# Forum > Play-by-Post Games > Ongoing Games (In-Character) >  (TPD) Alford Report 001 (IC) - Worldember

## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001.▓]
*
The sudden shudder and rattle of the cabin walls sent a shiver up the old soldiers back. Since leaving the ship from Koss, he was forced to take the old railway from the port upon clearing customs and entering OKaas. The country was geographically isolated from the rest of the Free-States, an island country dangerously close to their enemies in the east. The remoteness of the country made support from home a logistical nightmare, hence, some of the rails were in a state of disrepair. The huffing pant of the train's coal engine was a sound hed never heard so close before, which seemed to only compound upon the surreal experience. Another rattle running through the floor made him lurch. Markus raised his steady gaze to the mirror as he leaned over the sink. Hed fought through conflicts so terrible, they had defined what atrocity and suffering looked like for a generation, yet now he was laid low by the roil of a train's seizured motions. He was glad for the privacy the small room offered. His juniors couldn't see him like this. Perhaps being stuck in the administrative offices in Koss had dulled his edge. He wiped his mouth and straightened his back, regaining his composure. Taking a breath, he turned and stepped out from the washroom.

A hard rattling shivered through the cart, displacing a picture frame hanging from the hardwood clad walls with a splintering crash and nearly throwing him back into the lavatory. The glass spun away across the lacquered floors. One hand kept him firmly placed, but he once again could feel himself growing sick. The old soldiers eyes remained fixed on the photograph now separated from its frame at the ground. Something familiar prickled at the back of his mind, looking upon that verdant scenery which encircled the pictured children forever frozen in frame. His thoughts begun to wander back, long before he had been taken from this world. Markus felt a hand rest upon his back, making him go rigid and breaking his frightful nostalgia, *Are you well, sergeant Alford?* The womans soft voice reminded him he wasnt alone. The weary soldier looked over his shoulder to where his compatriot and his ward waited for him. 

Markus had experienced many firsts since returning, but this one particular assignment had perhaps taken the crown. The two young women waiting on him held vastly different expressions. The calphe woman who had spoken, was donned in knightly arcane armor, over those magicked metal plates she wore a grayish-blue mystic mantle with the crests of OKaas delicately embroidered in silver across its back and in smaller places at its fore. Her face was muted and colorless, and the areas about her were dimmed and lost a degree of their color and sheen. The dames hair was seemingly pearlescent, black in one light and glinting-white in another, giving her an inhuman ethereal atmosphere. Despite possibly being only half his age, she possessed a strong demeanor, with a firm jaw, focused eyes and one hand always at the hilt of her long silvered sword. It was the first time Markus had ever had a Higher as his junior. As the name implied, such distinguished persons existed as a military order several magnitudes above that of the regular forces, and instead dedicated their focus on tending to matters with Otherworlders and geopolitical conflicts with the Conclave. It didnt matter the age of the warrior in question, and Higher Fau was of even greater standing than most as a Swordhigher; a being who had defended civilization from the threats of the Otherworld during the Long Night with the might of her sword-arm. He had, of course, not been present for any of that period of conflict, but he had heard roughly of the stories of the battles waged against races from other realities which led to humanitys decline. Now one of those warriors was under his command, a turn of events which flipped the logic he knew upon its head. The nation of Koss placed an even greater importance upon his own brow than that of their Higher, and that reality was one he still struggled to digest. 

Unlike Higher Fau, the young lady behind the Swordhigher appeared even younger. She was Markuss charge during this mission, and his cover for the secret nature of his true mission. She straightened the large witchy hat upon her head which had shifted due to the rough jaunting of the trains cabin. Her features were fair and soft, while her large almond eyes possessed a keen cool intellect which contested her true age. Her gaze seemed to always be distantly dissecting every second, every encounter and expression while revealing very little of her own. The young woman wore the shroud of the Arcane Assembly, the magical academy of the Conclave, which matched the large hat she wore. The regalia of an Initiate. The half cape worn over her mantle, sewn with sigils and fine golden chains dangling with amulets marked her station as a Permitted Caster of the Conclave. An impossible achievement for a student of the craft. The mystic crown circlet which circled the long cone at the center of her wizardly hat was the badge of a Magion; the seal of one who has reached the pinnacle of magic which a mortal should be capable. It would only take a stranger a single glance to understand who she was; the arcane savant, KessaLahn. The young sorceress was the most celebrated and feared Initiate on two continents. Crowned as a Magion at only nine years old. The young girl had achieved lifetimes of achievement through her study and effort in her early childhood, and continued to grow even now as a young adult.   

While KessaLahn was, militarily, viewed as a living weapon of unfathomable destruction, there was very little concern for her personal safety. As a favored student of the Conclave, little could realistically pose a threat to her outside of the Free States, while within the agents of the God Queen Hauklas saw to her. Yet, she was always accompanied by at least a Higher, as leaving a juvenile girl with the strength to level entire cities to her own devices was not a risk the States or the Conclave were willing to accept. Now that responsibility was Markuss own cover for his movements, as he played chaperone to one of humanitys strongest magicians. Sergeant Alfords true purpose here was intelligence, and meeting her.

The soldier's eyes sharply followed the sudden movement as one of the doors just ahead of him down the hall lazily opened and the head of a short Cheisha engineer peaked out. The dust and ash shook off from her darkened work leathers, only her bundled gray hair revealed her ethnic origins behind the layers she wore. She loosened the thick, once-colorful shawls wrapped over her respirator and pushed up her diagnostic goggles, revealing her face. The woman, despite her short statue and childish face was most certainly an adult. He estimated she now should have been even older than himself, though one might never guess by appearances. Markus knew her, from his previous life, before his return. She squinted her eyes, looking between Markus and the smashed glass, *Stop smashing up my train, boy.* The engineer flashed him a meddlesome grin and for the first time Markus begun to regret seeing a familiar face.

Kashaii'ti El'Yah, the rogue Cimmerian engineer.

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## forg99rules

*Spoiler: POST*
Show


Markus hated trains; random motions and machine rattling always made his stomach turn, and a train had much of that. Looking at himself in the mirror, he willed his stomach to settle down, _"Damn Trains"_. Then, stepping out of the bathroom, he startles as the picture falls to the floor and shatters, his hand instinctually reaching for one of the pistols at his side. His eyes found the image the frame had held, and he was drawn back into his mind as memories started coming. His mind was brought back to the present as he felt the hand on his back; hearing the woman's voice settled him slightly as he had tensed up even more from the sudden contact. As his eyes fixed on the woman, *"I am fine, no need for any sort of worry"* the lie fell from his lips quickly enough; though much needed, he had a job to do, and it would be more difficult if his juniors thought that he couldn't even handle a train.

Snapping his eyes up to the opened door, he let his gaze wander over the engineer that walked through. He knew the woman, and his mind turned inwards again for a second, trying to remember what he could from before his return. His senses returned as the woman spoke; a slight annoyance filled him at her joke that the smashed picture was his fault. Keeping his face expressionless, *"Right, I will be sure to keep that in mind. Though if this contraption didn't jostle around so much I doubt that anything would be busted right now."* Raising an eyebrow at the woman he waited to see what her response would be.


*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



*Knowledge (Local):* (1d20+10)[*29*] - Trying to see if I recognize anything about that Picture that fell.
*Perception:* (1d20+16)[*31*] - wanting to get a lay of the train car and what if anything I can see outside.
*Perception:* (1d20+16)[*29*] - Looking over the engineer
*Knowledge (Local):* (1d20+10)[*25*] - Information on the engineer and our relationship
*Sense Motive:* (1d20+16)[*18*] - trying to gauge everyone's reaction

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001.▓]
*
As Markus spoke he could see the young sorceresss eyes narrow. Her stoic expression was unsettling enough to give him reason to turn away. Even as he offered his hearty verbal riposte to the ash covered woman who had just appeared from a maintenance room, he could feel the witchs gaze burrowing through his back. He couldnt quite describe the sensation, but it made all his efforts of bluster and feigned confidence to deflect from his own vulnerability feel juvenile and hollow. Like the knowing tolerance of a parent humoring the embarrassed antics of a child. It was suffocating. [Markus - Sense Motive: Success]

Unlike his eerie ward, Higher Fau seemed to take his words at face value and frowned at the Cheisha woman who rebuffed her superior but hesitated to speak. Instead she leaned into Markus, speaking low enough not to be overheard, *You know this one?* Kashaiiti gestured with a worn iron wrench, *Youre not in the mainland anymore, young man. Everything shakes and jostles about.* There was a long pause because the woman suddenly laughed and kicked aside the glass. *Its been some time, Alford.* Kasha gestured with a thumb over he shoulder down the hall behind her. *Second room on the left. Your lady-friends can wait for you there. We need to talk*

An old ache ran in the soldiers shoulders as he watched the old photo be pushed aside along the floor, his gaze moving away towards the cabin window. It was rare to find cameras allowed into southern Glendis, largely due to its sacred reputation, but he knew the truth. The secret of what they did to those children behind the heavy doors of the priory. He could never forget the haunting boughs of Swallowfeld forest, ever, no matter how much he tried. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success]

Outside, the train rounded a bend along a massive stone bridge intricately carved from archways which crossed over a small lake at the bottom of a green valley. It was an impressive structure which the tracks have been ran atop of, and for once the jaunting about finally quieted as the cart made its way now upon more carefully tended rails. [Markus: Perception - Success]

Inside his own mind, where he could be honest with himself, he could admit he was not thrilled at the prospect of being alone with the wily woman. While they had never been at odds, he knew well what trouble seemingly always followed in her wake. Kasha had fought together with him during the Melotte Wars, and while she was key in bringing victory to the Free States by assisting him in destroying the Telba Industrial reactors She had arguably also been the cause of the war in the first place. There were few people more reckless, both in personality and in their handling of explosives, and her open desire to sell the State Alliance the technological secrets of Cimmeria had sparked the whole bloody conflict. In a way, they worked well together In the same way a burning car without breaks might. Her terrible judgment often goaded him into making even worse decisions. Of course, that had been nearly thirty years ago He wondered how old Kashaiiti even was now. [Markus: Knowledge (local) - Success]

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## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus gave a light grunt to the question that the Higher Fau had posed to him before giving more of his attention to Kashaii'ti as she began to speak. Hearing the Kashaii'ti's reaction brought a slight smile to Markus's face; it seemed like a bit of camaraderie still existed between them, even if the Engineer brought out Markus's more chaotic side. Then, taking a moment to think to himself, Markus lifted a hand up to his chin, giving it a rub before replying to the Engineer. *"It has been some time now, though you still look the same as ever..."* His eyes roamed back down to the picture as he tried to remember what he could about Swallowfeld forest. Then, turning his attention to his two companions, *"You two go find that room she mentioned; Kashaii'ti and I have some catching up. I will join you afterward."*  A slight shudder shook Markus's form as his mind remembered turned to remember some of the worst decisions that the Engineer had goaded him into making. *"Assuming that she doesn't convince me to do anything crazy again..."*

*Spoiler: OOC*
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Knowledge History: (1d20+8)[*10*] - Trying to figure out what all Markus knows about Swallowfeld forest
Knowledge Local: [roll]1d20+10[/roll] 21 (rolled in your discord) - trying to remember some of the **** that markus was goaded into 
Sense Motive: (1d20+16)[*30*] - trying to gain a sense as to if this is gonna be a good conversation or a bad one

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
The young Higher reached an arm around the shoulder of the sorceress, *We'll await your return.* After a moment the dame her ward away, though Kessa's gaze passed over both himself and Kasha slowly as she was guided away past the the Cheisha engineer and down the hall to a room. Though she had said not a word Markus could feel himself repress his natural instinct to flinch as he was was raked under her unblinking eyes. Within his heart, he felt as if she'd stolen the truth of his thoughts and his words and actions to hide his uncertainty were meaningless. Once she was ushered into the far room, the unsettling aura choking him finally passed. Kessa looked over her shoulder and watched them leave, until the door to the private cabin room finally clattered shut. Immediately, the wily woman let out a long low whistle before lazily tossing her wrench back into the maintenance room with a loud raucous clatter as the crash of tools and parts smashing into the floor echoed out as she slammed the door shut behind herself. *My, that one's something, eh?* 

Patting herself off and leaving a cloud of dust from the layer of ash which covered her, she pulled a dirty brown handkerchief from inside the waistband of her pants, wiping off the sweat and grit from her face before loudly blowing her nose in a boisterous manner. *Alright Follow me. This conversation warrants some privacy.* Roughly she stuffed the grimy rag back into her pants. The unpleasant gesture was lessened by the Markuss distracted thoughts. His mind still recounted terrible sights frozen into his memory; a bloody chapel, children buried in houses of soil, and those wretched haunted woods. He had no intention of ever returning to Glendis. Some measure of fear still numbed his mind and dulled his senses. *-llo, Hellooo..* Kasha waved her thick leather mitten in his face and his consciousness suddenly jolted back alert. *...You there? Common.* [Markus: Knowledge (History) - Failure]

Despite her size, the short woman was strong enough to drag the man along as she partially shoved open a second maintenance room. The door was rusted and refused to open, and without hesitation she begun to throw her shoulder into the heavy metal hatch until the thing finally screeched ajar with a wilting cry as the metal dragged along the floor. Markus watched as the engineer struggled to close the door behind them, cringing from the dreadful wine of the metal portal along with recalling how the woman had never failed to cause him trouble. In fact, every decision that involved both of them _unsupervised_, always ended in a bad way. Kasha also seemed to have a way of convincing him to do the things he would have done, if he never stopped to question his own judgment. Reckless operations. Grosse and wanton use of explosives, disobeying orders, abandoning mission objectives, smuggling, theft and all manner of tomfoolery. He had to question if it was perhaps him who was truly lacking in common-sense, and her goading just made it worse. It was difficult to remember a time he wasnt falling into trouble during the wars across Melotte. It wasnt terrible, but he still regretted using a historic Enchel shrine as a trap to detonate a cache of stolen Cimmerian ordinance in the midst of the enemy It was a steep debt he could never repay, to win a battle he didnt need to fight, but those kinds of actions had contributed to his now exaggerated reputation. This time though, he felt things would be different. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success, Sense Motive - Success]

*I found it The ones who executed the attack on Leitford.* _Bingo._ The soldier tried his best to suppress his expression. It was his whole mission, the reason why he was here. To find the informant with details on the mysterious enemy who led the attack against the capital. It seemed his objective now approached from the most unlikely of places.

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## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus watched as his companions made their way into the private cabin, his eyes trailing them the entire way. His eyes slid back to the Engineer as the woman spoke, *"I assume you mean KessaLahn; I get a weird feeling from that one..."* His voice trailed off as his few memories of Swallowfeld filtered through. Jolting back to the present, Markus blinked rapidly as the Engineer dragged him to another room. Markus breathed in deeply, keeping his face blank before speaking, *"You are confident that you found the correct party involved? I want to be entirely sure who executed the attack and not just some random second party who assisted."* Then, lifting his hand to his chin, Markus scratched at the growing stubble as his mind tried to conjure up what he knew already regarding the attack. *"Would it be worth getting this on a recording? I do have my video camera on me."*

*Spoiler: OOC*
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Diplomacy: (1d20+10)[*17*] - Trying to not sound like I don't believe her but more just wanting to be 100% 
Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*21*] - Information regarding this attack

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
Markus's question seemed to have met its mark as the short woman nodded curtly, *Oh, I'm certain of the validity of the information... but...* The old soldier could hear himself mentally repeat her last word, and evidently his impatience reflected on his face. *But.... We have a problem.* He didn't fail to notice the emphasis on the collective 'we'. [Markus: Diplomacy - Success]

Letting out a deep breath he steadied himself and relaxed his tensed shoulders. He could feel the weight of his responsibility heavy upon his back. His duty was of the utmost importance, for Leitford, capital of Kos. His home, had been devastated by a horrid assault. Tens of thousands of innocent men, women and children were murdered. Irreparable damage done to their homes, and sites of their culture and heritage. That attack had been four weeks ago, and yet they still had no idea who was responsible for the bloody assault. With the God Queen absent from her throne to defend the free world from the tyranny of the Magisters during the centennial assembly of the Greater Conclave, they were left blind. It was perhaps, the greatest threat to all mortal life in the universe, and so they were alone in this tragedy. At least until the goddess returned to this realm to guide them. A request had come to the Leitford Defense Assembly, from KSOC; the Kos Special Operations Command. A private company was hired to provide a request to the defense assembly for the sale of information relating to the attack by a private informant. That assignment had been given to himself, along with a sum of some nine-hundred and twenty thousand Esun he now carried in his heavy bag to pay the informant, if the desired information could be purchased. Failing that, Markus had been given carte blanche on his use for force or methods of coercion in the event the informant possessed the truth but was noncompliant. _No methods were off the table._ He needed answers. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success]

*I'm the one who hired Loyde's Couriers to send notice to Leitford after I confirmed your return.* The filthy engineer sat on a shaking black iron pipe while producing a roughly kept paper folder from her trousers. She tossed the thing on the floor, letting a handful of pictures spill out. A mixture of blurred and clear photos, along with a few micro-disks likely containing the original images. Strange beings, or perhaps people were displayed in the images between the static and electrified scenes of carnage. Their bodies were more metal than flesh, knitted bands of living steel bound in cables and circulatory tubing run through preserved organic muscle and tissue stitched together into some freakish manufactured monstrosity of a like Markus had never even dreamed before. Kasha inspected the underside of her heavy leather boot, plucking a rusted splinter from the bottom before proceeding to pick something out from between her teeth. The normally talkative troublemaker gave him a moment to digest the information she'd dropped upon the floor. *...They're called a Cyris.* _So, they had a name._ Markus turned over a picture of a pregnant woman being rent in half by what appeared to be a bolt of lightning. It took a measure of self control honed over decades of brutality to fight back the rage and disgust which threatened to choke him. That sensation was one which he had forgotten long ago, and something he was not glad to have recalled.

Kasha inspected something recovered from her teeth with a finger before flicking it away. She spoke absentmindedly, as if numb *I spent a week pulling strings with my connections after the attack, trying to figure out what happened. Plenty of random crap to be found, but nothing true. At least, til now. I bought those pictures from an informant. It took awhile to validate the claims. They're true... All of it.* The engineer had already given him an invaluable gift with these photos and the information on the disks. He was certain digital forensics teams throughout the alliance could begin to pick apart the clues left here to shed some light on what had truly happened. Yet, despite the information she had just given him, he was still here. Kasha nodded as if noticing him finally reaching the same ultimate conclusion. _Why was he here?_ *Yeah... That's not all the information, but I'm out of money. Funding this crap out of my own pocket wasn't cheap you know, but I'm sure you'll find someway to pay me back.* The woman paused, *...And with that, we arrive at our problem. Our mysterious friend isn't cheap, but she said she'd give a steep discount specifically to you... Markus Alford. I'm not one to judge what manner of company you keep, but you must certainly have made some dangerous friends.* Kasha tossed the metal toothpick across the room and slid off the pipe where she had found her seat, *...And no, I haven't the slightest idea as to your friend's identity. Perhaps you might enlighten me.*

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## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus watched and listened as the Engineer presented the information to him. The certainty of the data was a blessing to him as it meant that his assignment could be considered a success. Then, kneeling down to the pictures, he slowly picked them up, taking care not to damage them while also studying each image intently. "That's an odd name..." Markus thought to himself while he stared at the image of the pregnant woman. Then, standing up to his full height, Markus raised an eyebrow at the Engineer as he pondered what other information might be available to purchase. Hearing the mention of money had reminded him that he was carrying a hefty sum, though hearing further that the Engineer's Informant was willing to give a steep discount because of him made him wonder just who this Informant was. *"How much for this? As well as for any other information that could prove useful."* nodding to the pictures in his hand, *"As well, I am not entirely sure as to whom the Informant might be; I have several dangerous friends... You included in that list... Of course, I hope it is a friend, not one of my old enemies, that somehow survived."* Markus let his mind wander to what enemies he had that might be able to set something like this up as well as to what friends he had remaining that could get this sort of information.

*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Perception: [roll1d20+16[/roll] *21* (Rolled in discord since I keep messing it up) - Seeing if I can get a better look at the picture for anything noteworthy since I now have them in hand
Diplomacy: (1d20+10)[*16*] - Trying to get the price as well if there is more, trying to get that
Knowledge (History): (1d20+8)[*18*] - Information as to Cyris if there is any in the history
Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*27*] - What enemies I might have that could set something like this up
Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*17*] - What friends I might have that could gather this intel

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
The tired soldier inquired to the cost as he begun to flip through the pictures. A handful of the strange creatures appeared more flesh than metal, but for the most part the things looked more like they were born from a tube. Those that were no better than mechanized monstrosities no longer even looked like a Calphe, but rather like some manner of androgynous machine. Those with some degree of their humanity in tact primarily appeared female, to some degree. *It's not just about money, boy. I lost men coming this far. Whoever is tangled up in this mess, didn't like my poking around... But for you.* She paused, for a long moment, but he pretended not to notice. Markus took note of the beasts vestments and how their garb appeared distantly familiar to an Initiate... Kessa'Lahn's piercing gaze suddenly came to mind and he shut the folder sharply. *Free of charge... We'll just say, dos'sta N'Belos* 

Her words were enough to give him pause. In a more direct translation without context, her words simply meant, _"you owe me one."_ However, as a Cheisha himself, he understood well that this was a debt upon his own life, and there were few things more costly than that. In Enchel, the tongue of his ancestors, such a thing was called an _N'Belos._ It was the blood debt incurred by an authority whose pursuits, values or actions resulted in the death of the friends, families or kin of his own retainers, subjects, friends and confidants. The burden of a noble servant-leader to his own kind. It remained a tradition still honored between Cheisha today; one that punctuated the gravity in choosing one's friends and personal relationships with the utmost care. It was not a right invoked lightly. Markus couldn't even begin to imagine what manner of tragedy this venture had truly cost her, but he understood one thing perfectly clear as he raised his attention to her smoldering unwavering gaze. _He didn't possess enough coin to pay for the lives of those he died for this._ [Markus: Diplomacy - Partial] [Markus: Perception - Success]

The silence choked the air, perhaps it was only seconds, but for him it felt like hours. Nothing managed to stumble out of his mouth, and his brain couldn't fashion any manner of reply that wouldn't make things worse. Finally, Kasha spoke out *Whoever your friend is, I assume its a more recent acquaintance. She didn't look like someone from the war, though there's no way to know if I was even speaking to the real agent, or a proxy. I suppose we'll find out shortly, for now she's only been referred to as 'Miss X'... Which, is not an actual handle, I checked. Just something made up for this job.* Markus couldn't think of anyone like that, and most of his old friends had been killed, or died of old age after his return. Those he never could, had simply vanished like he did, likely yet to return to the world. The same could be said for his enemies, but most of those people had been Cimmerian soldiers. Faceless, nameless, like he had been until the Battle of Yelnne. Even then, he doubted anything so elaborate like an assault upon the capital would be necessary to assassinate him. The attackers themselves, these _Cyris_, oozed with the touch of Cimmerian technology; though it was unlike anything he had seen before. Cimmeria was his only foe which remained, the old grudges with the kingdom of Claris had been settled decades past, and he knew no faces which might still hold an interest in him. [Markus: Knowledge (local) - Failure]

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## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


To say Markus was annoyed was putting it mildly; incurring a N'Belos was not something he had been wanting. He had hoped that the Engineer would have just asked for coin, but instead, he was now stuck with a debt that he would have to pay himself. Then, reaching a hand up to rub his temple, Markus sighed before looking at the Woman. Various thoughts filled his head as he tried to imagine what the Engineer would ask of him; none of it mattered though; he would end up doing whatever she asked. Markus gave a short nod to the Engineer, letting her know he understood the implications behind her words. Then, as the silence was broken by the Engineer speaking again, he became even more curious as to the identity of the Informant. *"Oh? I assume that means I get to meet this Miss X. I can't say that I am not curious which one of my acquaintances she will turn out to be..."* Markus had chosen to push the thought of the N'Belos to the back of his mind and instead was going to focus on the current situation. He had gotten his hand on some of the information, and it sounded as if this Miss X might have more that could prove helpful. *"Did Miss X give a time and place for us to meet?"*

*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



YAY BLOOD DEBTS!!!!

Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*30*] - Wanting to know if an N'Belos is just a one time thing where I help her once or if it is something she can call on multiple times till she feels its paid off.

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
When a soldier died, it fell to his commander to ensure his pension was paid to his family. Often times this could come as a large sum, or a series of payments over the course of life for his next of kin. It largely depended on the soldier's time in service, as not all servicemen shared the same entitlements, and their written will. In ancient tradition an _N'Belos_ was not like this. For in its most literal of circumstances, it was not the soldier who had perished, but his family or loved ones as collateral of a conflict in which he was involved, or participated in. The ancestors honored the N'Belos to stim the resentment, hatred and rage of savage wars which modern men could not recall. Through it could the destructive cycle be put aside along the desire for revenge against ones own people. The blood debt could not be paid easily, but sometimes it could be fulfilled with a single burden, while others could take a lifetime. Such a debt was owed for each life lost in such a way, and often times it would fall to the debtor to support and care for those kin left bereaved from such misfortune. Yet right now, it was not important. Whatever cost had already been paid for the details he now had in hand, and though the effort was soaked in blood, there was no other option if he was to confront this unknown enemy. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success] 

Kasha nodded while moving for the door. *Indeed you will. She should have already arrived in the cabin next door... The first one on your left when you leave this room.* As the woman approached the door she paused, back facing Markus. *It's ninety-thousand per document, but the questions are free, so ask what you can. Maybe she'll be more forthcoming with you. I've done right by you, and done what I can for Kos... For our people, but this is as far as I go. The rest is up to you, Alford.* Without pausing she yanked the rusted door open and swiftly exited the room. *I hope it's worth the price...*

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## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


*"I hope so as well."* Markus muttered as he watched the Engineer make her way out of the room. Markus stood there for a moment to collect his thoughts and steady himself. His blood pressure had gone up from the ordeal with the Engineer; he could still feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest; he needed a moment. Even with the informant next door, Markus knew that if he went in as he was now, he might have even more problems. He needed a plan, or at least he needed to think of what sort of documents or questions would be best asked of the informant. Then, taking several deep breaths, he headed to the cabin where the Engineer specified the informant was waiting. Raising his hand, he knocked on the door before announcing, *"This is Markus Alford. May I come in?"* 

*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*30*] - Trying to figure out what documents and/or information might have been asked of me to find... specifically if I need names and locations or just whatever I can get.
Perception: (1d20+16)[*26*] - Trying to see what I can hear/sense beyond the door

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
The amount of information related to the attack was limited to an unnatural degree. Survivors were sparse, and those who might have been capable of providing some manner of testimony were left in a stupor or in a coma. Some manner of magical meddling had been employed during the assault to censor what information could be collected regarding their enemies. Even surveillance systems throughout the city had been disrupted as the accosters moved from place-to-place. It was unlike any method they had seen before. _Kos was left blind._ Names. Units. Country of association. Training, tactics and methods of attack, or most importantly how they had silenced any certain evidence afterwards. Any manner of concreate evidence to substantiate any of these details would be critical in bringing this matter before the Queen's Tribunal. All of these things were critical, but almost any information was already more than they had. Whatever had brought ruin to Leitford had been capable of killing nearly half a million people without even leaving a hint as to what it looked like. Even a month after the attack, all they had were rough estimates of the destruction. Some men begun to fear they had been visited by some manner of curse, or death itself. But this was no _curse_ or _bogeyman_. It was a tool manufactured to destroy them. His nation, his home, was now teetering upon the verge of collapse, brought low by some biologic weapon. Markus glanced down at the pictures he'd received before securing them. This was the first time he had been able to look upon the face of his enemy. He couldn't fathom how many had given their lives for this moment, but they had to persevere in the face of this threat, _no matter the cost_. For once it was unmasked and the God Queen returned, they would face judgement with the full weight of the Alliance of Free-States. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success] 

Markus took a long moment to collect himself before turning and pressing through the door to exit the train's maintenance closet. Following Kasha's instructions he approached the door, pausing to listen. His hearing sharpened and his breathing slowed to catch any hint as to what lay on the other side. It was so faint, like trying to pick out the sound of a pen scribbling upon paper, but he could hear voices... Two... _Three?_ There was nothing distinguishable which could be made out through the door. After a moment they ceased abruptly, halted in an unnatural way, like a video which had been paused. As the soldier declared himself, the door was opened by his guest. She was a dainty woman with dry brown hair tied back in a knot, with strong but rough hands and brown simple attire. A thick woolen smock dress which came down to her ankles that was covered with a heavy cotton twill apron which was nearly black from heavy use. A thick-cut and heavy leather belt was slapped over the ensemble keeping it orderly and giving her a place to hold a worn pair of steel-studded elbow-length leather gloves. Markus could barely contain his surprise. _A Wax Maiden._ He did not believe such an industrial woman would have been his informant, but realization quickly came to mind that she might simply be his proxy. *"Please come in."* [Markus: Perception - Success]

----------


## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus was curious about the voices he heard through the door; the Engineer hadn't said that he was meeting only the informant, so it could be that there was actually more than just one person he was meeting. The unnatural way the voices stopped talking set him on edge. As the door opened, Markus took a moment to inspect the person on the other side. His mind turned over what he knew about Wax Maidens while his body moved to enter the cabin. *"I was told I could get more information regarding the attack..."* Markus let his statement linger in the air as he entered the room. His eyes scanned the room, checking for threats and anything else that might interest him.

*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*25*] - information on Wax Maidens
Diplomacy: (1d20+10)[*11*] - just trying to make myself not seem like an ass
Perception: (1d20+16)[*21*] - Checking out the cabin, looking for threats/people/items of interest

----------


## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
Markus knew well the woman's association as a citizen himself. Wax Maiden's of Kos were an important guild of the nation. An organization of craftswomen who ran the massive Leitford Waxworks. The massive industrial complex was where all pre-fabrication models and molds were fashioned by the Wax Maiden's guild. There was virtually no men in the association as they rarely possessed enough arcane aptitude required to imbue the wax with enough psychic energy to create a proper product. Kos was famed the world over for its production of alloys and metalwork. The most prestigious works were manufactured in the nation's foundries, cast with secret technologies to create devices of unparalleled strength and durability. After the fall of Leitford he was uncertain of the fate for most of the inhabitants, but he'd heard most of the guildsmen had been moved to the city of Kristol, but it would not have surprised him if some had left to come to the nation of O'Kaas for safety. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success] 

The soldier's words came out rather crass despite trying to sound more approachable. His comments instead were given offhandedly as he inspected the room about him. It wasn't a particularly large cabin, only ten-feet wide and fifteen long with a small table at one end with a cushioned booth. Despite its size, it was lavishly furnished with plush carpeting and embroidered silk drapery with a matching gold and burgundy theme. Electrical heating beneath the floor kept a comfortable temperature throughout the room. No one else was in the room despite the voices he had heard. Only one leather-bound suitcase was in the room, likely with the woman's personal effects while traveling. [Markus: Perception - Partial] [Markus: Diplomacy - Failed]

After a moment the woman cleared her throat, gesturing to the seats. *"Hm, well... My name is Cesse Rowcel."* She paused as if that was supposed to mean something to him, but all he could do was stare back blankly. He wasn't sure if that name held any particular significance, but he'd never heard of her. Seeing no response forthcoming, she sat at the table before looking back at him. *"I was expecting to meet my associate here, but I'm not sure who you are. Do you have any way to verify your identity?"* There was clearly something he'd missed, perhaps with her hint, but nothing had immediately come to mind. In either case, it appeared she now assumed he was someone other than himself. While her demand wasn't a particularly difficult one, as he did possess his traveling papers and military identification card, he wasn't sure that was something he wanted to show to a complete stranger. Alternatively, they _were_ in the territories' of the Free States, onboard a train escorted by a Swordhigher and where he had the authority to do whatever needed to be done. If he had to arrest some meddling twit, she'd never make it off the train, though he worried he might frighten off his informant if this one turned out to be a test or some manner of body-double.

----------


## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus was a bit confused as he looked around the cabin; he was confident that he had heard multiple voices, yet only the Wax Maiden was present. Looking over the woman again, Markus sighed, *"Of course, I have ways to verify that I am who I claim to be, though I wonder what proof you have that you are this Miss X that I was supposed to be meeting with. Kashaiiti told me she would be here and apparently knew me, yet you still question who I am."* Then, reaching into one of his pockets, Markus pulled out papers that served as his identification; holding them up, he looked expectantly at the woman, *"You show me your proof, and I will gladly provide you with mine."*


*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Diplomacy: (1d20+10)[*20*] or (1d20+10)[*22*] (uses highest) - Using a luck point for the lucky status - Trying to get her to provide some sort of proof that she is miss X
Sense Motive: (1d20+16)[*33*] - Wanting to get a good gauge of the woman, if she is testing me or is the person I was to meet.
Perception: (1d20+16)[*23*] - Wanting to try and see if I can sense any Madda and Ceshvalde effects, basically since I can now see the room is just her, I am now curious if someone is using stuff to conceal themselves... don't even know if this is a roll or just happens really lol

----------


## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
The oppressive air from merely being on the same train as Kessa'Lahn had made it difficult to sense anything at all. Like buffeting winds, the sheer force of the mystical energies and the otherworldly flow of the Madda had numbed his senses. Yet now, with some distance between them, he could feel the influence of the spirits elsewhere. _There was something else here._ [Markus: Sense Madda - Partial]

*Spoiler: Sense Madda*
Show

Sense Madda is constantly in effect, however a free action may be taken to interpret any forces which do not significantly effect the user, or impart Disquiet.


The woman paused for a moment to inspect Markus's identification before producing her own guild seal, an elaborate magiworked silver embossed medallion. It was baked in soot and ash, its surfaced was scratched and marred from many years of wear, but the old soldier could still make out the preserved arcane text of _'Senior Maiden, Cesse Rowcel_. Markus didn't doubt the validity of the badge, and the wear upon such an aged item only helped to validate its authenticity. Still, he'd never spoken to this woman before. After giving him some time to inspect the element she spoke out, *"I trust this will suffice?"* It only took the old soldier a moment to realize it; _she wasn't speaking to him._ [Markus: Diplomacy - Partial] [Markus: Sense Motive - Partial]

A hand instinctually hovered by a pistol as his eyes snapped to the Cimmerian leaning on the door behind him. He would have put two rounds through the stranger's head if not for the eerie entity at her side. The war with Cimmeria was still raging in the south and he had no reason to restrain his gun-arm when faced with an invader in his own country. Yet... Cimmerian cloaking technology didn't function in O'Kaas. There was no way for the dogmatic Cimmerians to casually saunter about undetected for so long without breaking the holy laws of their machine-god. *"Indeed. That will suffice..."* The stranger wore rather high-class Cimmerian attire. A heavy caped leather trench coat with a high collar, with a black double-breasted coat and red woolen sweater beneath. The large brimmed belted hat she wore covered her visage and gave her a mysterious air. She kept one hand wrapped around the shoulders of a frightening child-creature. Long strands of grotesque hair clung to its eyeless face. Wearing only a drenched twill frock much too large for its size, and dripping a putrid black water as if freshly pulled out from a pool of tar. The same sludge ran out from the sockets where its eyes should be, its mouth constantly moving, sputtering silent words. Occasionally, it would twitch as if caught by some spasm, revealing some mirrored double. A frozen frame displaced from itself in reality. The old soldier could feel his blood freeze, a compulsion driving him to avert his gaze. _A Ceshvalde._ [Markus: Will Save - Failed]

He'd never seen such a thing made manifest before... After all, such spirits were part of his culture, but his religion was not accepted throughout the world. Most of the Enchel faith was mocked by those with more _modern_ sensibilities. They were forces of the unseen world, not things which could come to you on a whim. If such was the case, the world would be a much different place... _and why a Cimmerian?_

*"I believe this is the first time we've met face-to-face, Sergeant."* The stranger raised her gaze revealing her face, and though it took great effort Markus managed to steal a glance. Not Cimmerian. It was a _Claris woman_, her deep auburn hair and the elaborate makeup stood out in contrast to Cimmerian sensibilities. The eyepatch across her left eye was not a fashion statement, and it appeared the orb had been surgically removed. The Free States were not at war with the Kingdom of Claria, but they did find themselves constantly at odds with the ancient nation. Markus himself had long experienced mixed encounters with Claris fighters, and he'd resolved the only certainty was their unpredictability. *"My name is Moss. Moss Rowcel, and long ago you aided Claris insurgents secure a target only identified as 'Objective X'. This was in exchange for the primary access codes to cut power to the Telba Industrial Complex. Codes, we provided."* 

Markus could clearly recall the hell as his men met intense resistance from an unknown group of Claris soldiers who had secured the Kelpis road into Yelnne, preventing their assault on the city. His attack was critical to establishing an encirclement of the critical energy infrastructure of Cimmeria's southern flank. If the timing of his attack was significantly delayed, the operation might not have been possible. It had been Kashaii'ti who had resolved to parley with the Claris fighters and investigate why they were even present. Throughout the conflict Markus had been completely outmatched and outmaneuvered by this _'Moss'._ Some phantom Claris commander who always seemed one step ahead and had kept them pinned in-place and unable to retaliate in any meaningful way. Eventually, Kasha resolved to aid the Claris fighters to get them out of their way and arrange a trade. It was the first time his former enemies had also been his friends, though it was an unsteady alliance. Ultimately their objective had been a young girl, likely some Claris noble's daughter who had gotten ensnared in the conflict, though he never bothered to ask. _This was his 'Miss X'._ *"If you're satisfied, shall we get down to business?"*

----------


## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus kept his hand on his sidearm as he eyed the people who appeared. It was odd seeing the Ceshvalde; his mind turned over what he could regarding the being and why it would be by a Claris woman's side even more, why was the Claris woman dressed like a Cimmerian. Markus waited as the woman spoke; the woman's words made him search his memories of events that had taken place. The woman's name rang a bell in his head; not only did she share the commander's name that had caused him so many problems. This woman also shared a family name with the wax maiden that had seen him into the room. Then, taking a moment to calm himself, Markus glanced back to the maiden before removing his hand from his pistol. *"Wouldn't say I am satisfied. I will only know that after our conversation based on the information provided. Though the present company does raise other questions to mind besides just the ones related to the attack. Either way, I agree that it might be best to get down to business... Do you mind if I record the conversation so that it is not just my word to my superiors or...?"* Markus let his last word draw out as he produced a video recorder. Even if the woman did not want to be filmed, he still felt that getting her words on some medium would be better than just going to the brass with a few pieces of paper. *"I can always cover the lens as I assume you don't want your features recorded, but would voice be alright?"*

*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Knowledge (Local) - (1d20+10)[*24*] - Looking for information on Ceshvalde
Knowledge (Local) - (1d20+10)[*24*] - Trying to know if Cesse and Moss are related based on how Claris do names (never hurts to know)
Knowledge (History) - (1d20+8)[*16*] - Trying to gain more information on what I know about Moss, basically whether she is trustworthy
Sense Motive - (1d20+16)[*17*] Using Fortune to reroll (Rolled on Discord) *25* - Wanting to get a sense of Moss's goals by speaking with me and if I can trust her
Perception - (1d20+16)[*21*] - Looking for any identifying markers and weapons on Moss
Diplomacy - (1d20+10)[*28*] or (1d20+10)[*29*] (uses highest) - Using a luck point for the lucky status - Really wanting to get use out of my Video Recorder :-P

----------


## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
*Spoiler: Ceshvalde Encounters*
Show

Ceshvalde were spirits of the Madda worshipped by the Enchel people since ancient times. They were ancestral spirits, guides and often harbingers of grudges and vengeance. They came to the gifted in dreams, but those with the most sensitive minds could feel the presence of the nature spirits throughout the world. The Enchel religion primarily revolved around veneration of such spirits rather than revering their own gods in much the same way as other faiths. Unlike most other religions, the mantle of deity was a responsibility passed through a line of beings, whose duties upheld certain roles necessary for the function of the world. While respected, the nature of their divinity was not one which inspired awe. Instead they were viewed more akin to sovereigns, and their names often reflected such. These 'gods' were often real people or beings. That was the only thing generally respected from the near-extinct Enchel culture. 

Everything other than their gods was far too abstract and spiritual to really be understood, and were merely stories preserved though their oral tradition. Ceshvalde were boogeymen; the reason why doors slammed shut or the cause of drought. There was no evidence any such thing existed at all, nor had there ever been any manner of reputable account of actually _seeing_ one. As far as the faith was concerned, they _could not be seen,_ as they were merely spirits. 

(Note For the Player: Ceshvalde spirits are mythological creatures from the folk tales of the extinct ethnographic ancestors who originally inhabited the E'Chel peninsula. Seeing such a thing would be akin to seeing an angel, minotaur, demon, fairy or other mythological being in real life. These things, for all intents and purposes, do not exist. Experiencing such an thing would be a radical world-perspective altering event, assuming the person could even believe what they saw. The majority of people, as they are not Enchel likely would be left in disbelief or refuse to accept what they saw. No one would believe any claim they had seen such a thing, even if they were capable of recognizing it. To someone of the Enchel faith, seeing such a being contradicts their own religious teachings.)


The old soldier pushed aside what he saw. There was no explanation, at least not one he could understand, other than perhaps this was just some _trick._ The same manner of trick which allowed Moss to sneak aboard without anyone noticing. Be it some cruel joke or the truth, that wasn't why he had come. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Failed]

Markus assumed the two of them were _somehow_ related, but Cesse was a Kossite like himself, and appeared to have faint Cheisha features. A far-cry from the Claris woman who had sought him out. At a glance he would have said it was improbable the two were related, at least by blood. However, it was entirely possible Cesse had been adopted or her parents remarried, but it was most certainly not a consanguineous relation. He'd never met either woman in person before so he was left to simple speculation. The only certainty was that the 'Moss' he knew was unpredictable and cunning. Even after his mission to aid the Claris soldiers had ended, he still encountered that commander's meddling in the years which followed. Even too this day he didn't know if he had somehow caught the kingdom's attention or if the harassment had been more personal. Regardless, he knew almost nothing about his competitor, including her motivation. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Failed]

He eyed her closely, Markus couldn't spot any weapons upon her person, but that didn't mean she was not armed. She was nearly impossible to read, revealing no expressions and speaking very little. She had yet to respond to him as she moved away from the door and approached the window. *"...You can try."* The off-handed comment had been directed at his request to use his camera. *"Three records. two-hundred and fifty thousand each."* [Markus: Perception  - Failed] [Markus: Sense Motive - Failed] [Markus: Diplomacy - Successful]

Cesse didn't speak, but looked evidently perturbed by Moss's words. _This was not the price Kasha had agreed to._

----------


## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus followed the woman with his eyes turning slightly to get everyone in his vision. Hearing Moss say that he could try recording the conversation felt off, it seemed like she knew something that he didn't, and he was unwilling to let his video recorder get damaged. Putting away the device, Markus reached his hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed. *"That was not the price that I was informed of, care to enlighten me as to why it has gone up to almost quadruple of what it was previously?"* Markus began to wonder if he would have to call on his companions to capture these two, though if Moss somehow had control over the Ceshvalde, he wondered if it would even be possible with Kessa's help.

*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*17*] - trying to gauge if I think I stood a chance to capture Moss
Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*30*] - Wondering if Kessa would be able to deal with the Ceshvalde if it interfered with me snatching up Moss

----------


## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
He paused for a moment, his soldier's intuition trying to size-up the potential threat, but after a moment of self reflection he felt silly. _What even was a Ceshvalde,_ if this? Within his more modern sensibilities, they were stories, natural forces and _feelings_ which premeditated some physical event or occurrence in the world. _A sentient precursor._ In the faith, if he was to take its most literal interpretations, they were sentient beings fabricated from the soulstuff of some mystic unseen universe by the Madda's will. Living expressions of mortal concepts, like hunger, love, aging and death. How did one _'restrain'_ hunger? How could one defeat the conceptualization of isolation or detachment? For all Kessa'Lahn's thundering arcane terror, he doubted such a spell existed. At least, not within any realm mortals could name. _He felt like an idiot._  While he couldn't be sure what was before his eyes wasn't some clever illusion produced by cutting-edge Cimmerian holo-tech, he couldn't dismiss the knot in his stomach either. There was a reason the spirits were the objects of his culture's reverence. _To stop a god, required a god._ [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Failed]

If it came to conflict Markus was confident in his ability to hold his own in battle. He doubted Cesse was much of a warrior, though the thought that a senior guild member might have some manner of explosive or stolen calamity-class weapon up her sleeve did cross his mind. The Maidens were also notorious for the production of works internally within the guild without properly reporting and documenting the manufacture. Those many secrets and the assumption of dishonesty often made them troublesome to work with in the city. Even taking that into consideration Markus didn't feel any particular concern over it. He was one of the most seasoned soldiers in Kos and only a handful of people could out-draw him in a gunfight. _Cesse wasn't one of those people._ Of course, if she had a trigger-based weapon, well... That was a problem for another day. He turned his attention back to Moss. _She was the real problem._ In a plain fight he was certain she wouldn't stand a chance at besting him, but there were too many uncertain factors. Cimmerians were tricky because of their alien technology, though easy to predict because of their dogmatic culture and strict social laws. Claris soldiers on the other hand were unpredictable and clever, they also held no qualms with utilizing any manner of tools they could. Without knowing how the woman was able to casually move about undetected he doubted he would be able to apprehend her. There was also his _third problem._ The one he hadn't been able to confirm or dismiss as of yet. He was certain he had heard a multitude of voices, _more than two_ when he was at the door. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Partial]

Moss didn't turn to face him and instead continued to look out through the window and the passing scattering of trees across the verdant fields. *"You're far less charming in person... Thus, the price."*

----------


## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus was getting annoyed. He had hoped that the informant he was meeting would be helpful, yet now it seemed like she would make getting the information even more difficult than initially expected. Though he still had enough money to afford the documents, it would have been better if Moss had stuck with the original price. Then, leaning against the wall, Markus began to look out the window, *"Well, I would say that you are exactly what I expected... All sorts of cloaks and daggers, not even a sliver of the cards you hold. Consider the number of voices I had heard before the door was opened, you still have someone hidden for whatever reason."* Then, pulling out his lighter, Markus began flicking it open and closed, *"Like I said, you are exactly what I expected. Well... I actually thought you would be taller, but eh can't get everything you want. So, what sort of documents do you have for me?"*

*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Diplo: (1d20+10)[*25*] - trying to improve relations....

----------


## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
*"Hmph..."* Markus wasn't sure if the snorting retort was annoyance or entertainment, but after a moment she replied. *"Smarter than you look, is it?"* With a curious motion she reached into the sleeve of her coat and produced a large leather envelope. Sealed with wax and too wide to actually be stored in such a ludicrous place. Loosely she tossed it down upon the windowsill in an insolent manner where it landed with a wet _slap._ *"Four documents... Hundred-and-fifty thousand each."* 

Markus was starting to understand. _It wasn't the price he was negotiating for,_ it was proving he was worth trusting with the information she could provide. Either way she would get paid so he doubted the price was as much a concern over his budget, as much as it was a measure of his own worth. *"Before you is the identity of the organization which destroyed your people."* There was a sudden weight in his stomach as he eyed the sealed parcel. The answer to who, or what was capable of unleashing such horror it could snuff out the lives of a million souls in moments and topple his nation. Words could not encapsulate the anger and frustration in having his life destroyed a second time by an enemy he could not even name. *"...Impress me."* [Markus: Diplomacy - Partial]

----------


## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus smiled at the realization that she was testing his worth; he wasn't sure exactly how he could impress Moss. Then, reaching down, Markus picked up the parcel Moss tossed onto the windowsill. *"Well, let's see what sort of Organization is capable of such atrocities."* Markus pulled out a small blade before slicing through the wax sealing the parcel. His heart beat loudly in his ears, and the thought that he was about to get the answer he came for was in his hands, just waiting for him. Then, reaching in, he pulled out the documents, inspecting each page before moving to the next. 


*Spoiler: OOC*
Show



Perception: (1d20+16)[*34*] - Inspecting the parcel for markings as I go to open it.
Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*12*] - preemptive roll for information in the documents
Knowledge (History): (1d20+8)[*22*] - preemptive roll for information in the documents

----------


## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
After steadying himself, Markus picked up the leather parcel. It was a deep brown and unremarkable. The wax enclosure sealing it shut was plain and missing any form of signet. Quickly he cut off the seal and removed the documents. The coversheet was a finely embellished paper covered with embossing's of classification markings and Cimmerian military heraldry. Behind it was a document disposition request, permitting the destruction of any records associated with _"Special Division #001"_. Markus had known of many Cimmerian Special Divisions, but other than the fact the first three divisions were dedicated to research and non-combat oriented tasks he knew nothing. As he begun thumbing through the documents, the pages transition from paper into printed plastic display sheets. Likely from a wide-display or other manner of projector. There were unredacted details of personnel allocations and casualty depositions. After a moment the soldier's eyes begun to notice something. He flipped back and forth between those sent into the unit and casualties. _It was all of them. Every single one._ Special Division #001 had no living personnel. All had been killed in 'non-combat related incidents'. These were _Cimmerians_, not Cheisha slaves like he himself would be if he had been unfortunate enough to have been born in Cimmeria. Despite his reservations for his enemy, he knew well that the empire treasured the lives of its citizens and soldiers; at least the Cimmerian soldiers. Conscripted slaves were fodder, and sometimes literal ammunition. A grieving Cimmerian mother looking for answers as to what happened to her son would not go unanswered or unnoticed...

At first he thought that it may perhaps have been some manner of cover. The government certifying the death of servicemen so that they might operate anonymously and without connection to others. Yet, as he continued to parse through he could feel the knot in his stomach begin to turn. The coroner's reports followed, pictures of the deceased... who were certainly dead. The same marks on their necks and arms, but no physical trauma. Cause of death. _Drowning._ The documents which followed were personnel profiles, which Markus noted all included various criminal charges, followed by research observations. The research documents were too technical for him to understand, but he noted each of the bodies was donated to the military for research and looking at the pictures was able to surmise there was some degree of focus on measuring the ability to conduct or store some manner of psychic energy. The pictures became darker and more grisly as he continued to flip through the pages, until only mutilated limbs and organs floating in sealed eerie tubes illuminated by an azure glow. The sights become more wretched and unnatural, until he could no longer even recognize if he was looking upon flesh or some manner of cultured stone grafted into tissue. Even he, no stranger to violence and gore felt sickened and was glad he finally reached the end. The package of documents concluded with an authorization from the Central Ories, the highest governing body of the empire, granting permission into further research into 'synthetic manacite', along with a the re-designation of Special Division #001 into... _The name was redacted._ Markus signed, he was no Initiate but he'd heard magicians valued precious manacite crystal. The stuff was astronomically expensive, more than diamonds, more than precious metal. As far as he was aware, it might even be the most valuable natural resource if comparing price to weight, though he didn't understand why. Men did not understand magic, that's why it was called magic and as far as he was aware neither should Cimmeria. Such was heresy and conflicted with the values of their holy scripture, yet he now held signed evidence of just that. _Heresy._ He was sure this alone might have been enough to stir chaos and unrest in the empire if it was made public... but it didn't contain the answers that he was seeking. [Markus: Knowledge (History) - Partial]

_What happened to his people?_ What was the connection between this research and what had befallen his nation? What did Cimmeria discover in all this twisted madness? Moss waited for him to finish before loosely gesturing with a shoulder, *"Here are your monsters. Your enemy. Your criminal. Cimmeria, of course."* The words, while true, sounded oddly condescending coming from a Claris tongue in a way Markus couldn't rightly describe. Perhaps it was the absurdity of it. The sacrifice and unseen suffering to lead him to this point, to uncover the truth of the crime from an attack of a likeness never seen before. That journey had brought him before an old enemy-turned-friend, but Claria was no ally of his. All this effort, but nothing had changed. *"Ultimately, it was this 1st Special Division which directly attacked your country."*

This information was already invaluable, for more than one reason. Even though it did not directly implicate this division as the military unit which executed the attack on Leitford, if it was true it was critical data on his enemy. Even if it was not true, these files could still be utilized as a weapon against the empire, but he needed to understand more. *"As you've already paid for it, I'll humor a few questions... but only regarding what you hold in hand."*

----------


## forg99rules

*Spoiler: IC*
Show


Markus racked his brain over the document that he had just read. His mind mulled over the various facts and tried to devise plausible reasons for how this Special Division #001 had killed his people. The document listed every member as dead, though he wondered if they had remained that way. Turning his mind to the pictures of those listed as drowning victims, Markus focused on the marks on the necks and arms of the bodies. He was no Doctor, but he did have a decent knowledge when it came to the human body. It was still possible that the Special Division had been systematically taken out, considering that the Central Ories had decided to redesignate the Special Division into something else was a bit worrisome.

Turning his attention back to Moss, Markus wondered what other information she held and what he would need to do to prove his worth for that information to her. *"I must say this isn't exactly what I thought I would get. You say that the 1st Special Division was the one who carried out the attack, but this document states they are all dead. The only way they could have carried it out would be if they somehow came back to life... or if this synthetic manacite that the Central Ories authorized research into caused them to become some form of synthetic life."* Markus thought about what he had just stated; hearing it out loud made it seem even more possible. Not being a magic user himself, he was unsure what could be done, but he knew there was a reason the Conclave kept a short leash on its people. *"I do, of course, have questions, the first being, were these deaths all accidents, or did someone orchestrate them and cover them up. I am also curious about their research on these various criminals. The technical matters in the documents are above me. Though seeing the images, I do wonder exactly what the final result ended up being. It also doesn't make much sense that the Central Ories would authorize people to commit heresy unless their actions were deemed worth the effort. So my next question would be, why did the Central Ories authorize heresy."*



*Spoiler: OOC*
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Heal: (1d20+10)[*15*] - Trying to get an idea of what the marks on the neck and wrist were
Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*15*] - Looking for more knowledge on what the special divisions do, or what ones I have dealt with
Sense motive: (1d20+16)[*27*] - wanting to gauge everyone's reaction to my statements/questions

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
*"Synthetic-what?"* Markus had almost forgotten Cesse was present, but one look over his shoulder revealed the puzzled expression on her face. _She was out of her depth,_ and as well she should be. He would have thought it suspicious if a senior craftsman of the guilds held any familiarity in something so, _esoteric._ But Markus knew, _he'd lived it._ No one who hadn't fought in the dark-world below the southern Cimmerian factory-cities could know... He now suspected that was exactly why he was here. _A raised brow._ It had been the first visible indication of thought or emotion to cross Moss's frozen visage. It was still difficult to read, and so he awaited her response. *"Okay... Impressive. Maybe what you lack in interpersonal ability is balanced by something more... Insightful."* It was a nicer way of calling him an unsociable recluse, but it was leaps-and-bounds over the drooling idiot he assumed she had viewed him as only moments earlier. [Markus: Sense Motive - Success]

*"Yes, your wild deduction is correct. The Ories sought to establish the 1st division as a means of research into synthetic beings. The deaths of the assigned members were planned and methodical. There was no accidents. The results were... inconclusive, but enough to warrant further investigation. The theocracy has long championed the claim that their machine-god was the only power which could cleanse the world of their enemies and end the war. A quaint notion, but the Ories has long known the blessing of their god could not win the war. While it offered their lands protection from any threat the Free States might deliver, the limitations of that divinity prevented that same force from being delivered offensively. As you know, the Empire's weapons and most advanced technology is powered by the light of their god, yet grows weaker the further from the holy city they travel. They must depend on their priests to deliver a measure of this light even in the distant lands of their own nation. It cannot be brought to bear against a foreign enemy effectively."* It was true, the Cimmerian's greatest weakness was their lack of ability to utilize their greatest weapons when attempting to conduct a direct attack. While their raids could still be devastating, the most effective attacks were short well-planned strikes orchestrated by their aerial or naval forces, to deliver a strike and immediately retreat. 

Occupying forces were far more limited in their ability to deal with Statesmen in direct combat so far from home. It was one of the few comforting assurances when entangled with the enemy. It made sense that the Ories would seek some method to overcome that crippling vulnerability, but he couldn't imagine they could easily justify heresy, or escape conviction from their own faith. *"The Ories have always committed heresy. They commit it every day. Each time they humor the demands of the Conclave and offer up their gifted daughters to the Assembly, they profane. Yet, everyone seems to turn a blind eye to that..."* Moss was right of course, but Markus felt that the subdued response was a cultural one. When Cimmeria was founded by the traitor, Dane Kos, he vowed the nation's allegiance, despite what it might cost him. Cimmeria had long used that relationship to doom hostile lands by inciting the Conclave's anger and reporting any behavior which might violate the worldly laws of the Conclave to the Emissaries. It had perhaps become their most terrible weapon. Hundreds of millions had been swept away by such tactics, and the physical geography of the planet had been altered in the wake of such tragedies. Of course they committed such heresy and only a minority spoke out, it was the wisest decision they had ever made. That heresy had been committed since their founding and so Markus expected that there was a certain culture exception this specific behavior. *"Their people may accept such behavior now, but the Ories have always sought a means to push that acceptance further. The results of their campaigns weigh heavier than honoring that machine. They have never raised concern for heresy, only what might inconvenience them, or cast doubt upon their authority. Heresy without witnesses is no heresy."*

Markus was sure that the various Scriptures, the holy governing chapters of the empire, would feel differently. However, the Central Ories was strictly a governing body and the woman's claim of corruption didn't sound so ridiculous. He had his answer, though it was not what he had expected. To him, the empire always seemed a place of brutal and dogmatic law, with a rod shoved so far up its rear it couldn't manage to even turn its head. Those limitations had always been his advantage in battle, yet in one moment those expectations were now shattered. This was likely only the first example of the Ories corruption hidden from the world; it appeared like they were very good at cleaning up their mess. 

Though he now had a better idea of who he was dealing with, it was still a strange encounter. The first three  divisions were primarily research, support, supply and training for the other special divisions. These other organizations were the primary combat arm of the empire, whose role was almost purely offensive. There were particularly horrible divisions, like the sixth, which possessed most of the infamous mobile artillery units who were well known for the practice of firing living munitions; typically containing Cheika war-slaves. Fortunately, he had no experience with them in battle, but he'd heard the stories just like anyone else. On the other-hand, he'd experienced confrontations with the 4th Special Division, it was one of the ones he could recall facing in battle. The Telba Industrial Complex was the primary garrison for the 4th Imperial Army Air Corps. As the primary post for the Air Corps, it was also home to the Mechanicum Assemblitorium, the impenetrable fortress-factory which the empire stored most of their IMA's; the Imperial Mechanicum Armaments, massive powered suites of moving armor operated by an elite pilot. They were the ultimate airborne weapon of the empire and each was worth a small army. Markus couldn't stop IMAs directly, but his mission was to disrupt their ability to be deployed or serviced in an afford to support his allies. A mission which he not only succeeded, but surpassed all expectations with the destruction of the Telba main reactors, thanks in part to Moss. Fortunately he was able to cripple the empire's ability to employ the terrifying power of the Air Corps, but it had been the closest he had been with the enemies of any of the special divisions. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success]

As Markus thumbed back through a few of the pictures, he begun to feel uneasy. He wasn't sure what had caused the bruising on the bodies, or when it had occurred, but he imagined the soldiers had at some point been restrained to some degree. Perhaps they were incarcerated despite most of their charges either being waived or suspended in exchange for their continued military service. He couldn't place it, but the thought of any form of synthetic life being produced _again_ made his skin crawl. Beneath the factories, there had been such horrors.... Wretched things of a likeness he could not forget even in his dreams. They had no names, because such things should not have existed, so he and his men at the time had simply called them _abominations._ [Markus: Heal - Partial]

The wet slap of another tall leather envelope on the window sill brought him out of his contemplations. *"One-hundred thousand."*

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## forg99rules

Markus smirked at how she described him. He had never put much thought into his interpersonal abilities, having been a soldier, he hadn't really needed to use them that much. His smirk quickly faded, a slight look of disgust taking over his features as he listened to Moss. Hearing all his thoughts and questions answered in the affirmative did not make him feel any better. Markus could help but agree with the woman's words. The Ories would, of course turn to heresy to accomplish what their mechanical god could not. It still turned his stomach though hearing that it had been done again, and worse, knowing that their people would probably accept it as well. *"That all makes a lot of sense now that you mention it. I bet the people in Cimmeria would eventually be fine with this sort of heresy if it won them the war."* His mind turned towards the abominations that he had encountered previously. Markus tried to picture them, to see if maybe they had already been the first step to what had destroyed his people.

The wet slap of the envelope drew Markus out of his thoughts. His eyes fell on the new envelope on the window sill. Then, setting the document he currently held down, Markus reached for this new leather envelope. *"Did the abominations beneath the factories have anything to do with them choosing this path?"* Then, having picked up the document, Markus began to open it, hoping to discover some information that could prove even more helpful.

*Spoiler: OOC*
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Knowledge (History): (1d20+8)[*23*] - trying to remember/compare the abominations to this current set
Knowledge (History): (1d20+8)[*10*] - wanting to know some of the countries that had been wiped out/why they were wiped out

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
*"I doubt that the Ories would be capable of convincing their god and the faithful on the merits of heresy regardless, hence their need to remove any evidence."* Markus thought back to some of the last battles which he had fought, scrambling through filth and darkness. _They were dark days, in more ways than one._ *"Yes, they're related, now read."* That wasn't what he'd wanted to hear.

Abominations, as they had called them, were the freakish things locked away below the roiling industrial city of Telba. Experiments of a twisted mind which had been created by somehow piecing corpses together. The beasts had been sealed within the labyrinth of isolated prison cells beneath the subterranean labs deep underground. Cells, which he himself had breached inadvertently while blowing through the access vault doors to the labs. Markus still regretted the rash decisions; half a ton of semtex had been far more than he should have used. The result had been wholesale slaughter. Most of the labs had been overrun by the time they had made it down. Terrible things. Faster than any man, and harder hitting than a truck. They were forced to run. Bullets did nothing. Rounds from their guns were so worthless they started using them as clubs after the bayonets had broken. Piercing ammunition and energy weapons pierced their bodies but was ignored. It simply wasn't enough, only radical and excessive trauma such as being pulverized into organic pulp by dyne weapons showed results... _In addition to dismemberment_. Markus could feel his knuckles whiten over the pommel of his null-blade. The battle had mostly degraded into a savage melee brawl and he had lost most of his men in the exchange. Even he did not come out unscathed, and the wounds he had suffered had marked more than his body. It had scarred his heart with fear. It was that same terror which compelled him to still carry his sword to this day. Few weapons were more effective at killing abominations than the blade he wore, at least from what he had experienced in battle, but even that was not a fight he welcomed. Rather, it wasn't lethal enough to save him if he couldn't catch the enemy alone. It had been his obsession to research more capable, more _esoteric_ weapons which could cull such an enemy should they ever rear their ugly head again; but that investigation had been cut short by the attack. He was forced to pass his hopes to Professor Mayvert, a genius Otherworlder who shared his ambitions. There were few more capable, but now hearing how is greatest nightmare had indeed resurged, he desperately hoped that she had made significant progress in the months he had been away. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success]

Markus picked up the new envelope as he secured the previous on his person. Cimmeria was perhaps more complex than he'd first thought, but it was difficult to see beneath the surface of a nation which so closely curated its image to the outside world. He wasn't Cimmerian, _thank the gods for that_, so he couldn't claim to truly understand their minds or culture, but this recent exchange had given him some insight into the enemy. In the past the empire had used the Conclave as a medium to attack enemies too distant for them to strike themselves. The Magister's laws were a universal absolute throughout all of the mortal realms, but not all nations recognized or honored those laws. Cimmeria, ever the apple-polisher, would maintain their good-graces and selectively report any _'misdeeds'_ and _'violations'_ to Conclave Law. The Magisters fancied themselves as gods for all their power, but most men didn't recognize that crown of divinity they placed upon their own heads. They were not things to be worshipped, they were beings to be resented; or at least that was the common opinion of most magical nations. As the empire was held in such high regard Emissaries of the Conclave were quick to investigate their claims, which had never been made falsely, least they damage their own relationship or worse. The Magisters were not kind, in fact they were venomous and cruel. Such beings did not value mortal life, it held no intrinsic meaning to them, and so when it was time to mete out punishment to those who wronged their authority it was often a gross and catastrophic event. The wrath of the Conclave was still fresh in the mind of mortals after the fall of the nation of Talsis. The Magisters saw fit to level all lands the nation had occupied and unleashed utter annihilation with their magics. The result of which had sunken the entire continent of Yelta and changed the very face of the earth. The weather had taken a century to finally settle with magical intervention, a time known as the Lightless Year. Markus had seen the first sunrise after the sun returned to the sky, while his childhood had been spent in utter darkness. His age and the time he had been absent from the world had placed him in a strange place, as a man who had seen two ages. The fall of Talsis was perhaps one of the largest crimes ever committed against mankind, and part of that fault was also laid at the feet of Cimmeria who weaponized the Magister's savagery. It was an act which redefined life for all mortal life in the world for five generations and led to the extinction of his race. There were no longer any Enchel nations in the world, but may Cheisha carried Talsis as a war-cry both against Cimmeria and the Conclave. 

Now the rebel factions had united in an attempt to create the pseudo-state of D'Talsis. It could hardly be called a country, but the network of allied peoples had managed to take enough land and resources to wage war against the empire and pressure Cimmeria's western flank with the assistance of the state of Nѐtht. Together they had orchestrated the attacks which allowed Markus's own operations in the south to be executed, however their collective hatred had reached a boiling point and the D'Talsis military no longer coordinated with the agents of the States. Instead they conducted the most devastating attacks ever conceived directly on Cimmerian soil over a series of barbaric campaigns known collectively as the Glen-Nѐthtian Wars. Nѐtht was an ally of the Free-States, but the alliance played no direct part in their bloody war. Some Statesmen enlisted as foreign fighters during the wars, but Markus had no desire for it. The callous ruthlessness of those wars had radically changed the empire forever, and Glendis rose as a self-governing vassal-state of the empire, which birthed the greatest threat to the States since the founding of the holy city. The soldiers of Glendis were born amid the most wretched of days and bloodied from birth, fighting for their very survival. Fighting men of every color and stripe uniting under the leader of the machine-god's holy Reverent Scripture, Vested Mother Eurita. For the first time in Cimmeria, she united every Cheisha, Cheika, Enchel and Cimmerian to defeat the Nѐthtian invaders with one army of her own making, after the Cimmerian forces had been defeated. With her own force at her command with the strength to contest even the armies of the empire itself, Glendis became its own existence and a force which the world could not have predicted. With their own beliefs, their own religion and a peerless commander at the helm of their nation, they displayed none of the same weaknesses as the rest of the empire; as if battle had hardened them against the fallacies of their brothers. A nation united with all mortal races had been the underpinning dream of the Alliance of Free States, but it had not been achieved by them, it had been achieved by their enemy under the threat of utter destruction. The unreasonable bloodthirst of Nѐtht had in turn lead to the creation of their most formidable foe, and they did not share the same dogmatic fears of heresy and divine retribution. _They remained the first, and last magical nation of the Cimmerian Empire._ [Markus: Knowledge (History) - Partial]

Carefully the soldier snapped the wax seal in half and opened the leather envelope. This time the records were different. They were not military records, but reports from various laboratories... Markus's hand froze as he flipped through pages. _Southern Imperial Research Institute._ His eyes scanned the document and all its scientific gibberish, but one word stood out. _Telba._ They had rebuilt it... The very labs he had collapsed under a hundred million tons of rubble with enough explosives to level a city. _They'd rebuilt it._ He could feel an itch creep across his cheeks and a prong in the back of his neck that made his nose flare. The heat gathered in his face as a seething anger boiled inside. Did they even clean up the bodies, or just drill through the collapsed stone? He'd given everything to strike down that subterranean hell-hole, yet now it was rebuilt. He couldn't imagine how much it must have cost them, both in time and resources.

It took all his will to contain himself but he managed to flip through the pages until he reached a curious administrative article written by the Southern Institute titled _"Observations & Analysis of Project NEMESIS"_. Even though it was written in a more plain fashion, some of the concepts were too radical for him to understand, though the words were words. _Liminal space._ Something about temporal and corporeal transitions. There were observations regarding tissue grafts and _'maintaining unique properties'_ near the closing. He flipped through a few more pages. Most of the documents which followed were similar reports to the Ories from different laboratories. Fortunately these reports also had high resolution photos included, and that was something he could understand. The photos detailed magnified photos of strange things, _cellular growth_ in some manner of organism. After going through a few more photos he could see the progress of this growth as the pictures showed modified half-formed foot, seemingly fused with a silvery metal  throughout several bones. 

Hastily, she flipped through a few more pages. There were countless pictures of flesh and other body parts modified with various metals, though no mention of the manacite, until... A report new the end of the parcel of documents. "...Bodies could not withstand the lowest energy output of the manacite." It was here, _they made it._ It was already finished, but the product was too potent. The report continued on about ten energy frequencies currently possible for emission, but research into current mediums to augment the operator had proven ineffective. The report detailed that the operating record was twelve seconds at the first power frequency before a synthetic limb was liquified due to the excessive output. According to the record the manacite required an appropriate material to be used at all and without it they could not even utilize the mineral in more mundane applications, such as powering a reactor. In the last report he saw the inclusion of shipping labels for an assortment of limbs and other modified parts to the Southern Institute. Markus's blood ran cold. _They were assembling them there._ They were building abominations this whole time to create some manner of glorified conduit for this manacite. This report was different from the others, and it was instead a joint summery from multiple labs on one publication. _"Success"_. His eyes froze on the word. _"The research institute has assigned the naming designation of 'FEX' to the the synthetic lifeforms capable of harnessing manacite energy emissions. Project NEMESIS will advance to Phase 2."_

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## forg99rules

Markus struggled to contain himself, the document fueling his evergrowing hate for Cimmeria. Taking his time, Markus read back through several of the documents that had caught his attention. His mind strayed to Telba. The facility had been destroyed, that much Markus knew, he had hoped that would have been the end of it, and he would never have to hear about that retched facility again. Yet here it was being mentioned in the same document that he held. *"So they rebuilt it; bastards can't just let the dead rest can they."* Then turning his attention to some of the other documents in his hand, *"Well, of course, that's obvious considering they used the dead for some of this"* Markus let his eyes wander over the words again, the term Liminal Space still striking him as odd. *"Really curious what this Liminal Space is. Transitioning between stuff sounds more like something I would hear come out of the Conclave than Cimmeria."* Shuffling the documents around again, Markus stopped on the report declaring their success. *"So they succeeded at the project, and then moved to Phase 2. Would I be right to assume that this Phase 2 was the attack? It would make sense sorta, You get the abominations working with the manacite after struggling for a bit. So next step would be to do a trial run on them."* Markus scratched at his beard as he thought over the different bits in the document, it all was very much about him in the technical department. Still Markus could not help but wonder what the Conclave would say about it if it was brought to their attention. *"Any idea if this would be something the Conclave would like to hear about? As much as I am not their biggest fan I could still see them  wanting to know about someone using manacite to create artificial life."*


*Spoiler: OOC*
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Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[*23*] - Wanting to know if this is something that would be on the Conclaves naughty list

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## Mornings

*[The Alford Reports #001. ▓]
*
Moss lightly snorted, perhaps in either amusement or at his expense, *"The production of arcane materials outside of the Arcane Assembly is strictly prohibited by the Conclave. Even more so specifically for something as valuable as manacite. The Ories were well aware of the risks, but did it anyways."* While he wasn't exceptionally learned on subjects of magic, Markus recalled that even the production of arcane ammunitions by the States was technically a crime according to the Conclave. Of course, the Free States collectively did not recognize Magister Law and completely ignored any such fictitious rules they attempted to enforce upon the mortal world. He'd spent his life embattled with Cimmerians and Conclave-sympathizers, spitting upon the face of such laws as a soldier of a magical-nation. As long as the God-Queen ruled over their lands to shield them from the Magister's fell magics, the alliance of States would never meet the same tragic end as Talsis.

*"...Markus, those reports are from decades ago. It took them nearly ten years to rebuild the Southern Research Labs after your attack on the reactors. The project in that report is unrelated to any recent military activity."* The old soldier paused for a moment, his sense of time had evidently been skewed by his absence from the world. He'd been gone from this world for over thirty years, it had been a long time... Perhaps too long. The reports he was reading must have been directly after the restoral of the labs, perhaps before they were even fully rebuilt. Now knowing the timeframe, he doubted this 'phase 2' took a decade to plot. It was likely these records were from the infancy of whatever nightmare this research would eventually spawn. *"Indeed, you have the right idea. Though, the Conclave certainly could not be easily fooled. Consider that."* It was certainly true the Conclave would not easily be fooled, especially where their interests were greatest, but this was certainly something which would have caught their interest. Not even Cimmeria could do as they pleased, and they were without any such protection to shield them from the Magister's wrath. [Markus: Knowledge (Local) - Success]

After a moment, the woman put down another package of documents on the sill. *"Same price."*

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