hale and whole

[groundrules]

HALE AND WHOLE

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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

Comments

[blackscales]

Wrathion nods, letting go of the ward and instead drawing his blade. Perhaps overkill for an orphanage where the ghosts throw butter knives, but at this point you never know what calamity is going to happen next.

"Towards the back of the building," he agrees. "Be on your guard, we are sure to be drawing increased attention."

Something that happens most places he goes, in truth, but now that they're beginning to press against this spell he expects it to fight back. The thrall over the city must have taken considerable effort, things of this scale usually refuse to go down without a fight.

Perhaps the child with the fox mask will even appear to stop them, or the man in white himself. That would be interesting.

[chosenbylight]

The blade may be a little overkill, but Anduin isn't going to complain about it. Especially not if Wrathion ends up needing to use it against something more deadly than butter knives in this house.

He offers his companion a nod, stepping forward to lead Wrathion forward into the next room. As soon as his foot crosses the threshold from the warded room behind them, an ominous creaking begins.

Anduin has just enough time to glance up and realize what is happening before he reaches out and grabs Wrathion with his magic, tugging him through the doorway to his side before the entire frame collapses, blocking the path they had just come.

"Are you alright?" he asks, reaching out to steady his companion with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

[blackscales]

The grab is somewhat... unceremonious. Wrathion feels the sharp rush of the magic yanking him across the room, and hears the collapse of wood behind him.

He suppresses a wave of irritation. Anduin is only trying to help, after all. Wrathion's pride is the only thing that protests it, there's no other real reason to object.

"It would take more than falling wood to do me harm, I assure you."

He straightens his coat, allowing the momentary unsteadiness from being unable to control his own movements to fade, then continues walking as if he might shrug it all off.

"This building is clearly in a state of disrepair. The collapse could have been natural, or it could be targeted."

Hard to tell after only one incident, but if it repeats they'll have a pattern.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin holds his commentary at that, although he has the distinct sense that the collapse was anything but natural. Especially given the timing. Still, he lowers his hand and allows Wrathion to step away and compose himself.

"I suppose we should be mindful of the structure of the building either way. We should probably..."

He trails off, glancing around with a frown. That's strange, he could have sworn he heard laughter, voices. Children's voices? Wrathion's draconic senses tend to be stronger than his, perhaps he can make more sense of them.

"Did you hear that?" he asks, cautiously.

[blackscales]

"We're certainly not alone."

Something that had been obvious after the butter knife, but which is becoming increasingly so. It had been an orphanage, after all, so child ghosts make sense. They are, however, somehow more disturbing than their adult counterparts. He couldn't quite say why, perhaps it is something about the expectation. You don't usually expect a small child to stab you in the back.

Draconic children aside.

Wrathion takes a step closer to Anduin, stick by him and beginning to move carefully ahead. He is the one with the weapon out, after all, perhaps better that he take point.

A small, spectral figure flits out of one doorway and crosses the hall ahead of them with a bright laugh. Wrathion freezes, waiting to see if it returns, then glances back at Anduin.

"They're toying with us."

Children do love games, he supposes.

[chosenbylight]

Unlike some, Anduin has no issue with Wrathion stepping closer, being protective of him. Especially not when the spectral child appears in front of them.

He freezes with Wrathion, preparing himself to protect them as well, with magic, as the figure disappears with a laugh.

The laugh does make it somewhat more disturbing. Well, that and the fact that it is a child. The ghost of a child means that a child had to die in order to become a ghost. Logically, Anduin is aware of this having happened. But being aware of it and then being presented with the evidence of that are two very different things.

"I don't suppose that they get very many visitors...?" Anduin offers. The place is... well. Fairly terrible. He glances to Wrathion and then back out across the room ahead of them.

"How many of those wards do you have?" he asks, softly, lest the ghosts overhear, he supposes. Do they care enough to be listening in? Best not to find out.

[blackscales]

"A handful," Wrathion says, and digs another out of his pocket. He narrows his eyes in thought, fingering the paper. "Although I cannot say if they discourage ghosts."

They were designed for the anchor, which may be an entirely separate issue to the haunting. He is not personally versed enough in this undead curse to say. Is this a hint that he should place another? It feels as if they've barely moved at all, but perhaps they really will have to go room by room.

A tiresome experience if every doorway will then collapse on them.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin can't say he has all that much experience with ghosts himself, although using it in the first room had helped... Lighten things? Enough for him to be able to pick out more individual energies in the house. Although he does not want Wrathion to have to waste the wards, especially if they do have to go through the house room by room. Who knows how many rooms they will pass through, on their search?

"Your guess is as good as mine," Anduin replies. "And I doubt that Karsa gave much of an explanation as to the usage and application of those wards, as she handed them out."

The picture frame on the wall beside them rattles ominously and Anduin casts a wary glance aside at Wrathion, before scanning his eyes back out across the room.

"Perhaps... We should just keep them at the ready?" he suggests, taking a cautious step forward -- toward the dark energy he feels further inside the house. The frame suddenly drops to the floor with a crash and Anduin jumps toward the sound. Laughter sounds from the floor above, ghostly and light.

[blackscales]

Anduin is correct, of course. Karsa was not forthcoming, but an explanation was unnecessary. He's handled it so far, he can handle it more as necessary. Wrathion is a dragon, after all. Why would he ever need magic explaining to him? He's a creature of magic, he can learn quickly!

Most of the time.

He's about to explain as such, to point out he has them about as ready as he can when the picture crashes to the floor and Anduin jumps.

"Let us keep moving," he suggests, "the longer we linger the more time they have to find household objects they can turn into projectiles. This way?"

It feels right to him, at least. Wrathion strides ahead, deeper into the house -- only there's not much further to go, at this point. He reaches a smaller room, at the back, and through the fogged windows sees the overgrown spectre of a garden with some sort of structure in it. Storage, perhaps? Or space to grow plants? Did the orphanage grow its own food, while it ran here? He supposes that would be a way to save money, if it worked efficiently.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin nods in confirmation as Wrathion gestures them on. This is the direction that the magic feels as though it is coming from. The darkness.

The next room feels closer, but Anduin understands it is still not the source. He frowns for a moment -- this doesn't make sense, they have reached the back of the house, there is no more of it for them to explore -- before he glances out the window and follows Wrathion's line of sight. Into the garden and beyond, toward what appears to be a dilapidated greenhouse. The garden and the structure both covered in a wild tangle of overgrown plants.

"Out there," Anduin says, although he doubts it really needs saying. "I can feel it... Like a mold upon this place." He winces. "Which I suppose is fitting, all things considered."

[blackscales]

Fitting indeed. Wrathion glances sideways at Anduin, studying him, then fishes one of his wards out and affixes it to a patch of wall -- channelling magic into it to burn more of the darkness of the room. Something clatters then smashes near him and he looks over sharply, studying the broken glass of the print.

"I suppose it makes unfortunate sense that these haunted tricks are so... childish."

Given that they are likely dealing with the ghosts of children. He lets go of the ward with a sigh, glances around the room then waves between some old dusty furniture towards a patio door. He tries it, sighs when it resists, then presses a hand to the lock and injects heat into it. It resists, stuck still, then gives when he shoulders it -- swinging open to the overgrown spectre of the garden. Weeds dominate, clawing their way around abandoned flowerbeds, children's toys and cracked paving stones.

"Well," Wrathion says, "I'm not gardener, but I suspect this place could do with a little tidying up. Shall we?"

[chosenbylight]

Anduin raises an eyebrow at his companion's commentary, then glances down toward the blade still drawn at his side.

"I imagine you could make a fair dent with that," he replies, nodding to it. The image of Wrathion valiantly fighting a path through the overgrown garden does lighten his mood for a moment, and earns him the quirk of a smile before Anduin steps forward to join him in amongst the weeds.

"Come," he says softly. "We are nearly there now." He glances aside at one of the abandoned toys. "I cannot say what hold the anchor has over the house, and whether the hauntings are connected. But as much as it should be cleared for the cure... These children deserve better than to have such a thing hanging over them, even in death."

[blackscales]

Wrathion hums in thought, gesturing with one hand and burning back some of the weeds as he moves along the path. He's not about to blunt his weapon on cutting back plants, thank you.

"Perhaps they can reclaim this building, if we can bring it to peace."

Or if Anduin can, Wrathion is really more of an assistant in this endeavour -- but still. He's involved, he'll claim his involved as part of the solution. The weeds give off faint wisps of smoke as he carefully steps through, wary one of them might grab him, and a small gardening fork goes flying past and buries itself in the earth to his left. Wrathion stares at it, uneasy, but so far the aim is at least consistently bad. He closes in on the greenhouse, his unease growing, and pushes open the door.

It smells earthy, damp, like rot. Decaying plants, mould. He winces, pulling the door open further as if to try and air out the building. For what little good it will do.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin makes a gesture in response to Wrathion's burning of the weeds, as if to congratulate him on his efforts, although he does appreciate the fact that he doesn't have to trudge through a veritable jungle of the things.

He's just contemplating what it would be like, for the children to reclaim the building, when they step into the aura of the greenhouse. Suddenly, the air shifts, changes. It feels a bit like dropping into a deep pit, and they have yet to even push open the door.

A sinking sensation spreads through Anduin as Wrathion steps through the threshold. He does not want to follow him through into the greenhouse beyond. They should not be here.

"I do not like the feeling of this place," he murmurs, forcing himself to move forward anyway.

[blackscales]

"I'd say that means we're in the right area, wouldn't you?"

The air is certainly oppressive. He feels... cold, uncomfortable, and a creeping sense of... something. His hair prickling up on his neck, unease, something...

Frightening.

He digs for his wards, pasts one up against the inside of the greenhouse warily.

"We should act quickly," he says. "There is danger here."

Exactly what, he isn't sure, but he knows there is. Can feel there is something here that would cause harm to them both.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin takes in a deep breath to steady himself, but the air is thick. Heavy with mold. Heavy with sorrow. If he had any doubt that the anchor of the disease resided here, he doubts no longer. While the children in the house had been playful, mischievous, here in this greenhouse the weight of their loss sits heavily.

They were only children. They did not deserve this fate. And here they remain, anchored to this house. To this decay. Abandoned and forgotten. In life and in death.

Anduin squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shake himself out of it, even as he can feel himself sinking ever further.

Concentrate, he wills himself. For the children. For the city.

It takes him longer than it should to locate where it all comes to a point. Where the darkness is at its deepest. But find it he does, and he holds it in his mind as he gathers the Light within himself.

"Do it now," Anduin tells Wrathion, indicating the ward, as he casts his magic into that darkness. Burning the anchor away with the power of the Holy Light.

[blackscales]

Wrathion hardly needs encouraging. The whole place has him on edge, and the sooner they do this the sooner they can leave. He doesn't usually frighten so easily, but something about the magic here is sinking its claws into him.

He turns and channels a burst of draconic energy at the ward, trying to block out the unpleasant scent of the greenhouse decay and focus on his work.

Around them, the shadows begin to slowly recede. The greenhouse still smells unpleasant, but the cloying grip of dark magic does at least lift.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin feels it, the moment the magic lifts from the greenhouse, the anchor broken. It is the moment he feels as though he can breathe again. True, the air in the place is still damp and full of decay, but it does not leave him feeling so... Unsettled, to put it in mild terms.

As his magic, Wrathion's, and the magic of Karsa's ward settle around them, he takes a wary glance around the greenhouse before letting out a soft sigh of relief and turning to Wrathion at his side.

"Come," he says, motioning them out of the door. "I don't think I can stand another moment in here, even if the curse is lifted. That was -- terrible."

[blackscales]

He releases the burst of magic, lowering his hands and shooting a wary glance around the greenhouse.

It looks so mundane, but the prickling unease Wrathion feels has not faded instantly. He remains on edge, uncomfortable, a sense of danger not fully receded.

"I quite agree," he says, and moves towards the door. "I've had enough blunt projectiles thrown my direction for one day."