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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 not supposed to be here, not one of them, certainly not ever. Not anyone, and yet they are, and the boy's restless with it, the infectious thrum of his energy, pacing back and forth and back and forth on the docks, holding up his carved fox mask with both hands to avoid it slipping free.

As he passes, wooden planks rot, then revive fresh and new beneath his feet, any missing pieces materialising before he can threaten to slip in. Hands still reach for him, some clawing, some soothing, only to dissolve carelessly, falling just short of touch.

He sees Wrathion, or feels him. Of course an unwanted person would be double unfortunate and come close, to boot. )

...have you brought my umbrella back? ( Well, hold on. ) The Miss took it. She needed it, but I need it more. She... she stole it.

[ Wrathion has the tense stillness of someone more animal than human who has been surprised. He freezes, studying the child. While the boy is all restless, movement, his own energy is focused on the internal:

The child, this is him. He hadn't expected -- but he should have, shouldn't he? These anchors, this curse, they are all connected to him and of course he will appear. Coincidence? Or is he trying to stop them? He doesn't have the mannerisms of a powerful, confident creature but of course he must have power. Even now, as he walks, there is evidence of it in the way planks rot and revive.

Best to tread... carefully, to start with. ]

I'm afraid not, she must still have it. Is the umbrella special?

[ Sentimental, perhaps? Or important in some other way? Or is it simply a tool? ]

( Special — he nods at that, plainly considering, but wavering in the general direction of enthusiasm. )

It's mine. ( As if that explains just about everything. Children really don't always play well. ) It was a gift. It keeps the rain away.

( Determined, in the way of someone convinced Wrathion needs an explanation of the purposes and daily use of an umbrella. )

You shouldn't steal things. It's not good.

We'll see if we can return it to you.

[ Just papering over 'you shouldn't steal things', with the gentle deflection of someone who has in fact stolen things. Not important right now. Anyway --

He forces the tension to ease from his posture, takes a careful step forward. ]

It was a gift from someone important to you?

[ That would, indeed, make it a special gift. ]

( A mighty fine thing, this mask that's shielding his face from the obvious revelation of his face scrunching. His hands bind behind his back, fingers twinning. )

My friend. It was raining. He gave it to me. ( A pause. ) You can't keep it.

( In case that admission had vastly increased the umbrella's worth. ) I want it back. You're all... wrong and sick and you don't belong. And you stole my umbrella.

Of course.

[ Not that he has the umbrella, but he knows who does, they can give it back if necessary. ]

We can find it for you. I wouldn't want you to lose such a kind gift.

[ ... An umbrella isn't, at least, a malicious gift. He takes another step forward, careful. ]

Did your friend give you that mask, too? It's quite impressive.

[ As impressive as a fox mask can be. ]

...no. I brought it from home. My father made me animal things, because he dealt with animals often.

( As if it's the easiest explicable thing in the world. )

Do you know where my home is? ( A pause, then conversationally: ) You killed my father. So you must have been. Did you like it?

( Another pause, measured. ) My home. Not killing my father. Did you like that too?

( How is it, then, that he seems so — calm on the topic? )

[ ... Ah. Wrathion feels a wave of unease at that, a knot of anxiety. ]

I didn't kill your father.

[ Not that Wrathion objected to it happening, but this much is true: he is not the one who performed the act. ]

But I did visit your home, yes. Everyone was anxious the volcano might erupt. We were trying to help them. That is what we try to do, help people. Sometimes it's difficult, however, because you don't know what to do. You know they need help, but perhaps not the best way to help them. Sometimes, they don't know either.

( His voice thins, while he fidgets with his hands, behind his back, fingers kneading. While he breathes out: )

You did kill my father, because I asked, and my friend said so. He said, it's a mean thing I was told, but since I was told, it's true. All of it's true.

( Then, in the careful lilt native to Ke-Waihu, bird-like: ) And Ke-Sanwon didn't erupt. I would have known.

[ Ah, interesting. Wrathion takes another step closer, slow -- like someone approaching a skittish animal. ]

What did your friend tell you? I'm sure he was telling the truth, but perhaps one of us misunderstood.

( And back one step the child goes — two and three, because he's a great, looming thing, this man, and he's got to keep the distance between them. )

Don't hurt me, I'm not lying, I'm not — ( Careful, when his voice breaks, when his hands unbind. ) My friend said, my father's dead. So I said, I didn't know you knew him, and he said, he said, he did, and... and... and he said my father was looking for me, he was looking all along, and I didn't... and I said, he should have told me, but he said that's not how it works, and I screamed - and he didn't like that, but no one tells me things, and everyone just gets sick and —

( Worked up, agitated, breathless. He's a fright. Worse, frightened. ) You should just leave. I won't play with you, so... so leave, because you're not wanted here, and no one's got toys to share with you.

[ Ah. Did he seem like he might hurt him? Wrathion stays put this time, not moving closer. ]

I'm not here to hurt you.

[ He hesitates, then slowly lowers himself into a crouch. The dock wood creaks under him, but perhaps being... less tall would help. The friend here, Wrathion assumes, is the man in white. The White Wanderer. Not how it works, he said. What does that mean? A curl of frustration takes hold, but he presses it down. Intimidation isn't going to work on a frightened child who may not even understand what is happening. ]

But I am frightened. I think you are too. The world can be frightening. When I'm frightened I think about how frightened other people must be too, and then I try to work out what I can do to help. I'd like to help, if you'd let me. I'd like to make it so nobody gets sick at all.

...my friend made it so it doesn't spread. Just here. So I have to stay here, because it's —

( A whisper, all but nothing. Better still, that he seems to approach of his own volition, as if Wrathion is a great dog that has made himself suitably small. His hand goes out, seemingly intent to touch Wrathion's hair and pet it, but falls short of touch, pulling back. )

I bring it. I think. Or it goes where I go. Or I'm it. He wouldn't say. I think... he thinks it'd be sad to know. So I have to stay here and be good and — ...but I didn't want to scare them. They'd be scared, if they saw how many people...

( The silence stretches long. Died, but they know that. ) So we... so I keep them happy. With their friends. Aren't they? Happy.

[ Wrathion keeps himself still, pushing down on the instinct to flinch away from the hand. He doesn't want this sickness, doesn't want to die -- but equally, equally he needs this child's trust. You have to offer a little trust to gain it in turn, he has learned. ]

I don't know.

[ An honest answer. There's no point lying about this. ]

Some of them might be, but I think some of them know something is wrong too. They'd be happier if they were all better, wouldn't they? Nobody likes to be sick.

[ Who would? Still, the other point: ]

And I think you're right, I think you might be part of it. But that means you can help us. You cannot fix something until you know how it started, and if we're both right that means we have the first piece of the puzzle. So, would you like to help us fix it? So nobody has to be sick anymore? I don't think we can do it without you.

( He seems to consider, head tipped to the side in the way of a curious animal who is considering whether the predator in front of him isn't small or slow or stupid enough to become prey.

Then, there's a scratch on the side of a plank, as an amputated, decayed hand crawls up — and the child turns to greet it, calling it close with two curling fingers. Nothing, at first, beyond the pitiful creature's struggling crawl on the bridge. The dark of the night conceals the first, soft, subtle accrual of spores that begin to extend the hand, first to elbow, then to shoulder, then to building skeleton, layered with flesh after, organs rounding, skin, the accessories of a young man, gasping in confused terror, even his clothes —

The man persists alive and in health for no more than a few heartbeats, before mould consumes his body, and he succumbs to an accelerated version of the coal sickness: the coughing, the blood secretions, the sudden and inexplicable decay. With a frustrated groan, the child releases his magic, dispelled into dust that he kicks off the planks along with the shaking hand, before returning to Wrathion again: )

I don't. Know. How. That's all I can do. I can't make that stop, so they're not sick, and my friend can't either. And you. Can't. Even do. What I can do. You're no use at all.

[ The impatience is relatable, Wrathion thinks. Which is funny, because just watching this triggers his own. Is this what he looks like, from the outside? Impatiently trying to do things alone?

The sight of the mould makes his stomach turn. ]

I'm not asking you to do it alone.

[ A little strained. Wrathion takes a breath, tries to force patience. To channel Anduin's calm persistence, to ignore the ]

I may not have your abilities, but I have different ones -- all of us do. That makes us a good team, you see. Some have been working to make medicine, to help cure the people here who are sick. Perhaps medicine would help you too. Sometimes, people who are strong don't feel sick -- even when they are.

You're not saying how. You're talking lots, but you're not saying - you're not saying anything.

( Only another grown man, with a long shadow and strong hands and fierce eyes, and frightening, so very frightening that the child wants to scare him in kind. In the worst of ways, hands clutching the edges of his mask, peeling it off to show the deep burns that rake his forehead, his cheek, tarnish his skin. )

You're like him. I thought he was my friend, but he wasn't, he was just... keeping secrets about my father being... ( A breath, long. Heavy. ) You killed my father. And you're asking me for help. I don't...

( He's fretting, flustered. His father was a kind man, calm. Patient with his animals. He can be calm, he can be patient too. )

...fine. I can raise them for you. The... the sleeping. If you make the sickness go away. But I'm only... you have until the month's done. That's it. And you've ruined the mood in the dollhouse, so. So, if you can't... if you can't do it, you have to stay. And you have to play with me and with the dolls and keep the dolls happy. I'm putting all of you in my dollhouse, if you can't do it. Fine?

( Only fair, after all. )

[ What?! What more does this child want, he said they're making medicine! How is he not saying anything! Does he want to know what's in the medicine? Titans, why are children so difficult.

He bites back a retort. Arguing won't help. The last thing he needs is this child angry at him. ]

And will you take the medicine too, if it works on them? If it makes the sickness go away?

[ Tenacity is a tenet of the light, he thinks. Gentle persistence here may be worthwhile. ]

( He's laughing. Or choking. Or sobbing. The sound is somehow mangled, torn between his teeth. Hastily, he returns his mask to his face, binds it negligently behind his back. With it on, he seems more at ease, stabler. )

Then it makes me go away. And no one is hurting me again.

( He is the sickness. The cause. The end. The hated. He knows that much. He's suffered the pains of it. )

I had a friend. And he isn't you. And even he kept secrets. So I'm not... I'll keep them raised until the end of the month. It will be hard. So you're not... so you should thank me. Because it will really be hard, and... and, go away. You should go away now. ( Murmured again: ) No one's my friend.

[ What?

Wrathion blinks, not managing to keep the surprise from his face. ]

That isn't what I wanted. I didn't want you to go away. I -- I thought it might help.

It won't. ( He's sickness, after all. What is a 'cure' but 'death' of that? )

I don't want to see you anymore. I'll say mean things. ( Or do them, the twirl of his fingers seems to imply, waving briskly, tenderly in open air. Calling forth particles that answer him, swirling, and recreating shapes of decayed flesh that easily dissolves again. )

You should go. And don't scare the fish.

( ...that don't seem to be anywhere close to the docks. But, in principle. )

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