook Allie’s appalling information security. He doesn’t comment on the “going to go save her” part, instead just answering the first part of the question. “Vivienne is a Redmarsh,” he begins. “Are you familiar with the family?” “No,” you answer for her. “They have been somewhat famous among magicians for the last 150 years or so. Many scholarly publications on glyphs and the mechanics of magic are due to their research over the years...” Rosenset gives you an overview of the Redmarsh family’s academic history, then of Vivienne in particular. He details her time spent working with him, her reluctance to discuss her family, her research and magical specialties, and the like. You get the sense towards the end that he’s trying to convince you that she’d be valuable and thus worth rescuing. That isn’t the right approach to take with Allie, but she’s certainly already made up her mind, so it hardly matters anyway. He doesn’t seem to know much about the curse. Vivienne never discussed it with him, and he only knows now due to the information recovered from her journal, you, and Suyeon. Similarly, he doesn’t have any new information on Victor. Aside from knowing of his existence, name, and some bare minimum details gleaned from Vivienne, Rosenset has never interacted with him.

6:01 PM

Some of what you learned will be helpful, but more of it is just concerning. The Redmarsh family has such a deep involvement with glyphic magic that it’s certain you’ll have to produce countermeasures against it. Unfortunately, without being able to use such magic yourself, your only real options are to rely on Allie’s abilities, or to rely entirely on reality stabilization. Both options put her at unreasonable risk: either putting her directly in the firing line or leaving her exposed as she’s unable to use a PRS. It might be easier to leave her out of it entirely, but you know she’d never agree to that. And since this mission is outside of official AIB business anyway, it’s not like you can order her to stay behind. All of that informs your next proposal. “Dr Rosenset, if you wish to help us, I suggest working to understand why none of our agents can use glyphic magic.” He turns his head slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand. Are you suggesting I tutor your agents in the use of glyphs and the like? There is no prerequisite to use magic besides knowing the symbols and being precise enough to draw them.” You look to Eden, who is much more familiar with the details than you. “E-er, I’m afraid even those of us who are v-very familiar with the sigils can’t actually activate them. I’m certain we’ve drawn them correctly, but they’re never anything but d-drawings.” “How peculiar! I don’t believe I’ve ever come across a restriction beyond knowledge. I would certainly be happy to offer my assistance, though if this is to be a longer term project, I would request your understanding that I am otherwise employed.” “We can explain the matter to your c-college,” Eden offers. “Many of our researchers are also faculty, s-so your situation isn’t unique at all.” “Excellent! In that case, let us discuss your existing approach...”

6:01 PM

You leave the two of them to it. Eden knows the procedures and forms that will be needed to hire Dr Rosenset. In the meantime, you and Allie have a trip to prepare for. ... “That was a surprisingly pleasant experience,” Allie comments as she climbs into the rental car and closes the door behind her. You start up the engine and enter directions into the GPS, preparing to drive. “Regional airports tend to be nicer. I’m sure you had your fill of unpleasantness at O’Hare.” Due to living in different directions from the airport, you had gotten there separately and only met up after security. Allie had a lot to gripe about when she showed up; apparently the train had been delayed, her booking had a typo and she had to get it updated, and finally the flight’s gate had been changed, meaning she had to walk several concourses over after she finally got through. Even with her AIB security fast-pass, she only narrowly made it. You, in contrast, had zero problems. “Too right. ‘Least I got all my unluckiness out this morning, so we’ll be all good from here on.” “Your unluckiness may have been balanced by my luckiness, so don’t get too comfortable,” you warn. “Well, maybe we can switch on the way back so I get the luck this time. You think we’re gonna need an overnight?” You calculate in your head, turning out of the parking lot. “We have six hours before the last flight leaves, minus a two-hour round trip to the manor, minus an hour for boarding and other airport activities... it’s possible we can finish everything in three hours.” “Not super likely, though.” Allie doesn’t seem that worried. “I’ve never been to Virginia, you know.” “How is that possible? You work for the federal government; surely you’ve crossed the Potomac at least once traveling to DC.” You blink. “Actually, Dulles is in Virginia. There’s no way you haven’t been in the state before.”

6:01 PM

“... Okay, I’ve been to Virginia. But not, like, this Virginia.” Allie gestures outside. Despite seeing nothing but the airport grounds and the outskirts of a moderately-sized city from here, you know what she means. The state feels different away from the urban core of the Northeast coast. “Don’t tell me you intend to actually spend time vacationing.” “I mean, not right away! But if Vivienne’s fine and we have to stay overnight due to the flight schedule anyway, y’know... might as well? Nothing else to do?” You roll your eyes with a faint grin. “You are allowed to take time off to travel without having an excuse, you know. I happen to be aware that most of your ‘vacations’ are actually spent at home.” “I knowwww...” She sighs a little, leaning against the window. “Just never feels like the right time with all the crazy things happening constantly. Everyone always needs me, or if they don’t, everyone’s also busy with something else. And I don’t wanna just go alone. That’s boring!” You consider your response. It’s tempting to jokingly say she’s just being whiny, but Allie has never been very social and it’s only been two years since she lost her sister. She can be more fragile than she lets on at times, and something about this situation pricks at your instincts. It hardly feels like she’s focusing on the mission at all, despite it being her idea in the first place.

6:01 PM

- Keep the mood light. Maybe change the topic.

- Invite her on a vacation.

‍

- Ask about her other friends or family.

️ - Distract her by planning for the mission. ❓ - Or something else? [Suggest in #story_discussion.]

- Ask about Nothing when a chance comes up.

- She hasn’t brought it up. Seemingly doesn’t want to. Let her be. (Winners:

️ ,

) (edited)

⁨@Story Notifications⁩ Scene 78 In fact, you take so long considering your response that Allie continues speaking. “Well, enough about that,” she declares. “Let’s talk about the plan for when we get there.” “Indeed,” you agree, deciding to distract her by discussing the mission instead of trying to change the topic back. “As you know, we believe all four family members are on site alongside a small staff. The manor is protected by a barrier of unclear properties, though a state trooper was able to pass through in order to speak with Mary Redmarsh. We anticipate further magical defenses. Our assets include ourselves, Suyeon, and potential backup from one of her demon friends.” None of this is new information, but it’s good to have it all fresh when trying to plan. “We’re gonna meet Su a mile out, right?” “Correct. She will not materialize until we arrive at the meeting point.” “So we won’t have much time to plan with her...” Allie murmurs. You did talk it over briefly during your meetup in the park, but you’ll have more to discuss once you actually arrive and see what the situation is. Suyeon can only stay physically manifested for a certain length of time - on the order of hours over the course of weeks - and she can only “save up” so much at once. You’ll certainly need her help on the physical plane today, so she wants to remain incorporeal as long as possible. “Okay, simplest option. What if we just walk up to the front door and ask to see Vivienne to heal her hand?” “It is an option...” “I mean, the state trooper managed it! But I get he didn’t actually go in, and I might be a little... um, more obvious.” “Alongside Suyeon, yes. I doubt we would be allowed in either, particularly if it is obvious we are associated with magic. However, it may be a good approach to simply get close and get the door open.” “And then what? Fight our way in?” “It is an option...”

9:50 PM

“Mmmmm...” Allie considers it. She’s certainly no stranger to violence. “I’d rather not fight anyone if we don’t have to. I don’t know if they’re in their right minds or how much anyone in the family cares for anyone else. I definitely don’t want to kill anyone.” “Certainly. But approaching directly will put them on guard and raise the odds of a confrontation.” “So you wanna sneak in?” “It is a large house, with less than a dozen people inside. We may have to bypass traps or barriers, but I doubt they would have guard patrols.” “Mmmmm...” she hums again. “Wouldn’t that be a crime, though? Breaking into someone’s house? We’re not even here officially...” “...” You’re much more used to missions where you have federal immunity, and sometimes even a warrant. You don’t like the idea, but if it’s a choice between the law or your and Allie’s safety, you know which you would pick. You’re about to explain something to that effect when Allie half-shrugs. “I guess it’s not like anyone would prosecute us. Ten basically gave us permission anyway.” “... Try not to rely on that excuse.” You go over some more plans and details as you drive down the mountainous highway. Equipment, defenses, contingency plans, roles for yourselves and Su. The plan may change depending on what the situation at the manor actually is, so you explore a few different branches. More active; more passive. Some that rely on Su, many that don’t. You’re not convinced that she’ll be able to pass through the barrier anyway; she likely counts as enough of a demon to be blocked as one. You doubt a family so involved in golden magic would leave themselves open to be targeted by such entities. Although the curse does somewhat indicate otherwise. ...

9:50 PM

“Hey, you guys!” Su waves as she hops into the car, taking the back left seat to be as far away from Allie as possible. Even so, you can spot flickers of transparency in the rearview mirror. You accelerate quickly; being in such close proximity is not good for her. “Had a good flight?” “Yes,” you say at the same time as Allie says “No.” “Cool! Hey, we don’t have much time, so lemme hit you with the latest info. Ready?” Your “Yes”es are more synchronized this time. “Okay, uh, this first.” Su waves a round glass disc above the center console, nearly dropping it as her arm briefly loses cohesion. “Whoops. Anyway, Lantoon, I had Bholgalos take a look at this bad boy. And, uh, ‘yes.’ Yeah, the kids in this memory are super definitely part-demon. I think Cornelius and our curse-demon Melphiztora are probably the culprits.” “That means Vivienne and Victor are part-demon, too?” Allie asks to confirm. “Yep, unless there’s some disconnect in the family tree. I don’t know if their demon blood is related to the curse at all or if it’s just part of a deal Cornelius made, but I’m just about positive about the demon-ness. Demonicness.” “What does this mean for our mission today?” you ask. “Honestly?” Su shrugs. “I dunno. Part-demons are rare enough that there’s not much info about them, outside of the ones that go crazy and turn into monsters. They usually die on their own or get killed because they’re too unstable; pretty weird how all the Redmarshes further up the family tree survived. I don’t know if it’ll have any impacts on their magic, the curse, or anything else, really. I mean, I only met one of ‘em, but she didn’t look like a demon.” “Demons look just like people, though!” Allie exclaims. “Or, they can!” Su taps just below her eye. “Soul sight,” she smirks. “I can see the true you.” Allie narrows her eyes in turn. “No you can’t.”

9:50 PM

“No I can’t,” Su capitulates immediately. “Why’d I think that would - anyway, it’s a demon thing. B says it’s sort of a spikier kinda aura. Like a crown, almost? But humans are way rounder and he didn’t see any of the demon spikes on Vivienne when I showed him my memories of her.” “She has less than 1% demon blood,” you remind Su. “Cornelius lived a long time ago.” “Yeah, that’s true. Maybe it hardly even affects her at this level of dilution and doesn’t matter at all. Wouldn’t that be something? ‘Yeah, you’re part demon, but you look, act, and for all intents and purposes are exactly the same as a full human.’ Kinda disappointing, if you ask me.” “About the magical defenses we are likely to encounter...” you begin after enough of a silence to indicate a topic change is in order. “Oh yeah, I’ve got you covered.” Su holds up her other hand so you can see it in the mirror. Her metzmatan glimmers with a soft white light. “Intaqui’s got the curse demon super distracted, B’s on deck, and I’ve got my conduit etched. I can break whatever you put in front of me.” “The enthusiasm is appreciated. But try not to kill anyone.” “Do my best!” “Ortiez, are you prepared?” “I can break whatever it is too!” she responds. “Or, un-break it, more likely.” Her powers are primarily growth and regrowth, of course; breaking things is less of a strength. But that isn’t to say she can’t - Allie is absolutely a capable combatant in her own right. “Very well.” The scenery begins to change; the manor will come into view before too long. “The plan is...”

9:50 PM

[Broadly...]

- Go up to the front door and talk to someone.

- Sneak in and find Vivienne. ❓ - Or something else? [Specify in #story_discussion] [Who will scout?]

- Lantoon.

- Allie.

- Su. [Who will lead?]

- Lantoon.

- Allie.

- Su. [The person not chosen above will provide support.] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 79 ... “Here’s the barrier,” Su notes. “Ready?” You nod, engage your PRS device on medium power, and pass through. A glance back; Su nods in return. “A hole opened up. You didn’t touch anything,” she confirms. “Good. Proceed.” “After you!” Su bows out of the way, taking a few quick hops back as Allie sizes up the invisible barrier. Only Su can see it: a distortion-like bubble over the estate. But that doesn’t mean Allie can’t break it. She walks forward, hand outstretched. You can’t tell in the bright midday sun, but her hand, hair, and eyes are all undoubtedly shining with a faint silver light. “Blossom,” she instructs in a soft, clear voice. Something happens to the air. You can’t quite make sense of what you’re seeing; it’s as if the atmosphere thickens before her, then twists apart into fragments of unclear, quickly-dissolving substance. The grass below her shifts, seeming to stretch upwards towards the point of disturbance. “... Now!” Su exclaims. Allie leaps forwards, rushing past you before decelerating to a stop a good distance up the road. Su, trailing close behind and half-translucent because of it, simply runs into you in order to stop. You absorb her momentum without issue; she weighs only as much as a child despite appearing a full-grown adult. Her body is literally built from mist, so you suppose you should be more surprised she even weighs that much. “Did it work?” Allie asks as Su whirls around to observe the barrier. This plan was her idea, so her voice carries an edge of anxiety as she waits to see just how reckless it turned out to be. “... Yeah!” Su does a little spin in excitement. “Yeah,” she repeats. “I didn’t touch anything; it didn’t change color or respond in any way. It definitely sensed you, for sure, but I doubt they’re gonna have any idea what you are or what you did. It still hasn’t reformed completely.”

9:16 PM

“Phew,” she says, brushing a hand across her brow for effect. “Told you it’d work! Okay, Lantoon, let’s get going. Su, good luck.” “I’ve got your back!” She gives a double thumbs-up, then places both hands on her chest and quickly puffs away into mist. You accompany Allie back towards the main path leading to the manor’s front door. Her idea is fairly simple at its core: the two of you will act as a distraction while Suyeon can sneak around undetected. The main complication around that core was the barrier fully surrounding the manor’s grounds and blocking out any magical interference, such as Suyeon. You likely could have crossed even without your PRS, but you chose to use it in case the magic tools you’re carrying would have been detected. Allie, on the other hand, broke the barrier for long enough that she and Suyeon could get through. Glyphic magic reacts very poorly to lacre. Now you just have to make yourselves enough of a nuisance that the manor’s occupants don’t even consider you might have a third companion. ... Your head snaps up as you hear a noise from the window. You climb to your feet and hurry over, peering outside and seeing nothing but the same view as always. There was a faint buzz... or something...? The curse can’t interfere with your hearing, but are you just going crazy anyway? Uneasy, you return to your previous position, lying stretched out on your stomach across the large rug in the middle of your room. The servant came by about twenty minutes ago, which means you should have another thirty at least to work without anyone interrupting. A large, complex glyphic pattern composed of many stitched-together sheets of paper crinkles slightly as you thump back down.

9:16 PM

You don’t need this thing. It’s too complicated; it’s too powerful. You probably won’t even be able to activate it. You really should have been working on a means to jump out that window from earlier, but you just can’t tear yourself away. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hold a faint suspicion that this is another expression of the curse, but you can’t bring yourself to pay attention to that thought either. Mom gave you the base pattern and some instructions a day ago... probably? You’re not really sure how long it’s been. You’re wearing different clothes and vaguely remember sleeping, so it’s probably been at least a day. Maybe more. It’s hard to focus on unimportant things like the date or time, except when it matters to your research. The servants will report what you’re doing to Victor. You know that now. Your breath quickens just a little as you touch the- Hhffff... hfffff... Fuck. You must have blacked out. There’s gold on your fingertips. Your eyes hurt. A tear slides down your nose; you back up to avoid getting anything on the pattern. You’re crying luminous, metallic gold. What were you thinking about? It doesn’t matter. The pattern; you need to continue... Skkrrtttcchhhh... The curve is uneven. Your left hand is letting you down again. This will never work; a sloppy glyph like this could never capture a demon. The materials are insufficient anyway. You know that; you know you’re just designing it for mom to copy later. Into the permanent circle engraved downstairs... It’s time already. You roll everything up and stuff it into the space between your bed and the wall, covering it with a false wall panel and a blanket to hide the seam. Then, your head pounding from the sigils swimming behind your eyes, you crawl into bed and try to look exhausted. It isn’t difficult.

9:16 PM

A soft click informs you that the servant has opened the door. A second click informs you they’ve closed it. Fine. Normal. You wait a few seconds to hear their footsteps recede so you can get back to work. “...” Footsteps in the room. Your body tenses up; your exhaustion flees immediately. Blood. They’re in the way. Kill them. Or they’ll kill you first.

- Attack with magic.

- Attack physically. ⭕ - Activate the incomplete demon-sealing circle.

- Exit, posthaste.

️ - Be rational. Pay attention. Don’t murder a random servant. [Puts your rationality on cooldown. You won’t be able to be lucid again for a while.] (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 80 A soft rushing sound whispers in your ears as you wait, listening to the footsteps and trying to gauge when to make your move. You don’t have any decent combat spells prepared - at least not within arm’s reach - but you do still have that fork from before. It’s been bloodied several more times since then. It will do. The footsteps slow; the intruder is right next to your bed. With a shout, you twist upright and throw off the covers, temporarily obscuring the intruder’s sight. You launch yourself off the bed, slamming into their midsection and sending you both to the ground. You don’t feel the impact. Then, as they’re scrambling to get the covers off and see what’s going on, you bring the fork down. A shriek. Blood splatters into the air as you draw back for a second strike. The covers are gone by now; you aim for the face. The eyes. You hate eyes; you hate this intruder; you hate blood; you hate forks; you hate- Metal skates off bone as you narrowly miss skewering the intruder’s left eye. Instead, your blow scrapes off their cheekbone and lodges deep inside the fleshy part of the cheek itself. Another terrified, pained, pitiful scream. The intruder brings up their hands to shield themself, knocking you away. You refuse to release your grip, so the fork tears itself free as you pull back for a third strike. “Ah... ahhhhh...” Hesitation. Your arms tremble as something holds you back. The girl on the ground is wearing a servant’s uniform and sobbing as she covers the bleeding wound on her face. She’s whimpering in fear as you crouch atop her, ready to rip out her eyes. A connection sparks. A memory briefly overwhelms you. You’re Victor, and this servant is you.

5:06 PM

Horrified disgust wells up within your chest; you feel so sick you almost vomit. Managing to hold yourself together, you throw the fork aside with a clatter and leap up to rifle through the sheafs of paper you’ve hidden in various areas of the room. The servant struggles to her knees, trying to run while you’re distracted, but you’re too fast. You shove her back down and say something you can’t quite hear. Blood pounds in your head and rushes through your ears, obliterating all rational sounds. All you can hear are her whimpers and blood dribbling onto the carpet. “---” you murmur, roughly moving her hands out of the way and slapping a piece of paper onto her cheek. She struggles against your magic at first, but stops in a matter of seconds as the spell seals the wound and knits her flesh back together. “---” you repeat, adjusting the circle. “...” It’s done. The circle burns to dust, leaving a faintly pink patch of repaired skin. You struggle to hear yourself. You need to know what you’re saying. For some reason, you don’t know if your thoughts are matching your words. “---” It’s not working. You can’t hear anything except things you don’t want to hear. “---! ---!!” The servant shrinks back for a moment, then seems to find her resolve. Blood still trickles from her collarbone, where your first strike landed, but with her face restored, she speaks directly to you. “---?” Hhhff... hffff... Your breathing is too deep, but you can’t get enough air no matter how much you inhale. What’s wrong with- “-ienne? Can you hear me?” Ow. Ow oww ow ow. You must have blacked out again. You feel sick. Who’s talking to you? “Can you look at me?” You can. With some effort, you manage to focus on the servant. The front of her uniform is stained with blood, and the jagged pink skin on her cheek marks her as the same girl you just attacked. You whisper something approximating “I’m sorry,” but it’s unclear if your words were understandable.

5:06 PM

“Lady Vivienne,” the servant says. “How are you feeling?” “Bad,” you reply. You don’t feel capable of elaborating. “Please try to stand. I’ll help you. We need to evacuate; someone is attacking the manor.” The sentences roll around in your head as you manage to stand up with her assistance. “Who? What?” A pause. “Why are you helping me...?” She helps you move towards the door, your legs regaining strength and feeling with every step. Aside from the lingering headache and chills, you feel okay. “I don’t know what’s going on,” the servant admits. Her arms, supporting you, are faintly trembling. “But Lord Victor ordered me to keep you safe. We need to go to the basement.” Victor. You’re confused, but so is she. You haven’t seen or spoken to him since you returned home. Should you trust those acting on his orders? Is that smart? “I almost blinded you,” you remind the girl. “I could have killed you. I... I can’t promise I won’t do it again. So why...?” “Lady Mary told me about the curse,” she informs you, sounding more sure of herself. “I know you’re doing your best to fight it. I know it’s dangerous, but I still want to help you.” “But...” You still don’t get it. Servants like her could have been hired anywhere in the world. Why here? Why, when the family she serves is so unstable and could snap at any moment? Why... but you don’t have time. You need to gather what tools you have before leaving. You’re not sure what’s going on or who your enemies are, but you’re not going to be caught defenseless due to forgetting to grab your papers. She doesn’t stop you. You’re sure you shouldn’t be allowed to have all this stuff. You’re too dangerous; you’re under guard. It’s obvious you can and probably will kill someone - maybe even her! - if you’re allowed your weapons. But she doesn’t stop you. The most she does is offer to carry some of the larger circles.

5:06 PM

The basement. It’s more defensible than the upper floors, with fewer entry points and stouter barriers, so it does somewhat make sense. However, it also contains the largest permanent ritual circles in the estate. The ones you and mom were planning on using with the demon-sealing circle you’ve half-drafted. Is Victor aware of your plan? Mom said she wouldn’t tell him, but did she keep her promise? He surely doesn’t approve, given what he ordered when the servants told him what they caught you researching. So if he isn’t intending to use those circles to seal a demon, does he intend to use them for something else? You leave your room. The main hallway stretches off to either side in the bright light of early afternoon, just like always, but the sun feels sinister today. The unlocked window beckons; you can barely see it from here. If you go to the basement, you won’t be able to use it anymore. But if you just leave, with someone attacking the manor, what will happen to your family? Plus, you could be jumping into more danger than if you stay inside. ⤵️ - Jump. Escape.

️ - Go to the basement.

️ - Protect this servant as best you can.

- Keep your distance. You’re a danger to her.

- Distrust her. She’s acting on Victor’s orders. (Winners: ⤵️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 81 You debate internally for only a short while before reaching an obvious conclusion. You’re not going to the basement. Playing along with Victor’s schemes certainly won’t end well for you, and you need to gather more information anyway. What’s the situation; who’s attacking; where are your family members and what are they doing? “Where’s everyone else?” you ask the servant as you make your way to the left. The main staircase is that way, but so is the window. You have a little bit of time before your intentions become obvious. “Lady Mary is confronting the intruders on the first floor,” she answers. “Lord Edwin has been brought to the basement along with most of the staff. I believe Lord Victor is there as well.” “You let my dad out of the third floor? And not just that; you let him into the basement? With all the tools and circles there?” “I’m sorry, but that’s all I know...” You press your lips together in concern. Dad was locked upstairs because he’s become too dangerous to be around your family, let alone the servants. Letting him out feels like a desperate move - to try and direct him against the intruders, perhaps - but the idea that there’s something more to it gnaws at you. In any case, you’re now even more sure that the basement is a trap. There’s no way you’re going down there. So, when the servant tries to lead you towards the staircase with a quiet “This way, Lady Vivienne,” you don’t say anything and just keep walking. “Um, the stairs are...” she tries again, hurrying after you. “The staircase on that side is still locked.” At this point, you’re far enough along and she’s shown little enough signs of trying to stop you that you decide to respond. “I’m not going to the staircase. I’m not going to the basement. The last time I did what Victor wanted, he attacked and kidnapped me. I’m not falling for it again: I’m leaving.”

9:30 PM

She doesn’t seem quite sure what to do about this turn of events. Momentarily, she reaches out for your arm as if to pull you back, but when you move it out of reach and glare back, she doesn’t try again. “Lord Victor wouldn’t do that...” “Ha,” you say. It’s not a laugh. “He’s been different since he got back, I’m sure. Just like I’m different.” “...” “Do what you want once I leave,” you order. “Go to the basement, stay here, or run away. Just don’t try to follow me; I’ll probably try to hurt you again. Victor will too. Don’t trust any of us.” “Are you just abandoning your family?” “No,” you respond curtly. “But I can’t help them if I’m caught in my brother’s schemes. I’m going to figure out what’s going on first.” Truth be told, you already have a suspicion of who these “intruders” might be, and you imagine you might be happy to see them. Who else but the government agents would even know the manor is worth attacking while also having the means to bypass the main barrier? Other magicians or servants of a demon are technically possible, but given the timing... yeah, unlikely. And if the government is here, you need to get involved and definitely not stuck in some horrible ritual in the basement. The window opens just as easily as last time and you climb onto the sill. The servant smiles faintly. “Nora said you’d notice.” You blink. “You knew about this?” “Who do you think left it unlocked?” “W-well, er, Nora, I suppose.” You don’t know who that is. Presumably one of the other servants. You feel slightly guilty for not knowing this girl’s name either. “Um, thanks, then. For not closing it.” She looks away briefly. “Do you really think you can save everyone?”

9:30 PM

When did I say I would save everyone?! I never said that, right? “I - I’ll do my best. I know I’ll have a better chance out there than in here.” A pause. “If you want to help, try to evacuate the staff. Keep them away from dad, Victor, the intruders; anyone dangerous. I don’t know what’s about to happen and I really can’t be relied on to protect anyone. As you know.” She touches the bloodstain by her neck. It must still hurt quite a lot; you’re impressed she’s been able to act so normally. “Understood. Good luck.” “Er, you too.” Then you jump out the window. Plummeting towards the ground from the second story is usually not a pleasant experience, and this time is no exception. Despite the knowledge that you have a protective sigil active and ready to break your fall, your stomach still churns with fear and you still have to restrain yourself from reaching out for purchase. The paper burns with light a split second before touchdown and the impact’s force is reduced from “broken bones” to “ouch.” You sit up, brushing grass and dirt off your clothes, then stand. Your chest hurts a little from landing on it, but you’re not injured and have plenty of energy left. Thoughts and urges swirl in the back of your mind, but for now, you can resist them. You’re currently standing in the back garden of the manor, near the northern end of the building. You could leave the premises by heading west, passing through the main barrier, and hiking down the mountain, but you both don’t believe the barrier would let you through at the moment and don’t really want to leave just yet.

9:30 PM

The main entrance is to the east; your quickest way there would be to go north and loop around the northern wing of the building. Of course, that’s assuming the intruders are actually near the main entrance. Mom is ostensibly “confronting” them on the first floor, but you don’t see or hear anything of the sort. Should you just go back inside, now that you’re past the staircase barrier? Do you want to find your mom? Dad? Victor? The intruders? Where should you look; what should you expect? If only you had your tracking tool so you could just know where anyone is! It looks, sounds, and feels like a nice sunny summer day, but you could hardly be more tense. Something very bad is happening; you just can’t tell what it is.

️ - Stay outside (gardens). ↩️ - Stay outside (front). 1️⃣ - Go inside (first floor).

- Go inside (basement). 3️⃣ - Go inside (third floor).

- Look for mom.

- Look for dad.

- Look for Victor.

- Look for the intruders.

- Look for physical clues or signs of a confrontation. (Winners: ↩️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 82 You arrange your spells as you reach a decision and head north. You don’t have a lot to work with; Victor confiscated all of your usual tools and everything you’ve made to replace them has had to use low-level materials. You may have a good number of symbols sketched with colored pencils on ordinary paper, but they’re all weak because of it and won’t do much to stand up to Victor. Or a demon. Or your dad, or even the intruders if they do actually mean you harm. You’ll need to be cautious. After making your way along the northern edge of the manor, peering into the silent windows as you go, you peek around a row of decorative bushes towards the main entrance. All is silent and still; you can see the circular drive and part of the road back down the mountain, but no one is visible. Presumably they’ve already gone inside, though you can’t see the doors from here. If they could defeat the main barrier, the secondary one likely wouldn’t stop them either. Hot sunlight beats down as you jog towards the entrance. Despite the summer heat, you still feel a chill. For some reason, the cards you haven’t thought about in so long whip through your mind as if being dealt into a hand. The Key. The Dog-eared Page. The Fanged Well. The Angel. The Fallen Angel. You feel like you’ve experienced most of them by now. The Key: you were handed the opportunity to be a Diver. The Dog-eared Page: you’ve been focused on your family’s past and its curse. The Fallen Angel: betrayal. Victor. The Angel and the Fanged Well are the two you can’t quite pin to recent events. The Angel should bring salvation, while the Fanged Well represents a sacrifice. Whether by you or of you depends on which way you drew the card, and you never specifically drew that one. Still, it appeared in your hand during that dream of the glass mannequins, and it appears in your head now. Are you superstitious enough to believe it? Does it even matter?

8:52 PM

Who was that strange oracle, anyway? The two oversized front doors are closed. There’s no sign of a vehicle or a confrontation nearby. You consider entering the manor from here - it seems most plausible that the intruders you’re looking for are inside - but you want to clear the outside of clues first. So you back up a bit, looking around the paths and trees of the front drive. Nothing of note. You stand up on your tip-toes, trying to see as far down the mountain as you can. Is that a car parked all the way down there? You can’t quite tell, but there’s definitely something glinting in the sunlight. Then, the barrier itself. You approach the near-invisible line etched into the bricks of the drive and place your hand just behind it. You’re still registered to the magic, it seems, as the barrier doesn’t attack you. It does repel you, so you were right about that part, but you can still read its status through the fine sensations it makes on the back of your hand. Unraveled; broken. Faint vibrations, distant temporally but close spatially. A dim headache thumps in the depths of your mind. It’s somehow external and internal at once; your skull feels three feet in front of you. It’s like you can see the back of your own head. You let go, stumbling back and almost falling; shivering with cold sweat in the middle of a summer’s day. This barrier drips with the same power that surged within the Stake’s pedestal. Awful, bloody poison. Threads of white-flame bile. You shake your head and retreat even further, almost instinctually terrified of the sensation as it slowly drains away from you.

8:52 PM

Whatever broke through the barrier is not human. You don’t know what it is, but you’re so, so unreasonably scared that something has followed you up from the depths of the City of Glass. You don’t even know how that could happen or what it could possibly be. You need to get a grip before you lose your mind. You’re not even making sense inside your thoughts; was anything you just considered even coherent? You’re breathing too heavily. Don’t you dare... pass out... you admonish your faltering body. What... what is wrong with you...? Why do you... keep... hhhfff... “Owwwhh...” You groan as you sit up, pushing yourself off the driveway with your forearms. Thankfully, you had been close enough to the ground to avoid hurting yourself, but you have no idea how long you were out. Based on your previous lapses, probably not longer than a few minutes. Will that matter? Why do you keep passing out? What’s that sound? Ah, it was you. Your shoes scrape on brick as you climb to your feet, feeling somewhat disconnected from your own actions to the point of not even recognizing the sounds you are making. It seems you’ve decided to go inside, you note as you watch yourself grab the door handles. Is that really a good idea? You could probably stop doing it, but you’re not sure you want to. It’s not like you’re possessed or anything; you just... The main foyer is also empty, but the nearest sitting room carries the sounds of the first conversation you’ve heard since you jumped out the window. You’d recognize your mom’s voice anywhere, but you can’t place the clearly feminine one responding to her. The door is shut, but not closed; you can peek through the crack.

8:52 PM

Mom sits facing partly away from you, straight-backed and elegant as she listens to her conversation partners. They’re facing partly towards you, but something’s wrong with their appearances. They’re both wearing dirty police uniforms and their deathly pallid skin hangs loosely on their bones. Darkness lurks around them, dying the glistening red blood staining every part of their forms a deep crimson. You feel that sense of uneasy, malicious otherness even from here. These things are evil; these things are true intruders. You have to act. Save your mom and your family.

️ - Kill them.

- Kill them.

- Close your eyes. Kill them.

️ - Be rational. Pay attention. Why is mom speaking to these... zombies(?) so calmly...? [Puts your rationality on cooldown. You won’t be able to be lucid again for a while.] (Winner:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 83 You’re so innately repelled by these creatures that you take a step back, blocking your view due to the position of the door. From here, everything seems normal. Ordinary human voices having an ordinary conversation, though you can’t quite parse what the conversation is about. Vision... Why is mom being so calm about this? Why do the voices you can hear sound so calm? Shouldn’t there be a commotion? Nothing else about the situation matches what you can see, and it’s only a short logical leap from there to question if what you’re seeing is actually real or merely a golden hallucination. With serious, strenuous effort, you manage to shove the urges into the back of your mind, freeing yourself of the drive to kill... for now. Hurry, before you can’t hold back any longer. You push open the door, barging into the room without pause for thought. “Mom,” you call loudly, interrupting whatever the zombie had been saying. “What are these things? What’s going on?” “... Vivienne! What are you doing here?!” “Answer me, quickly,” you demand. “I don’t know how long I can-” You cut yourself off; you don’t have time. “These are the intruders, right? What are they? What do they look like? I can’t see properly.” She looks at the zombies anxiously. “Please excuse me; my daughter is very sick. I need to bring her back to-” “Mom!” you shout. “Tell me, please!” Something forces your eye to twitch. Mom seems to grasp your urgency now, at least, and describes the zombies’ appearance. “The one on the left is a large man. Muscular, short brown hair, wearing a black suit. The one on the right is a young woman. White hair and eyes, wearing a grey suit.” “Neither of them look dead, right?” you try to confirm. The zombies’ clothes morph with your mom’s description into tattered suits of the appropriate base color, but nothing about the skin or blood changes. “... Not at all.”

2:58 PM

The intruders remain undead to your golden eyes. You shuffle around the couch, close your eyes, and plop yourself down with arms folded. “Since it seems the curse won’t let me see them properly, I’ll just sit like this. Now, explain what’s going on. Who are they? Why are you just talking instead of fighting them?” You listen to an awkwardly long silence, fighting the urge to open your eyes and see what everyone is doing. It’s better to have no information than false information at the moment. This way, you can only barely feel the hideous sensation of malice. You can pretend to be in control. Someone will answer you soon. “Pardon me, Mrs Redmarsh,” says a deep, vaguely familiar voice. “I am Agent Cameron Lantoon and this is Agent Allison Ortiez. You are Vivienne Redmarsh?” “Yes,” you exhale. “Prove you are who you say you are.” “We have met before due to Suyeon’s dreamwalking abilities. Our first interaction was in a dreamt apartment hallway, where I closed the door on a projection of Agent Ortiez and her cat.” “You wha-?” A much deeper exhale. They really showed up. “I’m so glad...” you whisper, then pull yourself together. “Why are you here?” “We’re here to save you!” the other voice exclaims. Allie, presumably. “We thought you were kidnapped by Victor and imprisoned here. Is that true? Are you okay?” A brief pause. “Oh, I’m also here to regrow your hand, if you want. It’ll take a few hours, though, so we should probably wrap up whatever’s got everyone so nervous first.” “It’s true,” you confirm. “I-” “Vivienne, you shouldn’t lie to our guests like that. Victor was simply concerned for your health when he brought you-” “Then why can’t I leave?!” “You’re not well enough to leave! You’re hallucinating the undead! You’re going to hurt yourself or others around you!”

2:58 PM

Your hand grips one of the spells prepared in your pocket. This person is getting in your way. You need to do something. You need to free yourself. It would be easy. Why is it that you don’t want to? You struggle to think of the reason. “Vivienne is being held here due to her curse, correct?” Lantoon interjects calmly. “... That’s right,” mom responds. “She’s too dangerous to be allowed outside.” “May I attempt to block the curse?” he asks. You sit up straight, confused. Your hand loses its grip on the spell. What did he just say? “Block the curse?” Like it wouldn’t even be a big deal? “What do you mean to do?” “My backpack includes a device called a Personal Reality Stabilizer,” Lantoon explains. You hear the rustling of fabric as he presumably shows it to mom. “Magic will be suppressed while in its area of effect. If this curse is magical, I expect it to be temporarily blocked while the device is operational.” “... You aren’t with the FBI.” “Correct. We are with the AIB - the Anomalous Investigations Bureau. Now, may I have your permission to have Vivienne wear this backpack?” “...” You stand up, eyes still closed. “Put it on me. I want to try.” You hear a soft thump, as if mom had been standing but just sat down again. “Go ahead,” she says quietly. “Thank you.” Lantoon steps forward and helps you put on the backpack. It feels exactly like a normal backpack - maybe a little heavier - until he’s finished with all the straps and warns you he’s about to turn it on. Then, with a soft click, your breathing immediately gets easier. The still-ongoing headache recedes somewhat and the urges retreat. You open your eyes. “How do you feel?” he asks. You can see him now, and Allie too. Not zombies. The lighting is different. Less scary. Brighter. “It’s still there, but it’s more distant,” you report, amazed. “I can see properly.”

2:58 PM

“You can adjust the field strength with this dial,” he explains, indicating a control on the side. “Try increasing it until you feel comfortable.” You turn the dial until the urges vanish entirely. The headache is gone. That tingling sensation in your skull and extremities you had almost forgotten about disappears. You feel normal again. The dial is about 3/4 of the way to full. “Forget my glyphs and stuff; this thing is real magic. I - it’s completely gone. I don’t feel anything.” “Excellent. Ortiez, is this fine?” You look over and realize Allie has stood up and is now pressed against the opposite wall. She gives you a thumbs up. “I’ll be okay for like, half an hour, probably? Maybe less if I get closer,” she answers. “Real happy it’s working for you!” “Why would she not be okay?” you ask. “‘Too full of silver’? Er, Su said something like that...” “Basically, yep!” she answers. “The PRS stabilizes reality, which means your curse is blocked, but it works on all magic in its field. My body runs on magic, so it’s not good for me to be in a field like that for very long.” “Oh! I’m sorry...” You turn, walking to the other wall so you’re as far away as you can be within the confines of the room. “How does that work? Are you, like, a golem or something, or...” “I’m human, but-” “Pardon the interruption,” Lantoon interjects again. “Now that we have secured a temporary solution to the curse, let us stabilize the situation here. Where are the remaining members of your family? Should we be immediately concerned about their actions?” You blink. You had almost forgotten about Victor and dad in your elation to have your thoughts to yourself again. “Um...”

2:59 PM

- They’re probably fine. Hey, about my hand...?

‍↕️ - Yes, we should deal with them. [If you choose to deal with them, what is the general plan? Unfortunately, Lantoon only has one PRS device, so you can’t just give one to everyone, as convenient as that would be.]

- Intend to keep the PRS device on yourself.

- Intend to give Victor the PRS device.

- Intend to give dad the PRS device.

️ - Prepare to stop whatever ritual they’re preparing.

- Prepare to save them.

- Mom will help you.

️ - Mom will stay put. (Winners:

‍↕️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 84 “P-probably,” you decide. “Mom, why are they in the basement? Why did you let dad out?” Her surprise at that question tells you everything you need to know before she even answers. “I didn’t. Where did you hear that from?” “The servant who came to take me there too. She was working on Victor’s orders.” Your mind seems to be working better now; you can consider the possibilities much faster than before. “He tried to have them stop me from working on the sealing circle. Um, they took a lot of staff into the basement, too. The Tome of Sacrificial Rites...? But what sort of ritual?” “He knew you were working on the sealing circle? Why didn’t you say anything?” “I don’t know! I haven’t been thinking straight for days! Weeks, probably!” Mom suddenly seems to remember the two agents standing just a few feet away. “Apologies. I believe it would be prudent to have a talk with my husband and son. Would you happen to have any more of those backpack devices?” Lantoon shakes his head. “No.” “Can you make more? Can you teach me how to make them? O-or I can trade something-” You hesitate, remembering something very important. “The Stake! What happened to-” “We’ve got it!” Allie exclaims from the wall. “Lantoon just kinda found it while he was in the City.” “...? Wait, there was a fake-” “Checked it! This one’s real.” “He just... left it?” She shrugs. “Maybe he didn’t know how important it was? Anyway, this backpack isn’t the only one in the world; we can help you get more stabilizers if you help out. Just, we don’t have any more right here.” “The PRS is a temporary measure,” Lantoon clarifies. “You must still break the curse to be permanently free.” “I mean, we could put you in a reality stabilized room forever,” Allie notes. “But you’d basically be in prison. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

9:34 PM

“The curse - the sealing circle! That’s what it’s for, but it’s not done. I just need some more time. If we can just stop them from causing any harm until we can figure out how to break the curse...” “You wish to capture them?” “I - I don’t want to kill them!” Lantoon glances at Allie. “Ortiez, this is your decision. I will be ineffective against magicians without a PRS.” “Obviously we’ve gotta help them!” “Of course.” “I can give you the backpack back,” you offer, shuffling with the straps. “I don’t want you to-” “Keep it,” he orders. “You would cause more trouble without it.” “...” He’s probably right. ... You don’t like waiting, so you’re glad you have something to do. It would be better if Lantoon was willing to talk, but he doesn’t want to distract you or himself. You’re sitting in the drawing room, drawing. Specifically, you’re working on the sealing circle again with aid from the reference books that were brought downstairs before your imprisonment on the second floor. You’re still being hampered by your missing dominant hand, but as long as he has a reference, Lantoon is surprisingly precise with some of the more detailed parts you can’t manage on your own. It’s doubtful you’ll be able to finish today, even with his help, but it surely won’t be much longer than that. As for why you’re both still on the first floor, having moved only a few rooms over after your discussion in the meeting room, it’s pretty simple. Your (Lantoon’s) PRS device and Allie don’t mix well, and Lantoon can’t defend himself against magic without it. So you’re sticking with him while Allie goes with your mom. Of course, you had wanted to go confront Victor yourself, but mom won that argument pretty quickly and told you to stay right here, safely working on the circle.

9:34 PM

You’re not completely clueless as to what’s going on downstairs. The agents have a communication link set up and Allie is updating Lantoon on the situation in real time whenever she has a chance to do so. It’s just that he’s not sharing everything he hears with you, to avoid the aforementioned distractions. Your understanding of what’s going on comes half from what tidbits he does choose to relay and half from listening to what he says to Allie in return. It seems the two of them are encountering resistance, in the form of summoned lesser demons, glyphic traps, and animated constructs. You’re briefly surprised by how much work Victor (you assume it must be him) has put into defense in such a short period of time, but reason that he could have set up much of this before he left for the City of Glass. Similarly, you’re surprised he bothered at all. Why would he expect to be attacked in the basement of his own home? Did he think you were going to turn on him? Mom? Someone else? Did he foretell this situation; did an oracle bother him on the boat too? Despite how surprising the defenses themselves are, you’re actually more surprised at how ineffective they seem to be. For reasons that aren’t entirely clear to you based on Lantoon’s responses, Allie seems to be borderline immune to magical traps and barriers of all kinds, rendering most of them useless. She’s able to halt constructs in their tracks with just a touch, dispelling the animating sigils through some unclear mechanism. And the summoned demons display an almost pitiful fear of her, attacking only from range and wilting in pain when she gets close. Combining her (frankly quite scary) powers with your mom’s knowledge of magic and the basement, they’re having very little trouble.

9:34 PM

In fact, as you listen to their relayed progress towards the ritual chambers, you start to feel a return of that morbid, instinctual terror. Just what is this woman? Is she really human like she claims? Would a human’s body “run on magic?” Would a human be able to shrug off a disintegration sigil prepared by your brother? Would a human command the fear of demons - lesser or otherwise? She seemed so nice up here, but down there... [Either

(or both) must be selected. If neither win, I will pick one to override.]

- Everything’s fine. Allie’s an unstoppable force.

- She gets a little too confident. [Hey, where’s Su, by the way?]

- Somewhere she intended to be.

- Somewhere she didn’t intend to be. [Will you help with the problem?]

- Obviously!

️ - You’ll help by staying out of danger. (Winners:

(forced),

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 85 You try to focus on your work. Drawing the sigil will be important shortly for your attempt to break the curse. You know the demon’s name, and although there are many things you still don’t know (it’s unfortunate you had to leave the City of Glass so soon), powerful methods for sealing demons have been around for thousands of years. After all, that Krol ritual chamber you spent the night in is one such example. As long as you can find some way to call Melphiztora here, you should be able to seal her with enough power and time to prepare. It won’t be trivial, but it should be far from impossible. “Don’t get overconfident,” you hear Lantoon say as if reading your thoughts, but he’s of course speaking to Allie. Then, “Fall back. Immediately.” You look over your shoulder, pausing in your drawing but not wanting to say anything for fear of interrupting a potentially dangerous situation. He notices, of course. “Excuse me,” the agent says, making quickly for the door. “Stay here.” “Um-” You’re alone in the room. I can help... you reason, half-standing to chase after him. But then you reconsider. Can you, really? With the backpack on, you can’t use magic (not like you could do much anyway without your hand). With it off, you’d go crazy again. You could offer your knowledge on magic, the house, and your family, but mom’s already got that covered. Slowly, you sit back down. Maybe the best way to help is to just stay put and not cause any problems. If you got caught up in whatever mess is undoubtedly happening downstairs, you could easily see your presence causing a distraction and getting someone else hurt. It’s best to stay here, surely. Just keep drawing that sealing circle. “...”

8:26 PM

You really don’t like waiting, and now you don’t even have Lantoon to keep you company. Still, you’re not a toddler who might go running off whenever you’re left alone. You’ve decided it makes sense to stay here, so stay here you shall. Right. Back to work, you suppose. Drawing a sealing circle is the easy part. Activating it is where the difficulty lies. You’re somewhat familiar with the idea behind sealing a demon, having been researching nothing else over the last few days and having received a general magical education over the years before. A circle made by human hands would never stand up to a greater demon in terms of raw strength, so the core idea is to turn the demon’s power against itself and use that conflict to rapidly diminish its strength to the point where the circle can overcome it. Thus, you need to know the demon’s name and its domains at minimum, with other information being helpful but not required. It’s similar to the “true name” paradigm that had been popular a while back, but you don’t actually need the demon’s “true” name - whatever that actually means. You just need something to act as a linchpin or anchor for its essence, and that means something that it associates with itself. Names with greater significance work better, but even “fake” names - as long as they were made or purposefully used by the demon itself - will work just fine. “Melphiztora” is a name that has been used to refer to this particular demon for thousands of years, so it’ll work regardless of if she considers it her “true” name or not.

8:27 PM

The domains are easy: Su told you. Fate and luck are tricky to work with since they’re capricious and difficult to channel - they’re hard to turn against themselves. But you don’t have to figure out the particular circles yourself; you just have to find a book written by someone who already did. Oracles like your ancestor Joseph tend to be very invested in fate, so books adjacent to his Symbology and Magic are where you’ll find what you want. The problem is just that the designs are so complex and fiddly, they’re both really hard to draw and really hard to determine if you drew them right. Minutes pass without anything happening, then the ground shakes. Relieved you weren’t drawing at that moment - you were carefully reviewing your work - you glance at the door nervously. Nothing. Uneasy, you return your attention to the paper. Another few tremors shake the room over the next quarter-hour. You have to erase a few errant lines, but you’re really much more worried about the total lack of communication. What if everyone’s been killed and these tremors are the ritual circle activating? You can vaguely remember a few possibilities from the Tome of Sacrificial Rites that might cause earthquakes. Should you really be staying here when you could be trying to put a stop to whatever’s going on? Actually, there is a copy of the Tome in this very room, since you were using it for reference a while ago. Maybe you should read up on the rites you’re worried about. Maybe that’ll distract you from your worries. You rummage around a bit and locate it near the bottom of a stack, leafing through the heavy, ornamental pages covered in descriptions of some of the most horrid things one could do to turn a living creature into non-living materials. You feel a little queasy. You put the book back down, more worried than before. You probably should have seen that coming. “...”

8:27 PM

Minutes pass without any new quakes. You get up to look outside. Nothing of note out the window or in the hall. This is agonizing. What is going on? Surely when Lantoon said to stay here, he didn’t mean for nearly half an hour! Right?

- Go look. The agents or your family could need help.

- Escape. Get away from here; break through the barrier with the backpack.

- Really stay put. Be patient. Have faith. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 86 Right! It’s been way too long; you need to figure out what’s going on and if anyone needs help. You gather up your things, then consider for several long seconds whether to bring the incomplete sealing circle or not. On the one hand, you’re deathly afraid that Melphiztora has understood what you’re trying to do and is here to stop you. You’ll need serious protection if that’s the case, and the sealing circle - incomplete or not - is the best you have at the moment. But on the other (not) hand, you have to admit that it won’t stop her as it is now, and using it up early in an attack that’s basically guaranteed to do no more than cause a distraction seems an even worse idea. Plus, it’s huge and very fragile; it could easily get damaged if anything dangerous is happening. Then you wouldn’t get to use it now or later. You leave the circle in the drawing room and hurry into the main hall. “Which way...?” There are two entrances to the basement you’re aware of, and you’re not sure which one mom would have used. The main one is closer but more obvious; would she have taken the detour to the servant’s entrance? Do you even want to take the same entrance? Honestly, you’re not sure in either case, so you decide it’s best to just pick the closer one and figure it out from there. There’s a rainbow barrier over the basement stairway, of similar strength and purpose to the one that had stopped you from taking the main stairs to the first floor. All of the manor’s barriers must be active at the moment; you’ve rarely seen it so locked-down. But of course, magic can’t stop you right now and you pass through without issue as the PRS hums gently on your back.

5:16 PM

It briefly occurs to you to wonder how the thing is powered and how long that power source will last. It’s been active for at least an hour now, plus however long Lantoon had used it before handing it over. He didn’t show you a battery indicator or a fuel gauge; you’ll just have to hope it won’t run out at the worst possible moment. You heave open the heavy door at the bottom of the basement stairs, slip through when the opening is just wide enough to fit, and are immediately blown up. With an undignified scream, you stagger backwards and fall against the stairs, the solid PRS digging painfully into your back. Aside from the exceptional fright, ringing in your ears, stars in your eyes, and a minor ache from your fall, you are completely unharmed. You take several moments to catch your breath, pressing your hand against your chest in a feeble attempt to slow down your heart. F-forgot... there were traps. You had kind of assumed mom and the others would have dealt with them on their way, given what you heard from Lantoon. Thank god for the PRS; you would surely be dead without it. Sitting on the bottom step while you calm down, it becomes obvious that this must be the way they didn’t take. If there are still traps set up, it means they weren’t set off, so you’re approaching the ritual chambers from the opposite direction as the rest of your group. That might be a good thing - it’s a shorter distance from here and you might be able to surprise or flank any adversaries if there are any to be found - but, as you’ve just discovered, it could definitely be a bad thing as well. The PRS should be able to block any further magical traps, but what about constructs? Summoned demons? J-just a really big (nonmagical) rock falling on your head? Would Victor have set up something like that? Do you really want to risk it? “...”

5:16 PM

Images of your sudden, violent demise swim through your mind. You imagine all sorts of nonmagical but extremely deadly traps you could fall victim to, in increasingly unlikely ways. By the time you’ve gotten to “the floor falling away to reveal a pit full of comically large spikes,” you’ve decided to run back upstairs and take the other entrance. Several minutes pass as you climb back up, pass through the other barrier, and rush along the smaller basement hallway. You can already see evidence of carnage here - scorch marks on the walls and floor, deactivated constructs littered around, and the like - so you’re a little more confident in moving quickly. All the traps should have already been spent; you should be perfectly safe until you get there. Should. The “should be” guarantee holds until you approach the last corner to the storeroom that abuts the rear of the ritual chamber. The door is already open and you can hear disconcerting noises from the chamber itself: odd whistling, crackling zaps and pops, and (possibly most concerning) sharp, staccato gunshots that echo painfully loudly in the confined space. The ringing in your ears is getting worse; despite your hurry, you’ll need to protect your hearing before entering. You can’t afford to lose any more senses.

5:17 PM

Thankfully, you’re prepared for this. You remove a trio of protective glyphs from their spot in your organizer and prepare to activate them... then stop. You can’t. The PRS is keeping you safe from magic, but it’s also preventing you from using magic. You could turn it off to lift that restriction, but then you’d be under the influence of the curse again. You wouldn’t be able to trust your eyes or your thoughts. You could try to turn it off briefly to cast the spells, then re-enable it, but you have a sneaking suspicion it would immediately dispel the enchantments. You know enough about how these spells function to understand they linger in magical form to defend you - it’s not a one-off enhancement to your body itself. Well, Allie has already offered to regrow your entire hand. How much worse could a few eardrums be? As long as she’s not dead. “...” With that harrowing thought in mind, you peek out of the storeroom and into the main ritual chamber, covering your ears as best you can while trying to stay out of view. Victor and dad stand within the permanent ritual circle, which is aglow with flowing, liquid-like magic you don’t have time to analyze. A swirling dome of spinning red-orange diamonds partially obscures them from your view: an extremely potent combat magic defense you recognize instantly. It’s designed to reflect attacks from your enemies while allowing your own through by using the malleable refractive properties of the diamonds.

5:17 PM

They’re making full use of that property by slinging spell after spell towards the main entrance almost directly opposite you. It’s tough to see through the diamond barrier, but you can barely make out a few huddled human forms behind some sort of barrier of their own - this one seems to be golden and much more static than the diamond shield. The gunshots echo from that direction, each one striking a diamond and destroying it in a spray of quickly dissolving glass-like shards. There are just so many diamonds, though, and you can’t tell the strength or state of the golden barrier from here. Suddenly distracted from the ongoing battle, you notice a group of household staff lined up against the chamber’s wall to your left. They’re all restrained by heavy glass(?) chains and seem dazed. Several are visibly injured or unconscious. And that line draws your eye to the wide, flat bronze dishes arranged at the points of the main circle. Your eyes widen when you finally realize the contents of those dishes must have once been human, and exactly what rite in the Tome must be underway right now. This is one of the final rites in the book; one your dad had kept you away from to keep your sanity intact. Memories of a burning-freezing rhythm in the depths of the heaving ocean resurface, and the asymmetric ticking of a nine-pointed clock reverberates distantly through your mind. Vaguely, you can feel an even greater pressure pushing against the PRS’s stabilizing field; the backpack beeps urgently. It has its limits, and defending against the ultimate gods of the abyss summoned through a desperate, sacrificial, insane ritual is beyond them.

5:17 PM

The only saving grace of the situation is that the ritual isn’t complete, and it can’t be completed with that diamond barrier blocking the main circle. They must have been interrupted towards the end and paused the rite to enter combat... but how suicidally bold, to mix such powerful, unstable magics together! You might be impressed at the audacity if you weren’t so personally invested. Okay, Vivienne. Think. You have to save the day here. What in the world should you do?

️ - Keep the PRS on, and...

- Turn the PRS to max, and...

- Briefly turn off the PRS, turn it back on, and...

- Turn off the PRS, and...

- Attack Victor and dad.

- Help the people behind the golden barrier.

- Help the captured staff.

- Interrupt the ritual circle. ❓ - Do something else. [Suggest in #story_discussion.] (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 87 It only takes you a few moments to come up with a plan, but it takes a good deal longer to convince yourself it’s not suicidally foolish. You can accept a fair amount of risk in a situation as unstable as this, but at the end of the day, the Stake is already dealt with. It won’t be the literal end of the world if you screw this up, so you refuse to feel guilty about prioritizing your own survival. Of course, if all you wanted was to live, you would have escaped the manor a while ago. You can find a better solution. You turn the PRS’s field strength dial to its maximum, noticing but trying to ignore the strange, not entirely pleasant sensation of solidity pressing down upon you and making it hard to move. Then, you enact your very simple plan. Step one: turn up the PRS. Already done. Step two: leap out of the storeroom and hurry towards the glowing ritual circle. Step three: allow steps one and two to interact. You’re just going to break the circle; that’s it. Both the protective diamond one, so Lantoon (presumably?) can get through, and the incomplete flowing abyssal one below it. It’s not like you can do much else without taking off the backpack, anyway - without your magic, there’s zero chance you could beat Victor in a fight. Let alone your dad. Space feels strange as you approach. Time distorts around you. It becomes impossible to tell how long each step will take or how much distance it will cover. Streams of flowing, deep blue magic steam away into mist as the PRS field encompasses them, causing a drastic imbalance in the abyssal circle. Liquid from the far side sloshes across to fill the gap, but that only makes the instability worse. As you planned, the incomplete spell is too powerful and far too unstable to survive such a sudden interruption; it’s going to fail very soon. Explosively.

8:59 PM

The PRS whines and beeps on your back, emitting what sounds like sped-up and slowed-down gibberish. Something in the stabilization field suddenly snaps, plugging your ears with the roar of rushing water. The air looks like seafoam. You have just enough self-awareness left to know the curse is descending upon you again, but the field hasn’t died quite yet. Your thoughts remain your own for just a little longer. Noticing the disastrous change in the circle beneath his feet, Victor turns towards you in what feels like slow motion. Red diamonds fade and pop between you as the PRS field demolishes that defensive barrier as well. His eyes are gold, but you can’t hope to know if that’s really true. Right now, it doesn’t matter at all. “RUN, VICTOR!!” you scream as loud as you can, immediately taking your own advice and booking it. You’ve done enough; that circle is done for. All that’s left is just to get as far away as possible before it comes apart. “Emergency shutdown,” comes a calm voice from your back, barely audible amidst the chaos. The field shuts off. You close your eyes. The circle doesn’t explode. You’re still running blindly towards what you hope is the golden barrier. Insatiable curiosity hooks into your mind. Bloodlust follows some distance behind, but it can’t find purchase in your current frantic thoughts. What’s going to happen when the circle blows? Did Victor heed your warning? Are you far enough away? Are you even going in the right direction? Two sharp gunshots. You’ve been hearing them this whole time, distant beneath the ghostly roaring waves and the probable hearing damage, but these two sound different. You can’t place why, exactly. The circle doesn’t explode. You open your eyes - you have to; you’re not going to blindly run into a wall if you can help it - and find yourself on the floor. ... Huh? How long have you been here? Why aren’t you running? Where... What floor is this?

9:00 PM

Ghkkk... Something hurts. Something really, really hurts. But, more disconcerting than the pain itself is the unclear nature of that pain. You can’t tell what hurts. Maybe it will help if you look around. You blink back tears. This is not the manor’s basement. There aren’t any hallways, ritual circles, explosions, or other people. There’s just you, a dark slate floor, and nine walls whose corners obey a strange, unearthly symmetry. NNngghHH-! You double over, pressing your forehead against the cool slate. Why... why does it hurt so much? Why can’t you even describe the pain beyond just “it hurts?” Tick... “!!!!!!!” Tock... You know where you are now. You know what hurts. You know why you’re here, what brought you here, and how you will be utterly, fundamentally broken as soon as that clock chimes. “Let me out of here,” you whisper pointlessly to the floor. Nothing that can hear you will care, but you feel the need to voice your desire anyway. “I don’t want to be here.” Tick... Tock... aaAaAAAUUAAUGGhgghhh... Your Soul simmers with agony that your Body cannot interpret. That’s what hurts. It comes in waves, like the ocean from before, burning and freezing and imparting more and more thoughts, impressions, and - your hands are shaking as you push yourself off the floor. Metallic gold drips from your face. Tears or blood? The clock. Where - if you can just stop it - but where is it?! The damned thing is visible at certain angles, but moving towards it never actually takes you in the correct direction. Space is broken here, or rather it just works according to a different set of laws. But it’s not space that scares you; it’s time. How long until it chimes? The nine hands all move at different speeds in different directions. Why... why did it have to be you? What can you possibly do to save yourself...?

9:00 PM

Tick... Brace as best you can. Every wave only gets worse. Tock... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

️ - Find. Smash that damn clock’s imperceivable, nine-pointed face.

- Focus. Perceive your Soul, and with this perception, protect yourself.

- Faith. Obtain peace in the release of responsibility. You cannot save yourself, so believe that another will.

- Fail. Lose your composure and rationality. Act as that which brought you here cannot comprehend. Prove yourself unsuitable.

- Be Lantoon.

- Be Allie.

- Be Su.

- Be Victor. (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 88 With every pulse, you understand more. That’s the danger, of course. “That which man is not meant to know” has been a theme in books about the occult - real and fictional - since its inception, since magic at its core is the thieving of knowledge and abilities not permitted by nature alone. Or at least, such is the argument of one of the foundational scholars of the glyphic tradition. The risks didn’t stop him from greedily delving into deeper and deeper truths until he at last encountered one he could not bear. According to his disciple, who was responsible for censoring his master’s notes and even his name, all that remained of the once-human scholar was a strangely reflective puddle of water that would never dry up regardless of how much heat was applied. Other magicians have met similar or worse fates for meddling with the abyss. You’ve made your own forays to the edges of human sanity, most recently in that dream of the sea. This time is different. You aren’t choosing to risk your own mind for a fragment of arcane knowledge; you’re being attacked. You’ve been brought here, to this room on the edge of time, by a demon’s power for the express purpose of breaking you without technically having actively harmed you. Tick... Tock... GGHHHHHHhhhhff... More knowledge forces its way into your mind with every tick of the clock. You’re already full to bursting with secrets no human was meant to know, but for now you can still hold on. Flashes; implications. Hints, only; there’s too much here to lose yourself to any given detail. As long as you let the tide flow over you, rather than through you.

8:46 PM

That won’t work forever, though. The clock will chime eventually, and when it does, the last veil will be removed. You, like so many magicians before you, will be unable to bear the truth, and you will lose yourself in the revelation. Perhaps you’ll become a puddle, like that unnamed scholar. Perhaps you’ll retain your Body, but shatter Mind and Soul beyond hope of recovery. Perhaps you’ll simply die; that might be one of the most merciful outcomes. There’s no hope to evade this fate. You can’t break the clock or even find it; that idea earlier was a fanciful dream. You can’t escape the room, for to do so would require knowledge beyond what you can bear. No one outside can help, as to merely approach would expose any potential savior to the same destructive knowledge that will shortly befall you. Tick... Tock... AAAAUUUUAAhhff... With every pulse from the clock, new knowledge gained. Why are you letting a voice in your head tell you what is or isn’t possible? Close your Soul. The clock acts upon your Soul, not your Mind or your Body. The true self; that’s why you have no hope of stopping it. But equally, if you can stop it, no earthly force can undo your protections. Somewhere in the morass of information churning through your being is the understanding that it is possible to close off your Soul. A god managed it once, closing off the Souls of his people to combat a spreading, mutative infection. Or so you think; the knowledge flooding you is so unstructured and directionless you can’t even tell if that story is from the past, future, or a timeline that merely could have been. Still, it cannot be a simple falsehood. The clock never lies. You’re no god, but you hardly need to close off the Souls of an entire planet. Your own is enough. You try to chase down that thread of thought, closing your eyes and diving into the ocean of information in search of the tiny fragments that could save you.

8:46 PM

Be aware of your own Soul. How do you even do that? It’s like turning on a new sense that you’ve never even thought about before. How could you describe seeing to someone who’s been blind since birth? A firehose of irrelevant and partially-relevant thoughts pours through your mind, dousing you with too much information to piece together. Do you truly need to be divine in order to do this? Tick... Tock... You inhale, waiting for the pain, but it doesn’t come. Unease settles in, followed by near-immediate panic as you re-open your eyes and try to find the clock. Seven of its hands have stopped, pointing directly up. At you, somehow. Two remain, both slowing as they approach the same angle. Midnight. It happened so much faster than you thought; you’re out of time. Focus inwards. Feel your Soul. A divine mantle...? Projection, transmutation... Concepts of magic that you don’t understand in relation to each other flash by in quick succession. Imagine a tube. Imagine a blade. Imagine a cut...! Ding... Dong... ... “What the hell is she doing here?” you mutter to yourself, adjusting your backup plan as Vivienne runs towards her brother and father. “Ortiez, get ready.” “Isn’t it too early?” she replies from behind you, peeking over your shoulder to see what’s going on. “Oh! Right, I’m ready.” You glance back at her for just a moment, catching the faint exhaustion in her voice. Silver blood dots her tattered clothes, though the skin beneath is healed. The blast vest that had protected her is clearly visible under her shirt and still largely intact. She’s fine. Enough. “On my mark.” Vivienne runs towards you, leaving two partially broken magic circles in her wake. You take advantage of the opportunity, firing two precise shots to break your opponents’ personal defenses. Then the PRS enters emergency shutdown, Vivienne immediately falls to the floor unconscious, and the circle behind her explodes.

8:47 PM

“Secure her,” you order, breaking out of cover before the shockwaves have even subsided. Allie leaps after you, dashing towards Vivienne as instructed. “Hey, big problem.” “Say it,” you respond to the translucent Suyeon flying beside you. She was supposed to be infiltrating and disabling the barriers while you distracted your opponents, though with the explosion, it’s not surprising she moved. “Curse demon’s here,” she elaborates. “Think she stole Viv. Me ‘n B are gonna try and take her down, so get everyone close to Allie if you can. Defenses from Redmarsh won’t hurt either.” “Where’s her priest?” you ask. You know demons can’t act in reality without a priest to be their hands, so you can obviously help Suyeon with her battle by eliminating whoever the demon is using. “It’s complicated,” she says vaguely. “Technically, I think it’s mostly Viv, but it’s sort of not? You could try killing all the Redmarshes and that would maybe work? But that’s a little extreme!” “What are your chances if I don’t?” Suyeon has talked about the curse demon, Melphiztora, several times, and always describes her as unreasonably powerful - likely even stronger than her own patron, himself a greater demon of immense strength. She laughs. “Oh, real bad. We’re gonna get steamrolled. But don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” “Which is?” “Sorry; outta time!” And she’s gone. Dammit.

8:47 PM

- Bring your opponents back to Allie and Mrs Redmarsh.

- Kill them.

- Leave them where they are for now.

️ - Defend, as Su suggested.

- Kill all the Redmarshes. Eliminate any possible priests. [Allie and Mrs Redmarsh won’t like this. To be honest, you probably won’t either.]

️ - Help her in some aggressive way. [How?]

- Ask Allie to get involved in some way. [How?]

- Leave the area. Don’t get involved in a clash between demons. ❓ - Do something non-lethal with Vivienne. [Can be combined with other options. Specify your approach in #story_discussion ] (Winners:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 89 A few more moments are sufficient to bring you into the former ritual circle, now scorched and sputtering with embers. Nearly a dozen people lie upon the ground here, though most are clearly beyond your help. Those who aren’t yet dead could potentially be healed by Allie, but you can’t risk letting her exhaust herself further. Not yet. Once it’s over, certainly. Instead, you just bend down to pick up the two instigators of this mess, their barriers now broken but having protected them from the worst of the explosion despite being in the center of it. Edwin is fully unconscious, but Victor groans as you wrap an arm around him, stirring feebly in your grasp. You judge him to be no immediate threat and rush back over to the tunnel entrance where you left Mary. Allie has returned already; you both place your charges on the ground as you explain what Suyeon told you. “The demon that cursed your family is here,” you inform Mary as you bind Victor’s hands together. “My other colleague will fight it. Our task here is to defend ourselves while she does.” Mentioning Melphiztora gave Mary quite a shock - or perhaps seeing the rest of her family injured and unconscious on the floor contributed as well. “Where is the sealing circle?” she asks. “I left it with your daughter.” Vivienne clearly does not have it. Mary nods, resolutely producing two sticks of red chalk. “Then I’ll do what I can.” Victor mutters something and she pats his forehead before kneeling down to draw. “Shh. It’s okay.” “What’s wrong with her?” Allie asks, standing just outside Mary’s new circle and glancing down at Vivienne. “She’s not hurt, but she passed out as soon as the PRS died. I can’t feel anything from her, either. It’s like she’s dead, but... I mean, she’s clearly not. S-should I try to heal her anyway?” You shake your head. “Suyeon believes Melphiztora ‘stole’ her. Introducing lacre may damage whatever magic is sustaining her body.”

2:53 PM

“‘Stole?’” Allie echoes. “The heck does that mean?” “I do not know.” “Ngh...” She glances back again. “I don’t like just leaving her like this. I bet you’re thinking turning the PRS back on would cause the same kinda problem?” “Likely.” “Yeah, figured. Plus, I’m no mechanic, but the master warning light’s on.” She clenches her fists. “Lantooooon, what am I supposed to do? Nothing’s happening and I’m getting real antsy!” “Your presence will dissuade demons. Stay on guard.” “Won’t I mess with that circle, too?” “Did you block the traps’ activations on your way here? Or did you merely block their effects on you?” “Er, effects. Right, that makes sense. It should be fine as long as I don’t touch it.” She brightens up a little. “Okay, then you get in the circle. I don’t want you to get hurt without your PRS. I’ll protect you for once!” You hesitate for a moment. Despite your desire to avoid putting Allie in danger, she’s correct in this case: she’s much better equipped to defend against whatever’s coming next than you. “Very well. I will keep our captives under control and rely on you to protect us.” She stands up straighter. “You can count on me!” Now, what is Suyeon’s plan? Presumably, she doesn’t intend to simply “get steamrolled,” as she put it, but what does she intend to do instead? You feel uncomfortably powerless, sitting inside Mary’s protective circle and keeping an eye on Victor and your surroundings. You have your weapon, but there’s nothing to shoot. All you can do is wait, prepare, and be ready to assist Ortiez. “...”

2:53 PM

Without warning, a massive cylinder of churning liquid appears above the permanent ritual circle, preserving its shape for only a moment before collapsing into a circular wave that quickly steams away into a cloud of hot mist. Allie jumps, obviously not expecting that, then braces her stance as a silhouette becomes visible in the cloud. Her hair glints silver as she whispers something into her hands - a trick borrowed from one of the only other known lacre-bloods - then she holds her breath. A massive blob of blue gel filled with little white dots slithers out of the circle and Allie releases her held breath immediately. “Aw, man, these guys again? I hate dealing with them!” “Ortiez!” you call, tossing her your water bottle without hesitation. She turns, miraculously manages to avoid fumbling the catch, and nods. You’ve both seen these creatures before. “Thanks. You stay there,” she recommends before running forwards. Along the way, she douses herself in the water, then narrows her profile and claps her hands together to release a faint silver dust that settles into the water dripping off her. “And... hup!” She dives straight into the blob, piercing into its gelatinous form as the water reacts with the creature’s slimy flesh to boil both away. Allie half-crawls, half-swims through the thing’s innards, questing forward as her protective layer burns away. Searching for the specific star that answers for its brain. “An acocitl?” Mary mutters behind you, concerned. “How did it - no, what is she doing? She’ll be dissolved in moments!” Indeed, acocitl’s are incredibly caustic, able to clean flesh from bones in a matter of seconds. It melts away on contact with water - hence why you threw your bottle - but such a limited amount of liquid won’t keep her safe for long. “Ortiez knows what she’s doing,” you reassure her. “Watch.”

2:53 PM

Steam and silver light fill the cavity inside the mass of slime. The creature wriggles this way and that, unable to reckon with prey that is still moving inside it. And in only moments more, something pops and the entire creature loses cohesion. The bond that keeps its flesh together breaks and it falls apart into a mass of ordinary water and complicated organic chemicals. Allie slides out of the mess, her skin steaming and red, but quickly returning to a more healthy color. “Got it!” she calls, grinning and holding up an apple-sized mass of coiled, off-white wrinkles before briefly wincing as a puff of steam curls off her face. “Ouch.” Mary blinks several times. “Just what sort of powers does your partner possess...?” [What’s next...?]

- ...

️ - ... [Also...]

- ...

- ... (Winners:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 90 You elect not to answer, instead focusing on the churning light bubbling from the center of the now-cleaned circle. “Back up!” you call. Allie notices the light too, hurrying back towards your circle before anything dangerous can happen. “Great; what next?” she wonders aloud, then proffers the acocitl organ. “Hey, you need this for anything?” “Focus.” “Thought not.” She drops it on the ground. Several long seconds pass. With a quick flare, like that of a camera flash, the light in the circle explodes into hundreds of long, pale ribbons. They spread at random for several moments before pulling towards your group. You raise your weapon to fire, breaking sharp, glass-like holes through several of the leaders as Allie prepares a different type of magic. Meanwhile, the circle begins to refill with a third type of light. It seems you’re in for a test of endurance. ... “Hff... huff... nghh...” Your hand is slick with warm golden liquid; a knife that doesn’t actually exist vanishes from your grasp. The clock finishes its chiming song - the same one played by every grandfather clock you have ever heard - and begins to toll. The room resonates with each bell. You do not. It tolls nine times in total before it finally falls silent, the last echo slowly dispersing into nothingness. The sound carries with it that last secret that should have killed you. Should have broken you beyond recognition. You’re still here. You fall onto your side, sliding to rest along the cool slate floor. Your arm trembles as you bring your hand into view, dripping with metallic gold. What have you done? A timeless while passes as you adjust. Gold continues to spill from your lower back. You fail to be concerned. The clock begins to tick again, somewhere in the twisted recesses of nearby space. You fail to care. A haze of muffled grey clouds your vision. You fail to blink.

9:31 PM

In fact, after those initial fading thoughts of worry and confusion, you fail to do anything at all. You don’t move, you don’t observe, and, after a while, you don’t even think. You simply exist in the room with the clock, unknowing and uncaring of yourself, your surroundings, or anything that may be happening outside. “...” At some point, a woman comes to visit. You don’t notice or care as she observes your state, says something, and shoves you across the room. The clock chimes again, but it might as well have saved itself the trouble; you cannot hear it. The woman returns, shakes her head, and pushes you further away. With a sudden slipping motion, the outer wall fails to halt your movement and you fall into empty space. “...” Your senses return and you wake up on a different floor, although it makes no difference to you. Several people discuss something nearby. Two men appear out of midair. The taller of the pair, wearing a spotless maroon suit and a wide smile, leads a brief examination before assigning a name and explanation to your condition. If you were aware of his presence, you might have felt some curiosity towards the diagnosis. “...” Time passes. You’re moved again. Something cool and silver touches you momentarily, then something warm and gold. You become aware of your heartbeat. It thumps like the clock. Tugs at your awareness, pulling you up and out of this comfortable morass of nothing. You don’t want to wake up. You don’t want to hurt. You don’t want to... to... You do want to. “...”

9:31 PM

You jolt awake on the rough wooden floor of a small room. Your heart is hammering in your chest, your breathing is rapid and shallow, and cold sweat beads on your skin. You scramble to your feet, a whirl of pale, flowing fabric. You’re wearing a pure white tunic, sleeveless, trimmed with gold, and loose around your shins. Thin silver sandals and thin silver bracelets decorate your ankles and wrists. All four of them. Your right hand is back, and you clutch it tightly to your chest as if afraid to surrender it again. Panic threatens to overwhelm you. The room is claustrophobic: the ceiling is oppressively short, the lighting is oppressively dim, and the decor is oppressively absent. An asymmetric, off-key beat thuds behind your eyes, contrasting with the rapid, even thumps of your heart. A threadbare armchair snarls at you. The floorboards grumble. The window hisses for your attention. Light - yes, that’s it. You’ll feel better if the room isn’t so dark. You step carefully to the wall, then peel apart the unpleasantly slick, gossamer curtains to reveal the world outside. Your breathing quickens further; your hands clutch at the disgustingly textured fabric. The cabin sits atop a tall cliff. The sky is a threatening, steely grey, dark with clouds and streaked with rain. A heaving, churning, murderous ocean rages below it, pounding unevenly against the base of the cliff and sloughing away layers of soft, pliable dirt. Even as you watch, more of the cliff crumbles into the waves below, encroaching on the cabin inch by inch. You will not be safe here for long, the sky promises. The sea, in response, howls that you belong within its bottomless embrace. Dive, it screams. Such is your fate.

9:31 PM

You shiver, turning from the window to look for means of egress. A simple white door promises a second room in the cabin, while a long, narrow hallway leads into uncomfortable darkness beside it. A second door is barely visible at the far end.

- Enter the other room.

- Exit via the hallway.

- Your pulse quickens yet again. Your breathing deepens. The ocean calls. (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 91 The darkness gives you pause, or perhaps you simply want to explore everywhere you can before you’re inevitably forced to abandon the cabin. You cross the room to the simple white door and, with one more glance back towards the invisibly pounding waves outside, open it. The door leads into a darkened kitchen, cluttered with stacked plates, dishes, and cutlery. You try to quiet your breathing as you enter; it feels that a single wrong move could cause the whole mess to collapse. You can’t see much beyond faded outlines in the darkness; there’s no source of light beyond the wan, watery illumination from the window in the other room. Still, you can barely make out a clear passage between tottering piles of ancient, chipped tableware. A few more steps see you past the piles and to a grotesque, antique, heavy wooden dining room table. It’s seen very hard times over the years, being nicked, scratched, dented, and repaired over nearly its entire surface. Two table settings are arranged across from each other, with an unlit candle and a box of matches placed in the center. Unsure what else to do and not wanting to leave empty-handed, you carefully sit down at the closer of the two settings, fumble a match out of the box, and light the candle. The instant you do, someone else is sitting across from you. It’s not that they just became visible in the stronger light - you could have made out their outline even in the very dim light before. They simply appeared alongside the candle’s glow. As the light grows faintly brighter and your table partner shifts their position, a legitimate gasp escapes your lips. “You!” you exclaim weakly. “How did... who are you?” The man sitting opposite you smiles unpleasantly, pushing back his worn grey hood to reveal the oracle from the ferry you originally took to the City of Glass. He doesn’t answer your question. “You’ve brought a terrible fate upon yourself, haven’t you?”

5:44 PM

Taking a cue from him, you don’t answer his question either. “Where is this? What happened after I... with the clock...” Your memories are faded and dull; you can hardly recall what it was you even did. “This isn’t the Outside, so what happened to me?” A grin, but not a happy one. “Indeed, you escaped your ordained fate by severing your own ties to life. A most peculiar action, made possible only by standing upon the very cliff edge you now find so repulsive. How brash; how shortsighted! Such a quintessentially human decision!” Some of the dread you feel towards the ocean begins to re-associate itself with this man instead. He is not your ally. “You speak as if you aren’t human. But you can’t be a demon, since you entered the City of Glass. So... again, who are you?” A much, much wider grin. “Your memory fails you less than expected. Who am I, indeed? Would a better question be to ask who am I not?” As he speaks, his appearance shifts, taking on face after face you recognize from your travels. Arthur, Eridya, Cornelius, Edward, Eileen, mom, dad, Victor... All blurring together, merging and bubbling like verminous slime. “Stop!” you cry, pushing your chair back. You feel sick. “Stop; you aren’t... you can’t...” “Can’t what?” he asks in a chorus of overlapping voices belonging to your friends and family. “Be everyone you’ve ever loved? Everyone you’ve ever known? Don’t be so pathetic.” Still, the oracle returns to his normal appearance, smiling jeeringly at you. “No... it’s not possible,” you declare. “You’re just trying to...” What is he trying to do? Make you uncomfortable? Disorient you? Distract you? Make you run out of time so the house falls into the waves with you in it? You’d still have enough warning; the waves aren’t that close yet. What is his game?

5:45 PM

“So,” he reorients, pulling three cards from his sleeve and sliding them face-up onto the table. The Key, the Dog-eared Page, and the Fanged Well. The two you drew and the one you didn’t. Both Angel cards from your dream of the glass mannequins are conspicuously absent. “Your fate is broken. You severed its thread so messily that even a domain master could not put it back together.” A pause; he tilts his head and grins. “Or perhaps she simply did not bother to try.” Melphiztora. Her domains are fate and luck. She wouldn’t have bothered, surely. “Someone is attempting to pull you back,” the oracle sighs. “Hence your arrival here, in this place between places, at all. But they are young and inexperienced, and know not how to even see a broken thread, let alone mend one.” A start. You feel something tugging at your back, like a fishing hook caught in your skin. You resist the urge to scratch at it, knowing it can’t possibly be physically there. “Without intervention, you will not be recoverable. If you tore yourself further, perhaps a fragment could be lifted out of this place. Perhaps enough to animate your mortal form for a few brief moments; enough to deliver a message before you expire.” A deeply malicious smile, this time. “Would you like help in achieving such a feat?” “N-no! NO!” You shake your head frantically as the oracle slowly starts to stand. He smiles coldly, returning to his seat. “No,” you gasp again, heart pounding. He could do it. Tear your Soul into pieces and let that dangling hook carry just one back to reality. You don’t know why you’re so certain, but you are. “‘Without intervention,’ you said. W-what about with it? How can I leave with all of me?” He taps the cards laid out on the table. “Accept your fate. You have defied the Fanged Well, refusing to allow yourself to be sacrificed. To repair the thread, you must simply right this wrong. Present a sacrifice to the well. That is all.”

5:45 PM

“I - but, I didn’t draw the Fanged Well,” you protest. “I stopped before I did. I didn’t want the curse, s-so I didn’t take it.” “It matters not.” The oracle pushes the cards closer to your side of the table, just past the candle. “You accepted the reading, and at that point, your fate was decided. Declining to draw the last card does not dissolve its power; such an act merely blinds you to its effects.” You recall the debate amongst oracles. Do the draws create a future or reveal one? This oracle, at least, clearly believes the latter. “... Sacrifice something to the Well...” Anxiously, slowly, you pick up the cards. The Fanged Well glowers darkly, the eponymous well on its face so coldly black that it seems to consume what little light reaches it. “Is that the only way?” “The only way achievable with your own abilities. To mend your fate while still defying the card would require one with more influence than the deck, and such individuals are very hard to come by.” A wide, toothy grin. You hesitate to ask, but it seems he understands regardless. “Of course, one such individual sits before you. Should you entrust your Soul to me, I will be happy to unwrite the Well and restore your fate. I could even dispel that tangled ‘curse’ ensnaring you. But be warned: I am known to be a demanding master.” “...” The candle burns low and the waves pound ever closer, shaking the cabin now. Dishes rattle behind you. Soon, they’ll start to fall. You don’t have long to make your decision. You could accept this clearly malicious entity as your master. He has enough power to restore you to life and break your curse. But in exchange, you would have to do anything he orders. Such is the nature of a Soulbound contract.

5:45 PM

Or you could sacrifice something to the Well. Yourself would do, of course - you were to be its original meal, after all - but throwing yourself in certainly won’t help you. Your only other option, then, is a sacrifice of equal or greater value. ... Victor?

- Become the oracle’s servant in exchange for returning to life and breaking the curse.

- ... No. You won’t throw yourself into the Well. It’s pointless.

- Sacrifice Victor to the Well.

️ - Sacrifice someone else to the Well. [Who? Specify in #story_discussion.]

- ... No. You won’t tear your Soul apart just to leave this place. ❓ - You have a better idea. You can outwit this entity and the deck too. All you have to do is... [You’d better have a good plan. Specify in #story_discussion. Any option that involves defying the oracle and the Well, including waiting to make a decision, fits here.] (Winner:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 92 ... No. You can’t. Despite everything he’s done, you still can’t bring yourself to kill him. With Lantoon’s backpack for temporary stability and the possibility of actually breaking the curse now that you know its source, he has just as much a future as you do. You can’t take that away. But if not you and if not your brother, who would you be willing to sacrifice? To kill? Can you even bring yourself to perform the rite on anyone? You’ve been trained to perform ritual sacrifices, of course, but never of those close to you. That thought does it. Who taught you to perform the rites? “I will sacrifice someone to the Well,” you declare, gripping the card tightly. “I will mend my own fate.” The oracle’s brows knit together. “You haven’t the resolve. Merely stating the intent is insufficient; the deed must be done by your own hand.” His displeasure only solidifies your decision. “I’m stronger than you think.” The frown deepens. “Do you understand the implications of your choice? To perform the rite, you will return on borrowed time. Should you fail to complete your task before that time runs out, the card will not be so lenient again.” “I understand. I won’t fail.” That original, greasy smile returns. “As you wish. Be on your way, then. I shall collect the scattered fragments of your Soul when you fail.” You want nothing more than to leave this suffocating room and this malicious maybe-god’s company. Even the idea of potentially getting more information out of him fails to eclipse the desire to simply escape. You snuff out the candle, watching the oracle vanish as darkness returns to the kitchen, and carefully make your way back into the main room.

9:38 PM

Somehow, you do understand. Pieces of knowledge linger inside your Mind, remnants from your time in the nine-pointed room with the nine-handed clock. To perform the sacrifice, you must return to physical reality. But to do that, you must perform the sacrifice. To resolve this paradox, you can borrow some time, returning to life for just long enough to do the deed and mend your fate. The clock can provide what you need. At a price, of course, but any such price is better than staying here and fading away once your would-be savior gives up and releases that tenuous hook - the only thing preventing you from falling back into the unthinking void. The only question is if you truly have the resolve to do it. The waves have eaten away a dramatic amount of the cliff. You had almost forgotten about the raging ocean, but at this point there’s less than a foot of ground left before the cabin’s fountain starts to go. You have no intention of sticking around to find out what happens if you fall, so you brave the dark hallway from before. A soft click echoes throughout the entire interior as you pull open the door and step outside. A worn dirt path leads both away from the cliff and back around the cabin towards it. The pounding, maddening beat of the sea is far more obvious out here; it calls to you. This is where you belong. Below the waves, amongst the weeds and muck of those who dwell in the sodden dark. The throne from your dream - that gargantuan, green-blue monolith of stone fit only for a titan or god - could be yours. You’re still young; you could grow to fill it.

9:38 PM

Away from the cliff, the path slowly winds its way down a hill towards a thick, overgrown forest. Unsettling sounds and flecks of motion indicate it’s hardly more friendly than the terrain up here. Darkness clings to its branches like silk from a particularly evil spider. That simile is at least a little silly; enough to find some brief respite from the constant pressure of this awful place. Although if it’s actually true, you’ll be reversing that feeling and then some. The grass on either side of the path is unnervingly tall and slender, each individual blade blending with its fellows to create a fuzzy, indistinct mass of rustling motion. The faint breeze from the storm’s distant fury should be insufficient to produce such movement. Close-by stalks bend towards you. Feathery fronds tremble against the breeze, straining to touch your skin. Their obvious, mindless desperation adds to your uneasiness; you instinctively distrust and want to avoid the plants. Still, you can’t stay here unless you want to fall into the waves. The cabin sags now, slowly bending towards its inevitable collapse. You need to find that damnable clock and bargain a few grains of time from it. But where would it be...?

- The warm, sunny clearing along the forest path.

- The cool, humid river path deeper within the forest.

- Through the close, barrier-like thorny bushes off the forest path.

️ - Past the forest, across the wide, windy plateau.

- Your heart thumps with unbearable intensity. The ocean holds the answer.

- It had better not be in the cabin. Going back there now would be tantamount to throwing yourself into the sea. (Winner:

️ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 93 Your dislike of the forest grows as you get closer to it. The trees whisper secretively and the underbrush shifts in much the same way as the grass along your current path. The dark closeness promises a suffocating journey. You have other options. A dirt path also winds along the edge of the forest, turning inland only slowly. The grass here still strains to touch you, but the path is wide enough that it can’t reach. You don’t know where the clock would be, so placing yourself in the least uncomfortable situation while searching seems the best option, all else being equal. You walk for what feels like a long time. The grass grows shorter and scrubbier, while the path’s coarse dirt compacts into a firmer gravel. The wind picks up. Somewhere behind you, the sound of a distant avalanche brings news that the cabin on the cliff has finally succumbed to the inevitable. You wonder what the sea’s next target of conquest will be. You pick up the pace. After long enough that the cloudy, pale light of day is beginning to give way to a dark, dull evening, the forest fades away. Trees give way to bushes and scrubland; you find yourself at the edge of a great, windswept plateau. Smooth boulders litter the plain and short, tough plants cling grimly to life in crevices and behind the boulders. You grit your teeth against the strengthening breeze and press on into the night. “...”

9:21 PM

The breeze becomes a wind, then a gale. Your hair streams behind you; your tunic flaps madly around your legs. You do feel the chill - the night is cold and the howling wind worsens the temperature significantly - but something protects you from the worst of it. A vast gulf in the wind opens before you, with gales the strength of tornadoes parting to either side and eroding the boulders with their force. Between them lies the center of the plateau: the origin of this hateful tableland and a focal point for those from the Outside. As you struggle on, one plodding step after the other, the building comes into view. It’s a squat, stone monastery with such simple construction it seems prehistoric. Smoothed edges indicate the winds crafted its original shape, but carved entryways prove an intelligent touch. Disquieting yellow light, flickering on the rocks like disgustingly infected pus, informs you that this place is not for those healthy of Body or sound of Mind. Sparks dance at the edge of your awareness. You’re very close to the boundary here, but your audience with the clock brought you closer still. You can proceed. The doorway is curiously low and the tunnels within lower still. You must stoop to enter, then crouch to proceed, then finally crawl to make your way through the maze of interconnecting passages that trap the foolish and unwary in snarls of their own thoughts. Your thoughts, however, are sharp and singular enough to cut through. You know what lurks at the center of this monastery and you have no intention of failing now that you’ve finally almost made it. At last, you arrive. You emerge from one of the nine corners of a strange, impossibly-angled room. A deep, donut-shaped pit separates the outer floor from a central island. It leads far below, burrowing deep into the heart of this ancient plateau. Far enough to touch the unthinking void from which you so recently escaped? Perhaps. You don’t want to find out, regardless.

9:21 PM

Perched atop the central island is a wooden grandfather clock. Nine hands mark out a precisely asymmetric rhythm as space splinters and reforms around it. Unlike your previous audience with the clock, here it does not hide in impossible corners or twists of space. Here, you can see its entire form - though you understand it’s wise not to. Certain carvings down its height spell out the same secrets that its hands speak. You look half-away. Tick... Tock... Ghk- You flinch, clutching briefly at your head as a sharp lance of pain stabs through it. Less brutal than before, but you’re far from immune despite your broken Soul. Perhaps, by attempting to put yourself back together, you are undoing your own protections that you so recently thought impenetrable. You step forward. “I need to go back,” you say. Your voice echoes throughout the room’s fractured dimensions, returning to you inverted and upside down. The clock hears you, regardless. It has no Mind, but it understands. No Soul, but it binds. Tick... Tock... Aaa - hhh... Your lower back throbs. Gold glitters in your vision. The clock’s hands change their tempo. You understand that you are presented with an exchange. Time for time. The clock will provide you with the time you desire to return above and mend your fate. In exchange, you will return that time with interest. Hours, days, weeks, years. You will receive one, and the clock will take you back for another. Steal you away whenever it requires; whenever would best serve its cosmic plan. It cannot make you do anything in this exchanged time, but it hardly needs to. Simply being in its presence is enough to push you beyond your limits. You will have to do whatever is necessary to avoid the fate you broke yourself to thwart. Have you merely exchanged one master for another?

9:21 PM

At least the clock has rules. It cannot lie. It will be fair. It has no Mind or Soul to plot against you. That will have to be enough. Tick... Tock... ... ⌛ - Receive hours to do the deed. Give up days later on.

️ - Receive days. Give up weeks.

️ - Receive weeks. Give up years.

‍

- Cheat. Receive years. A lifetime. You won’t have to perform the rite. But give up so much more once it’s over. (Winner: ⌛ ) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 94 You accept the smallest portion of time the clock will offer. A faint dusting of golden grains falls from its first hand, marking off three segments on its face as it travels. Three real hours, that’s all. Exchanged for three real days later on. The timing will be very tight, but the next greatest portion would have been three days for six weeks. A more efficient exchange in relative terms, but so much more to pay in absolute terms. You have to believe you’ll succeed; that you won’t need more than these three hours. Ding... Dong... A smooth wood-capped hourglass forms in front of your chest, tying itself securely around your neck with a chain of gold. The bargained grains of time slip inside and the finished assembly turns over. Three hours. Your time has started. You feel immediately lighter; the hook in your back begins to pull you up. Streams of gold dust drain from your Body as you rise - portions of yourself to act as collateral in the event you fail - and you start to grow dizzy and faint. The clock finishes its song and begins to toll. By the time it sounds its third stroke, you’ve passed out. ... You feel a strong sense of deja vu as you blink awake in your room at home. You’re feverish and weak, your skin alternating between too hot and too cold. You’re light-headed, but at least not nauseous and confused this time. You know exactly what you need to do and your memories of that sunken place between places remain intact. As does your knowledge of the time limit. The hourglass came with you. It’s hot against your already-hot skin, resting against your sternum like a warm coal. You sit up and slip it out of your nightclothes, absently holding it with your right hand as you watch it slowly drain. Two hours and forty minutes, you know intuitively with precision impossible for such a small analog device. You’ve been sleeping for too long.

6:11 PM

You haul yourself out of bed and stumble upright, hurrying to gather the tools you’ll - hang on. Clench your right hand again. Snap your fingers. Pinch your cheek. You hold it up in the dim light cast by the window. The skin tone isn’t exactly right - there’s a noticeable ring around your wrist where the sickly pallor of your arm instantaneously transitions to a more healthy color on your restored hand - but it’s unmistakably your hand. Not just because it’s attached to your wrist; gah, you don’t have time to stand around! Allie must have done it while you were sleeping. Even though you barely even spoke to her, she still kept her promise. Which must mean she’s still alive; in your haste to get ready, you briefly forgot you don’t actually know how the confrontation in the basement concluded after your abduction. As you’re rushing around to prepare your equipment, you notice a neatly folded note on your nightstand. Deciding that it’s better to be informed than save a minute or two, you pause to skim through it. It’s from mom. You don’t absorb the specifics, but the gist of it is that your family and the agents all survived. As you already gathered, Allie healed your hand, and then she, Suyeon, and mom worked together to bring you back from the unthinking void. That explains all the ritual paraphernalia surrounding your bed. The agents are staying nearby tonight in order to debrief tomorrow - assuming you’re awake by then - or try further to wrench you from the void if not. After that, she cautions you to stay put, do absolutely nothing strenuous, and that she left the backpack for you just in case you start feeling the curse again. Sorry, mom. You can’t do that. The backpack should help, though.

6:11 PM

Just under two hours remain by the time you’re finished with everything you can do in your room. You have your ritual knife; someone must have put your magic implements back in your room. You have several sketched circles, proof that your restored right hand works just as well as it had before. You have the candles, incense, sand, matches, and so on, though the bag with all that stuff in it is heavier than you thought and you struggle to lift it. Your fever hasn’t gone down at all. You feel dreadfully hollow and your body can’t muster up the strength you’re used to. You’ve never been particularly strong, but you certainly could have carried a bag of ritual equipment without issue. Now, you’re considering dragging it. The missing strength must still be with the clock, surely. You’ll be able to get it back once you... You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. Now, as you heft the backpack and your bag of tools; as you’re about to exit your room and make your way to actually do the deed you came back to do... it feels a lot more immediate than it did in that not-place with the oracle or the clock. Can you really bring yourself to do it? There’s one way to find out. You make your way through the darkened manor, taking a wide berth around the main staircase where you can see light below. The third floor barrier is still in place, but with your new backpack, you can pass through without having to break it. That nausea you were worried about is starting to come back, though you doubt it’s from the same source as last time. The third floor is darker than the second. There’s no light spilling from the grand foyer of the first, and the windows are smaller. Your heart pounds as you search room after empty room, peering into disused chambers in search of an occupied bedroom. Here he is.

6:11 PM

Dad lies asleep in an opulent suite that once served as a former head-of-house’s study. Your breathing is shaky. He’s your dad. As he is right now, you can hardly bring to mind any of the atrocities he’s said to have committed. The ones that saw him banished to the third floor. They weren’t his fault; they were the curse. It could have been you or Victor here in this bed, if the timing was just slightly off. The hourglass. An hour and thirty five minutes. You’ve spent almost half your time. The knife feels very heavy in your bag. You step into the room. Close the door. Lock it with a spell. Gingerly tip-toe forward and set down your bag of tools with a soft, rustling clink. Dad’s eyes open, shot through with streaks of gold. You hold your breath. “Vivienne...” he breathes. “You’ve come back after all...” His voice is rough and very, very tired. Your eyes grow warm. “I... I came back.” “Gold...” he notes, his gaze wandering up to your eyes. “So it got you too. Victor said as much... Strange; I hardly recall...” Your resolve cracks. This is your dad. You can’t... kill him. You just can’t! But if you don’t...

- Your resolve holds.

- You can’t do it.

️ - Tell him what you’re about to do and why.

- Don’t tell him.

- Use magic to put him to sleep.

️ - Don’t.

- Keep the backpack until the last moment, to ensure you aren’t influenced. [Prevents you from using magic until the ritual is set up.]

- Give dad the backpack so he can speak to you lucidly. [Also blocks magic, though in a slightly different way.]

- Don’t turn on the backpack unless there’s an emergency. (Winners:

️ ,

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Scene 95 It’s hard to speak past the lump in your throat. You manage it anyway. “Dad... I’ve done... something terrible.” “What is it?” He seems confused; not at all alarmed by your sudden intrusion in the middle of the night with a bag of ritual equipment. “Let me hear it.” “...” You clench your fists. You don’t need to tell him anything. It won’t matter by the time the hourglass runs dry. But you want him to know, regardless. “I didn’t go to Europe. I went to the City of Glass. And then-” Over the next hour, you tell him everything. You talk about the oracle. Your status as a Diver. Arthur’s disappearance. The brokers; the trench; the Stake of the Imprisoned God. Victor’s arrival, your fight, and your return home. The agents. The curse. Your perspective of what happened in the basement. And, at last, the oracle again and that damnable clock. As you speak, you prepare for the ritual. It helps to be distracted in both directions; the preparations feel almost routine and lend a feeling of calming detachment to your storytelling. Meanwhile, your story distracts you from exactly what ritual these preparations are meant to enact. Dad must have figured it out well before the end. He’s an expert in sacrificial rites, after all, and there aren’t many other reasons you could be drawing a circle like this. Still, it only becomes truly real for you when you gather the courage to say it aloud. “I chose to sacrifice someone else to the Fanged Well,” you say clearly. You did have a choice. You didn’t have to come here for him specifically. It could have been anyone in your family; the Well isn’t exceptionally picky. “I... I chose you. I’m sorry.” The apology feels pathetically insufficient. Something you’d say after bumping into someone, not after announcing you’re about to kill them. Dad looks at you with inscrutable, golden eyes, but does not respond. “Dad,” you choke out. “Please say something.”

9:31 PM

“What do you want me to say?” he asks at last. “That it’s okay? That I forgive you? That this was your best choice?” “... Yes,” you admit. You still haven’t started the ritual; you’ve only prepared. There’s still time to abort. You can’t. But you could. Dad sighs. “You’ve been through a lot. More than you should have had to endure... You and your brother too...” He’s not saying it. “I know what it’s like to be in an impossible situation. Pinned to the Outside. I used to know...” A pause. He tries to refocus on you. “I’m already old and broken. Drained by the curse... Vivienne... Fight for yourself. Don’t let those Outsiders break you...” “I’m trying...” “It’s damn, damn hard...” His eyes drift away. Light on something else. Sharpen somewhat. “What’s that around your neck? A noose? Those damn Outsiders got you on the gallows?!” “It’s an hourglass!” you exclaim, fishing it out and dangling it so he can see. Dad calms immediately. “Clock... Should’ve known... Half an hour...” A slight jolt. “Vivienne, you’ll be late. Start the damn ritual. You made a decision, you stick to it.” “...” You stare at the hourglass. He’s right; it’s drained to a mere thirty minutes. The ritual can take up to twenty to perform; you do need to start soon. “I... I don’t know if I can...” “Use that tool your brother likes so much. Put a damn blanket over me. I won’t see you eaten by that Well!” Dad’s getting agitated now, wriggling around and leaning down to poke through your ritual bag. You absolutely can’t have that, so you shuffle it out of the circle and retrieve the tool in question. Your hand is completely stable, but your eyes are blurry with tears. “I can’t...” you whimper, aiming at your dad. You want to throw it away and sob. “I can’t do it!”

9:31 PM

“Vivienne! Come here!” he demands, thrusting a finger at the ground next to his bed. Perhaps conditioned by years of obeying such commands, you stride forwards almost without thinking. He grabs your wrist and pulls you forward, forcing you to lean down until the magic tool touches his chest. “Use the damn tool or I’ll do it myself. Don’t make an old man stoop so low.” “I can’t,” you plead again. “DO IT!” Your hand tightens on the tool. Some part of your resolve breaks. You choke out one last sentence. “I love you, dad.” You activate the tool. Dad falls asleep, slumping back into the bed without another word. You speak again. “Goodbye.” ... The ritual proceeds without a hitch. Your motions and vocalizations are textbook-perfect. Your mind is blank. Smoothly reflective. A lake without wind. You’ve done this many times before, or at least something much like it. The centerpiece of the rite only matters at the very end. Your knife gleams as it’s transferred from your bag to various points along the circle and finally to your hand. You grip it tightly. Someone is reflected in the blade. “...” The last line. The last motion. Declare the concept to receive the sacrifice. The Well. The void. Your broken fate. Raise the knife, now tainted a ghastly, burning green from the ritual’s magic. Hesitate. The rite’s magic falters, the carefully timed spell bunching up against itself like a rug. The hourglass sways from its chain. Nine minutes. You’re slow. You’re late. If you don’t finish it now, everything you’ve worked for will be for nothing. The knife descends. The ritual concludes. You fall to the floor and cry. [This is the last choice in the story and will affect only the epilogue.]

- “The instability is not getting worse, which is frankly more concerning.”

- “Why are you so set on her as your priest?”

- “You damn gluttonous butchery pit. This one won’t do at all.” (Winner:

) (edited)

@Story Notifications Epilogue “Good evening, Suyeon,” Intaqui says neutrally as he appears in a burst of intangible flame and sinks into an armchair. “Bholgalos.” His normally pristine maroon suit is askew today, the tie loose and the jacket wrinkled. He resembles an office worker returning home exhausted. “Tough day, huh?” Bholgalos responds, leaning back in his own chair. “So, is it about to break and ruin everything?” “... No,” he admits sourly. “The instability is not getting worse, which is frankly more concerning than the alternative.” Suyeon, leaning forward in her chair, speaks up. “Why is that? Isn’t it good that physical reality isn’t breaking down?” “Not exactly. If it were, we would at least have an understanding of the issue. Such an existential threat would make it easy to rally demons to our cause and invoke the Yhvram’s power. Without such an obvious disaster looming, many of our kin remain willingly ignorant.” Su nods. Bholgalos smirks. “Then I take it Melphiztora didn’t take kindly to your explanation this time either?” “Pah. Of course not. We will need to find some way to progress without her assistance; she intends to remain as uncooperative as possible until we have returned her ‘priest’ to her.” Bholgalos laughs. “‘Course she’d be like that. So, any luck with that ‘priest’, Su?” She wiggles her hands neutrally. “She’s doing better than I expected, really. Just not that great. I think it helps that we got the AIB to lend ‘em an ARS can. Apparently she’s been talking things out with her brother almost nonstop since then.” “Melphiztora was severely displeased about that as well. I believe she called it ‘impudent technologists meddling in the domain of demons.’”

8:35 PM

Su grins slightly. “Well, it’s working for them. I think it’s probably good on balance that they owe the AIB now; means we’ll get to mix them in with our friends there and keep things nice and cooperative. Arthur sorta acted as the mediator, so she’s happy to get to see him more often.” “Do they still want to break their curse?” Bholgalos scratches his beard. “Doesn’t seem like they’d gain all that much from opposing her at this point, with all the anti-magic devices they can get.” “They still want to,” Su confirms. “The siblings are heading to Australia again in a month for something related to all this. I guess it’s really inconvenient to have to wear a backpack all the time if you don’t want to get cursed. Plus, it stops ‘em from using magic, which is annoying too.” “Quite a downgrade from ‘life-threatening’ to ‘annoying,’” Bholgalos muses. “Melphiztora must hate that.” “Good.” “You tell ‘er,” Su encourages, pumping her fists. “Not often you’re so obviously mad!” “She is uniquely tiresome,” Intaqui sighs. “Regardless, it appears the pieces are broadly in place for our next move. Bholgalos, are you prepared?” He gives a hearty thumbs up. ]O[

8:35 PM

Conclusion Hey, thanks for playing! I don’t believe any protagonists died, though we did unfortunately lose Mr Edwin Redmarsh. His time was coming to an end anyway, at least; my pre-story notes indicated he would die in less than five years due to a curse-related research accident. Wowie, this one went off the rails. Yeah, the entire thing was supposed to take place inside the City of Glass, but instead we simply left the City about 2/3 of the way through the story. Lots of unfinished business there, that’s for sure, and we hardly even went Diving. Dang. Maybe we can visit again sometime. At least it was nice to focus on the golden side of magic a bit more, and to see some familiar faces from previous stories. I originally intended for this epilogue to be about three times as long, including scenes from Vivienne’s and Lantoon’s perspectives, but I cut that out in favor of just the scene with Su and the two demons. They cover most of what Vivienne’s scene would have been in their dialogue, and Lantoon’s scene with Allie I instead decided to cut as it would have raised more questions than it answered. It involved Nothing again, and I’m not quite ready to commit to what exactly the deal is with Nothing just yet. So, what’s next? Yep, you know the deal by now. I’m working on three or four prompts for the next story, trying to plot out some rough plans, characters, scenarios, and the like. Two of them have been seen before and had some decent support, while the rest are new. Although one is a sequel, so not new new. Unless I decide to cut it before the next prompts are posted, which is a distinct possibility.

8:35 PM

I’ll be archiving the current #story_updates channel and creating a new one for the next story in the next few days. The new set of starting prompts will then be up somewhat soon afterwards, probably next weekend-ish. Give or take. More or less. Before April, almost certainly. As always, thanks for your continued support and engagement, and I hope you stick around for the next one! ~ Shaun / @Mxblah