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hale and whole

HALE AND WHOLE

BEHIND YOU | MAGICAL SERIES OF EVENTS | THE SCENIC SCIENCE ROUTE | SPREAD YOUR JOY

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Talismans burned, Serthica’s undeath reveals itself:

■ The dragon eye allows indefinite access to the undeath-sight pendant feature. Use it 15 minutes at a time, with a 45-minute cooldown.

■ Those who delivered talismans or the eye have residual immunity: they cannot be sensed by mannequins or by undead linked to the curse-sickness. This is transferrable once.

The Merchant presents the Serthica findings, recommending evacuation. Outvoted, he agrees to sponsor the group until the beacon’s annual start-up. To heal Serthica, the party must destroy the magical anchors of the curse-sickness, develop its science/herbal cure, then distribute it across the overground citadels.

BEHIND YOU

Courtesy of Five Hargreeves, the Child of the Unwinding you slayed his father, the undead lord Beastmaster. The burlap mannequins released from Remembrance actively hunt you.

■ They are constantly watching, stalking, hunting. You always hear the deep asynchrony of their footsteps. Some mannequins bear an uncanny human likeness: staring extensively chills you.

■ Most mannequins cover up in excess clothing and swarm you in crowded spaces to stab. They borrow your appearance, if they touch you. Some devolve into eldritch forms, mimicking voices or puppeteering husked corpses to lure you.

■ Each mannequin has a one-word code on its nape or right calf — once spoken, the creature glitches, letting you run.

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A MAGICAL SEQUENCE OF EVENTS

The corrosive magic that spreads throughout Serthica is anchored in two areas: a port dock and a former Mouse House shelter. Cleanse it through exorcism, purification, healing spells, or by planting wards borrowed from Karsa.

This magic feels hot, asphyxiating, aggressively proliferating, intrusive. Uncontained, it gradually feeds off your power. It might drive you to anger, bitterness, doubt or violence.

To Arc III survivors, it feels like the overwhelming power native to the Ke-Sanwon volcano (not dark water).

■ Once you’ve destroyed both magical anchors, inhuman-looking mannequins deactivate. Human-presenting ones seem sluggish and inattentive.

■ Finn’s mannequin remains alive when supplied life or magical force (think 5% of someone’s reserves) — either through weekly transfers or a rewiring of the magic that sustains her (by a party magic user, or Finn can learn the skills in later travel.)

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✘ WET OF THE DOCK'S WET

At first, locals don’t remember the putrid inactive dock exists as a distant extension of Serthica’s port, located past a familiar deserted marketplace. Here, rotten wood, a stench of perpetual moulding, torn ropes and rusted chains.

■ Thinking extensively about the dock before finding it incurs nausea, vertigo and the animal instinct to flee.

■ Persist, and you learn this dock was once used to smuggle in illegal arrivals from Ke-Waihu. Later, it loaded the bodies of the plagued that were burned at sea.

■ Rotten wood planks can break, dropping you into paralysing waters. The dead might reach out from the depths to drag you in.

■ You hear alluring, wind-born whispers of, How chilly it is, while the cold abruptly intensifies, and, It’s warm in the waters.. Won’t you… jump in?

■ Ships no longer call here — yet a small boat stops for you. You might feel compelled or curious to join the lone passenger — a man in white, whose features you forget after. As the boat drifts, attracting the swimming undead that seek to climb in, the man offers safe return, if you answer: What do you most want? Where would you stop to obtain it? Lie, and the boat capsizes, leaving you to swim back amid undead. Answer honestly to return unharmed.

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✘ (UN)SHELTERED

Visit the impoverished, underground Mouse House and avoid breathing in the thick, memory clouding sedative infusions. The grandiose shelter is familiar, its recalling the ruined mansion of the Unwinding. Locals say the house — which preceded Ma’am Mariol’s shelter as an orphanage — is haunted. The coal sickness spread overground after a child was adopted from here.

■ Spirits jump to throttle you or trip you down stairs, throw knives or lock you in claustrophobic rooms. Stair steps, window sills and roof beams readily collapse.

■ The last entries of house logs, found open on a library desk, mention seven freshly arrived children — six native to the Mouse House, including Gavroche, and one heavily burned boy from Ke-Waihu.

■ The ghosts of orphanage caretakers are enjoying a tea party. They ask if you are a servant or a guest. Answer ‘servant,’ and you must pour tea, as attendants stab you with cutlery when you’re within reach. You are dismissed once you finish pouring. Answer ‘guest’, and you must join them at the table and perform whatever they ask: slap yourself, dress up as a doll, answer inconvenient questions, etc. You can leave once someone else has poured tea.

■ Find the dark magic source in the house greenhouse that has been overrun by ruinous mould. While physically unharmed, you feel overcome by crippling fear, loneliness, abandonment or futility. Talking about it helps soothe it.

THE SCENIC SCIENCE ROUTE

The science-based cure requires retrieving resources and researching an answer. Godspeed.

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✘ THE SEED & THE STORM

The Unwinding revealed strands of juniper and rosemary that cure the sickness. Cain d’Ubiq confirms quantities of each plant remain cryogenically intact aboard the Serthica Aerial Healing Unit ships that were caught in the crossfire of the Sibilant Sands, when Eidris and Minaras fought their last battle. Find the vessels to retrieve the goods.

■ Take your transport flier or one of Cain d’Ubiq’s martial, fire-breathing dragons to traverse the Sibilant Sands, roughly one day’s flight each way of Serthica. Expect a hard ride, amid the growing howl of winds whipping your face and the accelerating pulse of a breaking storm.

■ Martial dragons challenge inexperienced riders, but fly sturdily through intermittent sandstorms and whirlwinds.

■ The ships can be found near dragon bones and human skeletons, in stages of burial or disrepair, stranded between rocks, or threatening to collapse once rattled.

■ Beware serpentine barbed wire animated by dark water, which jumps up from the sands. Just as vile are buried vermin-like creatures that send their razor-blade-ended tentacles to strike out from below ground.

■ Members of protest group Remembrance are also unearthing ships. They plan to board mannequins on the vessels, pass them as Minaraian and attack Eidris once more.

■ Their volatile leader Chrichter is personally fixing a ship.

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✘ THINK, TANK

Time to liberate a lab. Minaras’ foremost medical unit is the Conclave Healing Academy, comprising research labs, libraries, equipment rooms and sample collections, including some of the coal sickness.

■ The Academy connects to the centre that treatsZenobius and brims with healing apprentices. Bring juniper and rosemary samples, pose as a bright-eyed novice healer or a concerned relative of Zenobius, or barge in.

■ The Academy is cold, sterile, clean and swarmed by practising medics and academicians. Some even debate resurrection and immortality. Access is barred below, where you can hear occasional, sharp… growls.

■ Several basement laboratories are marked to study the coal sickness. Steal the entry codes from guards or tease them from a lowly medical intern — but don’t linger on the corridors long. Large clockwork hounds patrol and are attracted to sweat, a heightened or rapid pulse, shortness of breath or other biological signs of fear.

■ Take over a lab to concoct a cure elixir from the herbal strands. Test it against the coal sickness samples. Work safely, or the start of a blood cough might announce you’ve taken sick.

■ Hold the fort until your cure’s done, while guards and hounds try to enter your lab through air vents, windows or ram the door. Fight back, distract them or persuade the Academy protective droids they’re the enemy.

■ Anyone affected with the sickness can drink the cure without waiting to destroy the magical anchors. Symptoms fully disappear within 24-72h. Characters remain sensitive to the un/dead.

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SPREAD YOUR JOY

Mass-production time: take over the former underground Remembrance headquarters, one of Cain d’Ubiq’s factories, or make potions in your back yard. The cure can be drunk or absorbed through skin and must be spread overground.

You can pursue your own ideas, but some suggestions on the house:

■ Take your dragon or hijack a Minaras airship and a diffuser to spray down an incense mix that contains the cure. Minaras airships sleep in secured bays you’ll have to infiltrate. Careful taking a dragon into Minaras or an airship to Eidris — local authorities may perceive this as a security breach.

■ Reprogram or con hapless droids to feed the cure as ‘novel vitamins’ to their owners.

■ Commandeer the Mouse House train that ferries supplies from the Serthica ports and spray the cure on produce and grains.

■ Minaras High Councillor Arabella has been previously targeted by Remembrance and could be subtly persuaded to help by her rescuers.

■ Vanessa’s contact, crime boss Artemius Bale, might also have his people sneak the cure into waterways — if you cut a deal.

■ …lemonade stand?

NOTES:

■ We need one finished thread of breaking the anchors and supplying, making and distributing the cure to get the Very Best Ending, but there are multiple other finale options too — link your threads by 29 November!

■ Thanks to Finn and the Doctor’s efforts to help Ma’am Mariol’s orphanage, enjoy tips, information and help with legwork from her street-smart urchins.

■ You can ask for Artemius Bale & others here or at the NPC inbox!

■ BACK TO THE TOP.

QUESTIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's quiet for a long moment, longer than usual for him. His skin almost feels hot to the touch, and he looks down, running his fingers across his wrist absently before staring back at the dock, the water out ahead of them. The longer he stands there, it almost feels like he can't breathe, but he tries to focus, closing his eyes briefly, trying to sense...something.

He feels lost, adrift, unsure of himself.

"I don't...know," he finally admits out loud, his voice seemingly far away. He's admitted to not knowing things before, so that's not altogether unusual for the Doctor, but Clara might sense something different in his tone now, something that sounds almost haunted, broken.

"I'm not sure of anything, Clara."

She might've let it go if he'd left it at the first bit. But when he pauses, then continues, she knows something isn't right. Combined with the lengthy silence before, Clara makes the decision to step forward and make her way toward him, resting a hand on his arm.

"Doctor? I don't think anyone is very sure." Even saying it, she knows that isn't what he means, she's only hoping. And yet she continues. "That's why we have to keep working together, me and you. We can figure out anything together, me and you."

"...right, yes. Yes, of course," he says quietly, but he doesn't look at her, almost doesn't seem to hear her. He's quiet for a long stretch again until he finally looks at her, noting her hand on his arm and then reaching out to rest his other hand atop it.

"I don't know if this is right, Clara. I know what we're supposed to do, but nothing feels right about it. What if we get it wrong and everything gets worse?"

He moves his hand away from hers, fidgeting with his bowtie again. "I seem to be doing a good job of mucking things up lately."

Clara knows he has moments of going through this; he hasn't told her everything that happened in the tower when he went back inside. She only knows he was limping when he returned, well after she'd spoken to the Child. She can only highly suspect things happened there he isn't telling her—she's pretty positive something did—but she can't know for sure.

"You aren't used to this, to not having the answers, to not being able to help the exact way you want to. Well, exact according to you." She smiles just a touch and lets it fade. "I know it's difficult, but you aren't mucking anything up, no one here thinks so. The weight of Serthica isn't on your shoulders alone, Doctor."

"And besides, people keep telling me how much they like you."

He's aware that something is toying with him here; the magic, of course, it has to be. His mental defenses should ordinarily be enough to overcome it, yet as has happened before in this world, he's struggling. Silently, the Doctor focuses on the sound of Clara's voice, anchoring to her.

People like him? He's glad for that, though he wonders why, questions it. Why? That nagging doubt keeps tugging at his thoughts.

"Do you feel safe with me, Clara? Even here?" Even without his TARDIS, all of his usual resources. Eyes scanning her face for a moment, he needs to know. He worries that he makes her sad, too, but he has enough control and restraint left in him not to utter the words aloud. He feels like he just makes everyone sad lately, and the conversation with River is on his mind, weighing heavy. River, glorious River, who deserves so much better than him, despite her assurances otherwise. He wants to make her happy, but really, he just makes her sad, he knows.

Now, Clara turns to face the Doctor fully, and without hesitation. "Yes. Here, the TARDIS. I wouldn't have stayed with you if I didn't."

Normally, she'd have so much of their history to draw on, but she doesn't, so she has to think all the way back to the first they met and she closed a door in his face.

"D'you know why? Because even after I'd decided you were a weird man in monk robes who was likely on some sort of stimulant, you saved me. I was scared, and not even in my body anymore, was I? But you brought me back, you fought for me. Ever since then, it's been me and you, and I've never once thought I wasn't safe."

Maybe that one time when the TARDIS was imploding, but conveniently, that's something she doesn't remember.

"We all have bad days, Doctor. But Serthica seems to enjoy making them all happen at once. So you're going to have to believe me." Her hand is tight in his, the breeze making her hair whip around her face.

Her belief in him is humbling and grounding at the same time. What has he done to earn such honor? She'd argue something about it, he knows, if he said anything out loud.

Whatever magic exists here, it seems it's not quite strong enough to overcome the power of friendship. Oh, that's overly soppy, Doctor. Going soft?

In his mind, he toils in facts, tangible things, what can be proven. Where had such a sentimental thought come from? Is it this place and the nature of it? The way he's been forcibly pulled closer and closer to people, despite his fear of such deep attachments? Thoughts for another day. He's good at putting off this particular type of deep-rooted contemplation.

"Believe you, Clara Oswald?" His eyes linger on hers, though, while he squeezes her hand. "You're persistent. Bossy, in fact. You won't let me think otherwise, will you?"

There's a bit of the Doctor she knows coming back, perhaps, a slight smile on his face.

"Tell me, then, is this the right place? I trust you."

"I'm definitely bossy. The boss, you might even say." Clara reaches up and presses her palm flat against his cheek. "As long as I'm with you, I'll never let you think it for long." She smiles at him, warm and tender before pulling back. Standing close, she looks out at the water, still able to feel his hand solidly in hers. The oppressive, heavy magic is almost tangible, and Clara looks up at the Doctor again.

"This is it, Doctor. This is where we put the wards." Clara is confident, her words as sure as anything else. "I think if we start here and place them spaced apart until we run out, it'll work."

"The boss. Okay, we're going with it," he smiles a little more assuredly, letting out a shaky breath, as though releasing any more fears and doubts along with it. Her touch to his cheek is tender, like that of an old friend, and it speaks of all the adventures they've shared that he doesn't know of yet. It's a comfort, though, and he smiles, briefly covering her hand in return.

"It's like a snarl, isn't it? It makes sense, of course. All the magic concentrated here. It feels hot, angry almost, aggressive and it wants us to go far away," he notes, feeling more confident again. "Precisely why we won't." A little playful smirk, briefly. "You go left, I'll go right. Meet back in the middle."

"Clever boy," she says with a dimpled grin at him, and then she takes wards. "Meet you back in the middle, Doctor. Off you pop."

With that, Clara takes off with her wards, setting them in an arc that will connect to his, effectively sealing in the dock. She's angry about everything that's happened, about the people who've made it happen all by hurting a child. If this doesn't work, at least she can say she stands by her decision to try.

Run, you clever boy, and remember.

A familiar refrain from his Clara Oswald, heartbreakingly so. He can't help the thought, for a moment, that she's twice now died under his care, and here she is again in a dangerous world, where he can't protect her all the time. It almost makes him hesitate to split up, but they must. His eyes linger on her perhaps longer than necessary, but he can be forgiven, he hopes, for his worry over her.

Making a similar circle as he plants his wards in and around the dock and the shoreline closest to it, the Doctor is all too eager to meet back in the middle, to assure himself that Clara is safe.

"Well done, eh? Some of our best work yet," he smiles, reaching out now with both of his hands held out, for her to high five him.

Clara grins at him and has to hop a bit but she does it to meet his high-five.

"I have to say, we are a pretty amazing team. And it only gets better from here." Her hip bumps his and then she takes a deep breath, letting it out, trying to see if the weight of the air feels any different.

"We could try to outdo ourselves by going to see if any others need our help. What do you say, Doctor?"

He grins at her, already feeling better. How does she even do that? Reaching out, he taps her nose again before giving her a little nod.

"I'd say that now you're sounding a bit like me. Careful, there," he teases her playfully. "The day's still young, off we go."

Eventually, they make their way back to the dock just to check the wards are still in place. It's only when she gets to the opposite end furthest away from the Doctor that she looks out and squints into the dark fog.

"Doctor, is that—" She walks forward before finishing her sentence, walking along planks that groan and threaten to snap. Then, she calls over her shoulder.

"Doctor, it's a boat." She pauses before adding, "And the man in white is here." Her gaze shifts back to him, her curiosity piqued.

That man, that elusive man in white spoken of so often in recent weeks. He'd love to have a chat with him, or more than that, though as he approaches and gets closer to the boat, it's more than mere curiosity that lingers in the Doctor's mind. He wants to join him as well.

"Oh, a lovely invitation. Join you? Offered so graciously? How can we resist?" Truthfully, he's not sure he can. Something stirs at him, telling him they must go, it's the only boat here, the only way to escape the undead. Instinctively, he reaches for Clara's hand again.

There's a push and pull in Clara that she's come to realize she loathes. She's only ever felt it in Serthica, and she hopes she'll never feel it again. She doesn't want to go, and yet her body is almost making the decision for her. When the Doctor reaches for her hand, she immediately holds onto him in return. Then, she takes a step forward, another—they're getting on the boat, that much is clear.

"I've been thinking you and I need a boat holiday. Perfect timing." She doesn't feel nearly as cheery as she sounds. They're together, and that's all that matters.

A question is asked once they're securely on board: What do you most want?

Alarm bells start to sound in Clara's head, and she looks up at the Doctor, lips parting as her head shakes minutely. Her eyes are dark pools of brown, and she waits to see what he'll say and if it will be an answer to the question.

It's infuriating, to say the least. To be compelled in such a way again, although at least this time, the Doctor feels far more in control as compared to how his mind had been toyed with in the Tower.

A question like that isn't simple or easy, not just for himself, but for the consequences he's well aware must await them if they don't answer correctly.

The Doctor glances at Clara for a moment, his eyes darkening, but he points to himself silently, telling her to abstain for just a moment. He'd rather be the one to do this first and he needs her to listen.

His first instinct is to lie, of course. He's very good at that, he always has been. Why should he tell a stranger, this man in particular, what he most desires? Why does he owe him that? Why would he owe anyone that? The anger builds to a simmer in him, because as he much as he loathes being forced to speak the words, he's more upset that Clara's being forced into as well. She's been through enough as it is. But here they are, and it's unavoidable.

Lie or truth, lie or truth?

Of course, because they're constantly being toyed with, the truth must be told or they'll be punished. The point is to make them suffer in some manner, to play with them. He'll have to tell the truth, otherwise he risks Clara being harmed. They're far enough away from the shore now that if something happens, he's not sure how difficult it might be to swim through the undead grabbing at them.

For Clara's sake, the answer is simple.

Folding his hands together, not looking at Clara's eyes now, casting his gaze to the shoreline (such as it is), the Doctor quietly confesses, "To not be alone."

That suffices, but their captor isn't done with them yet. Where would you stop to obtain it?

The Doctor's jaw tenses, clenches, his eyes flicker to Clara again briefly, back to the water, to the undead reaching for them.

For Clara, for Clara, he reminds himself.

"Truthfully, that terrifies me."

Clara gives the Doctor a tiny nod, understanding that he wants her to stay silent. There are times to argue and times to not, and right now she's quiet and still, though her heart is pounding. She has no idea if he'll tell the truth, she's known Rule One for quite a while, and one hand grips the side of the boat. Glancing at the undead reaching out from the water, she closes her eyes, still picturing something more pleasant than sloughing skin when he answers.

The second question makes her open her eyes and turn her head to look at him so fast she gives herself a small, brief headache, and she can practically feel the anger roiling off of him.

Truthfully, that terrifies me.

His answer to the first question made sense. Her Doctor with his sad eyes, always alone in the end because humans are mortal and fragile. But his second answer makes something in her coil around her stomach, sending roots to her heart. Her mind is racing, trying to understand what the answer is that he isn't sure of. How far would he go to not be alone anymore in his big blue box?

Her hand begins to move toward him when the man in white turns his gaze on her.

And you? What do you most want?

It seems that it's a two-for-one special, and Clara's hand drops to her side again. She looks up at the Doctor helplessly, because the answer is too revealing, too much of the future, but what if they can't beat back the undead?

"To be remembered even when I'm gone." She can feel the man in white staring at her, but she makes him ask the second question. Looking toward a horizon she can't see through the fog, she finally answers. It won't do anything to stall out the Doctor's anger, she knows.

"Whatever it takes to save the Doctor."

To be remembered. Of course, of course it would be that. What does she remember of her previous lives? Nothing, it had seemed to him at least. Does she recall that refrain, run you clever boy and remember? But then he thinks back to their conversation shortly after she’d arrived in Serthica, how it seemed to her that he simply forgets people and moves on, when the opposite is true. She’d seemed to come to an understanding of that at the time, but it still haunts her, that she might be forgotten. Something to talk about later, perhaps.

But then her next answer comes and his emotions take a swift and sharp pivot. He tenses, jaw clenching again, eyes holding a barely contained fury. Not at her, but for her.

Whatever it takes…to save him? Why? Why must it always be this? Everyone’s life ruined because of him and for him and he’s never wanted or asked for it. But he damages them regardless and it makes his hearts ache with sadness and rage, mostly at himself.

“Well,” the Doctor turns his fury to the man in white. “You have your answers. More than enough, in fact. Take us back! Now.” His voice raises, anger about to boil over, his hands threaded together tensely, all the while staring at the man with daggers in his eyes.

Clara knows his anger isn't directed at her, but even so, his tone makes her wince. Not that the man in white seems affected. They do begin to move toward the dock, though.

She wants it to be a fast boat ride, she doesn't want to talk about this but she knows he'll never let it go. He hates it when anyone does anything for him—he was literally dying in her arms before she had the chance to jump into his time stream. Stubborn man. And now they're so dangerously close to a conversation they can't have.

When the boat docks, Clara exists first, palms sweating as she walks quickly ahead of the Doctor. Putting distance between the two of them only buys her time, a few precious seconds of it before the Doctor is right beside her. What is she going to say? What is he going to ask?

She chances a glance at him once he's close and sucks in a breath of nervous anticipation.

He's a bundle of nervous energy ready and waiting to explode. He fidgets with his own hands as he follows after her, his fingers rolling around themselves, his whole body tense, shoulders hunching up as if to make himself bigger; for what purpose, he doesn't quite know, but he's angry at the entire implication.

"Whatever it takes," he finally says, his voice tense and taut. "No. No, no, no. Whatever it takes to save me? Your life is not now, nor ever will be, worth more than mine. How could you possibly ever, ever think that? I didn't ask for it, I don't want it, put the thought out of your mind. You're not dying for me, Clara Oswald."

He finally pauses to take a breath, his eyes softening a little, just barely. "But you have, haven't you?"

The first part, she expected. He always gets upset when it comes to what people should and shouldn’t do for him. Maybe the second part should have been expected, too. But somehow it wasn’t, and Clara stares at him mutely, pressing her lips together.

“We can’t. We can’t do this,” she finally says. “You’ve told me over and over again what the consequences are. You have no idea what happened, and you know that’s how it should be.”

Clara isn’t sure how he’ll take that; she has to brace herself for whatever might come next. Maybe she’s only buying herself time to think, in the end.

He reaches out for her wrist now, holding onto her. His touch is firm, but not rough and still loose enough for her to shake him off if she insists. But he's trying to hold both of them steady, trying to force her to look at him.

"Everything's changed," he speaks with so much exhaustion. "Tell me. Not every detail, not all of it, but you can tell me enough. What happened, Clara?"

Closing her eyes, Clara tries to decide what enough is. He's right, things have changed. Now she knows he won't remember this if he ever leaves. When he leaves, if they're successful and uncover the beacon. Meeting his gaze, she lifts her chin a bit and tries not to think about the day he disappears again. This time forever, sort of.

"We went to Trenzelore. Together."

And so she tells him everything minus River being there. Some things aren't hers to talk about, and his wife is one of them. If he's going to see her again, that's for River to explain. Clara pauses before finishing, finally looking away from him and out at the water again. She can't see the dead hands from here, and the water looks deceivingly calm.

"Your time stream was collapsing, so I jumped into it. That's why you keep meeting me." Her gaze drifts back to the Doctor's.

"You've been meeting me all your lives." He's known her from the day he stole the TARDIS.

Edited 2022-12-02 12:39 (UTC)

Trenzalore.

His fate; her fate, now, apparently. Something neither of them can escape, seemingly. She's always been splintered across time, and not for any noble purpose, not for anything even having to do with her at all. No, for his sake, which makes him feel physically ill. All this time, everything he'd imagined might be true about her existence, he'd never considered that he kept finding her because at some point in her future, she'd chosen to save his life.

Still holding her wrist, his grip tightens a bit, his jaw clenching, eyes unblinking to hold back tears he doesn't even realize are there.

"...why. I want to know why...why my life is more important than yours, than anyone's?"

Why does this keep happening?

Why should he be saved, over and over, if it means others dying?

hale and whole

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