Session 103 - Like Goths to a Flame
The results from the heist are in, and the crew of the Starfall liberated a great many peculiar items from the Seventh Dawn, among them a weird doll, a magic-eating ball, a dragon mask made from airship material, and a fancy fan. Some of these items are more mysterious than others — Isa is still waiting for the fan to either attack them or unlock a sphere of the ship, despite Linnet’s repeated insistence that it is merely a valuable piece of art.
The magic-eating ball, or to use the scientific term, the nethicite, is the most interesting of the lot. The Alternans devised machines that would use the magic-absorbing properties of the nethicite to protect large regions from magical storms and other phenomena, the largest of these said to be the Luminous Engine. Considering the fact that the Seventh Dawn produces a field that protects the ship from Alternan storms — and, indeed, suppresses the storms entirely on the ruined island — the officers of the Starfall have decided to find a method of duplicating the Luminous Engine’s effect.
Isara Marquez is one of the two designers that worked on the Seventh Dawn when it was just a prototype, and if any were responsible for its off-market enhancements, the nineteen-year-old wunderkind is as good a candidate as any. Last seen in Machanon, Marquez could be anywhere, but recent intel from their contacts at the Arbiters of Truth puts her in…
**
“Koehnta in twenty," Marina says. The pilot of the Starfall is not so much positioned in her seat as she is draped lazily across it. She's been on a posture strike since missing out on a heist she wouldn't have participated in in the first place, but love of flying wild is hard to ignore. Posture is optional. Linnet, scribbling notes on Wedge's recipe for tomato-lemon hors d'oeurves (and correcting his spelling), is hovering an inch above her seat in a lotus pose.
The Arbiters sent a lot of information, not all of it (not most of it) useful. Yves is looking very slightly fluffy today. Rather as if he had to do a lot of vigorous toweling shortly before he arrived. All the same, he's dressed in his version of prim and proper--black with silver accents, that reliable satchel, and a good adventuring jacket--and looks ready to go... recruit? Or something along those lines. Maybe there will be a party involved. Apparently he's good at those now. "Now, everyone remember that last time you were here, you made a great impression on everyone, and you are not to wreck my hard work after the fact," Rahel instructs the officers. "We worked very hard as the decoy team and I'll be damned if I'll let you sleepwalk through a public appearance and wreck it."
"So I'm not allowed to go on a spending spree in an art store?" Linnet teases. Eric/Isa — 03/30/2022 Isa is standing near one of the forward windows on the bridge, holding a rail and looking out into the sky. She is wearing her sword today, and it is incongruous enough that it may prompt the awareness that she has not been seen carrying her spear since the party in Cardia.
"What do we know about Koehnta? I've never been." Orrey asks as he works on another charcoal drawing of the Shinryu mask.
No matter where Bast has been for the last six hours, the captain's hat has been there. Hanging from hooks on the wall. Resting comfortably in a chair. Sitting in an open doorway. Waiting.
"It was a marvelous job," Yves says earnestly to Rahel. "I had a few worries based on the after-report, but really it all turned out so well, didn't it?"
Bast glances up at the hat again, wary of haberdambush, before returning his attention to the mechanical city in his hand.
Rahel beams at the praise, and adjusts one of Yves's earrings to be at an even more rakish angle as thanks.
"Rahel, I promise not to ruin your reputation and my own by association," pledges Linnet. Honestly, all we're doing is hunting engineers. How hard can it be?" An ominous and ill-timed chord echoes from the rehearsal space in the hold.
"You're going at a good time," Bjrn says. The decoy team has assembled for the pre-landing briefing, to cover anything important from their recent journey here. "The Moonfire Faire is starting in a day or two, and everyone was really excited for it."
At the mention of a faire, Isa's head whips around so fast her braid smacks the glass she was just looking out of. "Beg pardon?"
"...hunting one young engineer in a town full of tourists. Okay, up the difficulty a bit. Still not too bad." Linnet shrugs.
Yves suddenly looks much less confident. "Are there... balloons?"
"Almost certainly." Bast remarks without looking up. "Don't worry, we'll protect you."
"They're not frightening, they're just..." Yves makes helpless, uneasy little gestures. "They're fine! It's fine. We're all fine here. I'm going to get some coffee before we land." And possibly a very small blowtorch.
"It's honestly a pretty nice place. A lot nicer than I expected." Rahel digs in her pocket for a stick of gum. "It's pretty... earthy? I mean, maybe iron-y. God of the forge, all that. Like a big maker faire. Lots of crafts. I bought Apoc a metal chocobo pin."
"Has anyone asked Artemicion if he'd like some time for business?" Isa asks, knowing how important it is to keep a smith happy.
"Let's bring him along! Engineers and their side projects and all that. The forge can sit quiet for a day." Linnet is twinkly-eyed at the prospect of some craft faire browsing in between serious mission things.
At Rahel's explanation, Bast does look up at Yves. "Anything you still need for that water feature? Sounds like a good place for that." The city in his hands continues to move minutely, guarding its secrets.
Yves hesitates in the doorway. "That's an excellent point," he says. "Maybe I need a larger bag. For... equipment. Yes. I'll be right back." He strides away with great determination. "Final approach," Marina calls out. "Find a seat, or one'll be found for you momentarily."
(Mostly to show off, Linnet is still hovering over a seat.)
Orrey puts away his artistical accoutrements and straps in.
Yves returns with a cup of coffee, his usual satchel, and a large rucksack that emits muffled clinks as he sits down.
Bast slides farther back in his seat, hands cradling the city in his lap. "You want railing welded where?"
"Ten inches back from the wall, behind the windows of the bridge."
"Weird, but you're the boss."
Isa locks the heel of her boots against a metal bar, and resumes her grip on the railing, as if she were on the bridge of a cruiser built in Cardia and not the ancient remnant of a dead empire.
The first thing everyone notices is the pillar of fire.
Some will try to talk about the architecture -- brick and wrought iron, welded steel pipes -- or the sounds -- the eternal clanging of metal, the tinny sound of boots on hard walkways -- but really, it's the pillar of fire.
It stretches over a hundred feet high from its base, emerging from a massive cauldron atop a steel ziggurat in the center of town. The fire burns bright red, though the color and heat change on special occasion. It does not blow with the wind, and embers from the fire do not threaten the safety of the buildings on the outer edges of the plaza that holds it.
None of the smoke rising from the various forges and workshops throughout the city ever reaches as high, always dissipating just before it would join the fire's own cloud.
Joining the officers on this excursion are Artemicion (putting in professional appearances), Owen (for carrying impulse buys), Lily (sword-related curiosity), and Mogali (no reason, really). "Does anyone know where to begin looking for Marquez?" Orrey asks quietly.
"...if we're looking at anything other than the giant burny bit, I'm gonna need a minute." Linnet is entranced. Not necessarily in a good way, just utterly absorbed. A-la "moth, meet flame."
Bast whistles quietly as the fire pillar comes into view. "Can't really do justice to something like that in stories, huh." He glances over at Yves' Large Bag. "Time to do some mingling and see what we can find out."
Yves is examining the people near the pillar critically, though even he has some admiration for the actual GIANT FIRE part while he's doing so.
"A story in a good picture book might come close." Orrey muses, considering a future career.
Isa has aligned herself with Lily and Artemicion, as an ersatz Sword Faction. "Like to see where the fire's put to use," she suggests.
Lily nods firmly. Good Cardian nod. They're good at it. Nod's not as good as the Stern Disapproval. Isa's gotten really good at that.
"Yes," Yves says thoughtfully, "that's a good plan. You know, I've been thinking about picking up some functional things, and also some decor. Could everyone keep an eye out for a place selling, I don't know, maybe something that would go well with the water feature. Iron turtles, maybe? Fish wouldn't do as well, they would be inside the water."
About seventeen minutes of wandering (mixed with eleven minutes of Linnet going "ooh!" and Orrey saying "I don't think we can afford that" and Orrey saying "ooh!" and Linnet saying "I am absolutely certain we cannot afford that"), Artemicion murmurs, "An entire store of turtles? Curious."
(Every time they stop somewhere that is not a shop, Linnet finds herself staring fixedly at the giant pillar of fire. So Linnet is very careful to stop in shops.)
"Where?" Yves demands, whipping his head around so fast his ears swing about him and nearly impale someone with an earring.
Isa and Lily have taken to poring over every weaponsmith they pass, debating in forceful whispers. So far, none of them seem to pass muster.
"Right over... here..." Artemicion says, pointing to the store right next to him. "Too much time in the sun, kupo."
"I need," Yves says seriously, "an iron turtle. Or a few, if they're small. Maybe a few other things, but give me a moment." He hurries into the turtle store with much intent.
Orrey never has enough time to actually finish sketching the pillar of flame or the shops or the interesting people passing by, but has about 20 interrupted, halfway done drawings.
Moving with the innate grace of the very tall, Owen silently follows Yves, in case eighty pounds of viera cannot carry eighty pounds of turtle.
Bast looks over from where he's poking through flanges and filigree at yet another metalworker's stall, decides that Yves is probably not in significant danger from an assortment of metal turtles, and gets back to examining some rather excessively decorated smithing tools.
The iron turtle shop -- it's actually called The Iron Turtle Shop -- has turtles of all sizes and shapes, so long as that shape is a turtle. The proprieter, a stocky moogle with a shield on his back, adjusts his thick glasses as Yves enters. "Turtles," he says, helpfully.
"YES," says Yves, and then clears his throat. "So, I was thinking maybe a smallish set that would look good with an indoor water feature. Sturdy, so that they won't break if they get knocked around a little in a storm, but not so sturdy that they punch holes through the furniture. Anything along those lines?" And he thus prepares to negotiate Turtle Acquisition with the expert.
"Wide base, second edition," the moogle says, lumbering up from his stool. "Treated for full immersion. Call 'em the Trotter Squatters."
At that, Linnet has to abruptly exit the shop lest she fall over laughing and break something.
Artemicion has left the turtles behind and is observing rugs with a practiced eye.
Outside, Isa throws up her hands. "They're fine, I guess." Lily shakes her head. "'Fine' isn't good enough and you know it."
"Oh, excellent," Yves says, following along to examine the trot-squat squad. "I'll want at least--oh, Owen! Excellent, then I'll be able to take that set."
Owen dutifully scoops up the turtles and follows Yves out of the store.
"What are you looking for?" Mogali, or at least a giant scarf with a pompom pretending to be her, asks up to Isa.
Isa and Lily both look down at Mogali with a synchronization so precise that they must have been practicing. "Private," they say in unison.
The scarf murmurs something unspeakably vile and drifts away.
Yves strides briskly along, the sunniest black bunny today, and stops to examine rugs near Artemicion. "...okay, professionally, what do you think of that?"
Linnet collects the scarf and soothes her wounded ego by commencing a search for enameled pink things. There aren't many, but every so often, someone's injected some color into this city full of bright fire and confusing metal.
"...speaking of pink things, you haven't seen any eccentric young engineering-type girls while we've been browsing, have you, Mogali? Someone who looks like they should be in class but they're skipping to go tinker in an engine." Linnet shrugs.
"It's a rug," Artemicion says. "I don't know rugs." After a moment, though, he says, "The make doesn't match the one next to it. There are too many different schools of design happening here for these rugs to be made by the same person, or even a single school of thought. That is a siren weave placed alongside a batagnian pattern. This isn't a rug merchant, this is a front."
Mogali shakes her head, pompom dancing all about. "I haven't. I'd have noticed anyone else who looks like Yves."
"See, that's the sort of thing a person who understands crafts would spot, whether or not they know rugs," Yves says agreeably. "Maybe if we find the proprietor, we could ask after what's in the back. ...and a rug, I wouldn't mind a rug too."
Bast, while looking over a figurine of a hawk in flight, forgelight glinting off its feathers, carries on a quiet conversation with the merchant: "...know who the best shipwrights are around here? Got some changes to make to the hold, you don't just hand that off to the crew and hope it doesn't fall apart one day..."
Linnet pauses. "I wouldn't have said 'looks like Yves' would be our criteria, but in many ways, you're right. Let's keep looking and maybe we'll hear something useful. Ooh, look, hammered feathers!" (They're nearby, but the jewelry merchant is far more interesting than the rugs.)
After a few miscommunicated whispers between Yves and the rug merchant, who looks entirely honest but is definitely wearing a fake mustache, a Secret Stash is revealed.
Lily pauses outside and grabs Isa's arm. She points into the rug merchant's shop, which has a new back-wall display that is full of very impressive blades.
"...oh," Yves says, faintly disappointed, "those are very nice weapons, and I think some of my friends might like to purchase them, but do you have anything less weapon-like behind the behind?"
Isa's eyes widen fractionally. "Alright that's interesting..."
"You're here for the Quacks, then," the merchant says conspiratorially. "The Quacks of Quedlinburg's?"
"Yes," Yves says, in great relief. "Though if you want to sell the pointy things to the others, I'm sure they'd love those sorts of things. Very into the stabbing and all that, so good at it, you know how some people are. Absolute experts. I'm more of a chemist, myself. Though, hm, I wonder if Linnet would want to come along, since she's also a cook."
Isa and Lily get closer to the weapons display, and you can see the interest in their eyes die. "Oh," says Lily, disappointed.
"Yeah," says Isa.
"So close," says Lily.
"Shit," Isa agrees.
"...maybe too into stabbing to love those ones in particular," Yves amends woefully.
Kupostache opens a door in the back of the store and directs any who are interested (and interested in keeping their godsdamned mouths shut after) into Quedlinburg's.
Orrey is most certainly in on this quackery.
Yves doesn't need to be asked twice, and hauls himself in there, along with that faintly clicking rucksack. He's come prepared.
(Linnet has noticed and pried herself away from a display of interesting (if cheap) jewelry, though not without a few purchases. Mogali follows, playing at being a ninja, if a very pink one.)
Bast, finished with his inquiries, follows the rest of the crew to find out just what has them all so interested in a rug shop.
The first thing everyone notices about Quedlinburg's is the smell. It smells like chemical burns, with an aftertaste of paint thinner and a sprig of parsley. Though from the look in Yves's eye, that's not parsley.
The seedy little shop has a tonberry in a knit cap behind the reinforced glass counter, the display full of vials of various powders, liquids, and gases. A record player spins next to them, spitting out an upbeat jazz number.
"It has been so long since I restocked," Yves says, "and I've been hoping we could even compare--wait, do you have the Silver Unicorn flavor of axiomatic? I thought that everyone who knew how to make that had died! Or was it finally recreated? I never quite dared try my hand at that personally, but maybe one of these days if I get a sturdier lab and some proper respiratory protective gear..." He beelines for the counter.
...Linnet just tucks herself in a niche by the door and tries not to glue her palm too hard to her face.
They're using words all of you recognize, just not in the order they're using them. Yves hasn't looked this excited since Principia wanted a bookshelf in Yves's cabin.
It is becoming clear that not only did Yves bring a rucksack to restock in, he's brought his own vials and powders and what not to compare, a set of droppers and other liquids to test aspects of things on sale, and a great deal of enthusiasm for the entire proceeding. Some of which he gives passing commentary on to his crewmates. Mostly about which things shouldn't be consumed by which species. It turns out that everyone who's not human can try the axiomatic if they want (though maybe not Silver Unicorn blend as their first attempt), but there are a few things not appropriate for sylphs. Or moogles. Or--oh, there's one that's only safe for moogles and tonberries, go figure.
Bast wanders slowly past the display cases, nails occasionally ticking on glass as though marking things off, before he retreats and cedes the field to the lop-eared, awkward master.
Isa and Lily decided not to descend into a drug den, because Cardians are Ducorde's greatest buzzkills. They have taken their debate onto the street.
"Best customer I've had all day," the tonberry -- Olamide, they introduced themselves eleven vials ago -- says happily. "And you had stiff competition!"
"Who could possibly compete with our Yv...Ivan?" Orrey asks, watching Yves at work.
(Mogali has begun poking at various brightly colored objects. Linnet has her free hand on the end of the scarf.)
"Oo, who's been by? Anyone who does their own blends too?" Yves asks, full of the most sincere sincerity most people here have seen from him when no masks, journals, or grandmothers are involved.
"Marquez," they reply succinctly.
(Linnet yanks on the scarf when Mogali starts to speak up. She gets the hint and nearly topples into something ludicrously colorful.)
Bast tilts his head and makes an inquisitive Hmmm? sound at Olamide.
"Huh. I feel like I've heard that name elsewhere recently," Yves says absently, sliding another vial across the counter. "So, you'll tell me what you think of this the next time I stop by, right? Just for the sake of comparison."
"Absolutely. You take care now, and be sure to lock all the doors before you try the Couerling Iron."
Yves adds another note to the journal where he's been keeping tabs on all the warnings for new drugs. He's libertine, not reckless. "For sure. Thank you."
Olamide turns to Bast. "Can I help you?"
"Oh, not with the product." Bast waves vaguely at the displays. "He's got a much better head for this sort of thing. That name sounded familiar, but I can't quite place it."
"Are they famous?" Orrey asks Bast and Yves.
(Linnet has begun gently shepherding the rest of the party out the door before they buy something ill advised or ask a poorly timed question. It's not going well.)
Orrey looks thoughtful. "Or are they someone we partied with a while back?"
"I mean, I partied with a lot of people before the--this job, but most of them I don't remember the names of if I didn't work with them in that job," Yves says dubiously. "I'm not sure that's it. Maybe it came up more recently."
"If you were in Thalatte two weeks ago, you definitely did," Olamide says jovially. "Isara Marquez. Celebrating the run-up to her 20th birthday, which I think she said is eight months away, which should tell you something. She's in for the Faire, and made sure to stop by like always."
"What's she look like?" Orrey asks Stachemaster O.
"Sounds like someone looking for a hell of a party." Bast grins at Olamide. "Some noble kid cutting loose?"
Outside, the noble kids have enlisted Owen in their discussion, though he seems uncertain what side to take. Or if there are sides.
"About your height, fire-red hair half-dyed black and chopped short, big on the one-eye eyeshadow," Olamide tells Orrey.
"See, I told you pink wasn't her color. Save the pink for you and we'll get the copper for her." Linnet winks at Mogali.
"Memorable!" Orrey grins. "Where is everybody gathering for said party?"
"Oh, hey," Yves says, "now I remember where I know the name from! Oh wow I bet she knows exactly how to make a proper ventilation hood that can hold up to turbulence."
Linnet begins several sentences, finishes none of them, and gracefully exits the shop before starting a pointed discussion with Yves about the wisdom of chemistry experiments aboard ship.
"Celestial Forge, center of town," Olamide says. "Facing the fire from the east."
"Awesome! Thanks, I imagine we'll be back relatively soon." Orrey glances at Yves and Bast. "Got everything we need?"
Bast opens a hand towards Yves, obviously deferring to his judgment on this question.
Yves looks into his rucksack, and smiles dreamily. "Oh yes. I wonder if Principia would be able to try any of these? I'll have to ask about that. Species issues and all, you know. Don't worry, we'll be very careful with any experimentation." He ducks something like a bow to Olamide. "Thank you so much. I'll be back the next time I'm in town, for sure."
Orrey heads out and approaches the Cardian Cabal. "Isa, I think I might need your help. I may be becoming...an actor."
Once everyone is gathered outside, Linnet steers them toward the Celestial Forge with a warning: "Anyone catches me staring at the pillar of flame again, pull my braid and point me somewhere else. They better have good snacks over here. And strong tea."
Isa gives Orrey a look of pure, unfiltered horror. "...why."
Owen just walks over and gives Orrey a warm, gentle hug.
"Talent. Move, people," commands Linnet.
"They can help," Owen says, and then follows Linnet, because Owen is good at following orders.
Orrey melts in Owen's warm embrace, completely refreshed, and hustles to catch up with the Gale Linnet.
"I'm getting better at dealing with people," Yves informs Isa, as he follows everyone along with his now much heavier rucksack. "But not in an acting way, I think."
"Oh, you acted phenomenally in there. Thanks for backing me up. I couldn't have done it without you." Orrey says.
Linnet gives him a Look that would break his toes if dropped, but doesn't stop hustling.
"Actors don't deal with people," Isa says as she falls in step with Yves. "They deal with the idea of people. Authors' ideas of people."
"We did get a lead from the Stachemeister. Marquez is partying at the Forge." Orrey says.
"Isa, there's on-stage acting and then there's roleplaying. They're two sides of the same coin." Linnet sounds like she's given this speech before.
The first thing people notice about the Celestial Forge is the--
--well, it's probably not the thick guard presence surrounding the building, with the crowd milling about past them, all watching the building.
"You don't always have to be slotted into a role constructed of paper and fondant by someone sitting scribbling in a garret for a year; sometimes, you slip into a role much more naturally...like we're about to slip into the role of 'quiet bystanders.'" Linnet stops abruptly and joins the milling. Naturally, she glances about for signs of an explosion.
No one is going in or out of the Celestial Forge; no one even approaches it. Guards keep their distance, with a few occasionally gesturing for the crowd to stop approaching in their curiosity.
"I'm not sure I understand the distinctions being made," Yves says dubiously, "but if someone has a journal article about it, I'll try to read up."
Bast nudges the shoulder of some viera who was there before the party arrived on the scene. "What's going on?"
"That's not a journal article, honey, that's an entire field of weighty theory tomes and popular philosophy. Save your energy and try to puzzle out whether something exploded or someone's been arrested - or they're anticipating one of the above." Linnet cranes her neck to see above the crowd, to no avail.
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaan," whines the male human next to Bast. He has a blond beard tied into three separate braids and smells vaguely of sand and regret. "Someone went and took hostages inside the Forge and now they're sayin' we might have to cancel the Faire or they're gonna 'reforge the defilers' or somethin'."
"...wait, are the guards threatening to reforge people, or the hostage-takers?" Yves asks, realizing that there might be more interesting things than sociology at hand. Or maybe just really applied social dynamics. "Because either way it sounds...combustible."
"If only we had a hero around," the dude laments.
"Defilers...is this some sort of cult trying to take over?" Orrey asks.
"Yeah, that'd be helpful," Isa admits.
Linnet glares at her companions. "When did this happen?"
"I don't know," Yves says, baffled. "I've never reforged anyone metaphorically before, and if I've defiled anything, I was probably not entirely sober at the time."
"Yeah man," the dude says, offering a fist to bump with Yves. No one's quite sure why.
Yves fist-bumps back solemnly.
Linnet dismisses the stoned idiot, climbs up a lamppost, and starts looking around for some sort of approachable authority figure.
Orrey frowns and pulls out his necklace with the symbols of the twelve, holding the anvil of Koehnta. "Keohnta, master of fire and forge, should we intervene in this hostage situation in your Celestial Forge?"
"Woah," says the dude.
"I mean, I'm sober right now, so as far as I know the no-sober-defiling streak is still good," Yves says to himself.
"We should go," Orrey says, pointing towards the Forge. "Our intervention is blessed by the God of the Forge."
"Wish I wasn't, though," the dude says. "This is heavy. And the gods're getting involved now?"
"The Twelve are always with us, uh, dude." Orrey says.
"Wicked," he says, nodding over a dozen times.
Yves rummages through his knapsack, and then comes out with a tiny baggie which he hands to the dude. "Probably if you want to get some distance and get less sober, now's a good time," he says amiably.
"Abide later, dudes. Mogali, maybe run back to the crew and tell them we'll be a little late? And find Owen and the smith and let them know. No use having Owen worry, and you and Lily continue to enjoy the festival in the meantime." Linnet hops down off the lamppost.
Orrey checks his watch and looks towards Isa and Bast, waiting for their lead.
"Cap'n, find us a way in; I'm going to see about someone to talk to," declares Linnet.
"Nah man," the dude says, pushing the baggie back to Yves. "If our most holy smith wishes to use me as a tool of his will to secure his faithful, I will be ready and willing. Anytime, anywhere, man!"
Isa just looks at this whole...situation, and gives a dubious glance towards Bast.
Bast narrows his eyes. "...let's see." After glancing this way and that, he nods for Isa to follow and marches up to the guards, stopping before one who seems to be in charge and glowering up at him. "Bast, of the Starfall. I understand you have a hostage situation here?"
Isa does her best henchman impression.
(Linnet hovers behind his shoulder for effect.)
"You've got some real ethical principles there," Yves says to the helpful bystander, and puts the baggie away again with the others. "...I should've sent this knapsack off with Owen, huh. Well, it'll be fine." He then turns to watch Bast do that captainly magic. Not the real kind of magic (which tends to involve fire, lightning bolts, horrible screaming, and so forth) but the metaphorical, social type that there are so many journals about.
A figure pushes to the edge of the crowd, pausing at the forefront. Of moderate height and slender build, wearing loose clothing over light plates of armor. A sword at their hip, and a mask of ceramic, white and crimson and gold, on their face.
They look from guard to guard, choosing their moment, which happens to be just as Bast steps up to speak to them... and then break into a dash for the Forge.
Twelve fast paces and an athletic leap, and they are past the line of security.
Whatever balance the situation had, is about to be upset.
The magic-eating ball, or to use the scientific term, the nethicite, is the most interesting of the lot. The Alternans devised machines that would use the magic-absorbing properties of the nethicite to protect large regions from magical storms and other phenomena, the largest of these said to be the Luminous Engine. Considering the fact that the Seventh Dawn produces a field that protects the ship from Alternan storms — and, indeed, suppresses the storms entirely on the ruined island — the officers of the Starfall have decided to find a method of duplicating the Luminous Engine’s effect.
Isara Marquez is one of the two designers that worked on the Seventh Dawn when it was just a prototype, and if any were responsible for its off-market enhancements, the nineteen-year-old wunderkind is as good a candidate as any. Last seen in Machanon, Marquez could be anywhere, but recent intel from their contacts at the Arbiters of Truth puts her in…
**
“Koehnta in twenty," Marina says. The pilot of the Starfall is not so much positioned in her seat as she is draped lazily across it. She's been on a posture strike since missing out on a heist she wouldn't have participated in in the first place, but love of flying wild is hard to ignore. Posture is optional. Linnet, scribbling notes on Wedge's recipe for tomato-lemon hors d'oeurves (and correcting his spelling), is hovering an inch above her seat in a lotus pose.
The Arbiters sent a lot of information, not all of it (not most of it) useful. Yves is looking very slightly fluffy today. Rather as if he had to do a lot of vigorous toweling shortly before he arrived. All the same, he's dressed in his version of prim and proper--black with silver accents, that reliable satchel, and a good adventuring jacket--and looks ready to go... recruit? Or something along those lines. Maybe there will be a party involved. Apparently he's good at those now. "Now, everyone remember that last time you were here, you made a great impression on everyone, and you are not to wreck my hard work after the fact," Rahel instructs the officers. "We worked very hard as the decoy team and I'll be damned if I'll let you sleepwalk through a public appearance and wreck it."
"So I'm not allowed to go on a spending spree in an art store?" Linnet teases. Eric/Isa — 03/30/2022 Isa is standing near one of the forward windows on the bridge, holding a rail and looking out into the sky. She is wearing her sword today, and it is incongruous enough that it may prompt the awareness that she has not been seen carrying her spear since the party in Cardia.
"What do we know about Koehnta? I've never been." Orrey asks as he works on another charcoal drawing of the Shinryu mask.
No matter where Bast has been for the last six hours, the captain's hat has been there. Hanging from hooks on the wall. Resting comfortably in a chair. Sitting in an open doorway. Waiting.
"It was a marvelous job," Yves says earnestly to Rahel. "I had a few worries based on the after-report, but really it all turned out so well, didn't it?"
Bast glances up at the hat again, wary of haberdambush, before returning his attention to the mechanical city in his hand.
Rahel beams at the praise, and adjusts one of Yves's earrings to be at an even more rakish angle as thanks.
"Rahel, I promise not to ruin your reputation and my own by association," pledges Linnet. Honestly, all we're doing is hunting engineers. How hard can it be?" An ominous and ill-timed chord echoes from the rehearsal space in the hold.
"You're going at a good time," Bjrn says. The decoy team has assembled for the pre-landing briefing, to cover anything important from their recent journey here. "The Moonfire Faire is starting in a day or two, and everyone was really excited for it."
At the mention of a faire, Isa's head whips around so fast her braid smacks the glass she was just looking out of. "Beg pardon?"
"...hunting one young engineer in a town full of tourists. Okay, up the difficulty a bit. Still not too bad." Linnet shrugs.
Yves suddenly looks much less confident. "Are there... balloons?"
"Almost certainly." Bast remarks without looking up. "Don't worry, we'll protect you."
"They're not frightening, they're just..." Yves makes helpless, uneasy little gestures. "They're fine! It's fine. We're all fine here. I'm going to get some coffee before we land." And possibly a very small blowtorch.
"It's honestly a pretty nice place. A lot nicer than I expected." Rahel digs in her pocket for a stick of gum. "It's pretty... earthy? I mean, maybe iron-y. God of the forge, all that. Like a big maker faire. Lots of crafts. I bought Apoc a metal chocobo pin."
"Has anyone asked Artemicion if he'd like some time for business?" Isa asks, knowing how important it is to keep a smith happy.
"Let's bring him along! Engineers and their side projects and all that. The forge can sit quiet for a day." Linnet is twinkly-eyed at the prospect of some craft faire browsing in between serious mission things.
At Rahel's explanation, Bast does look up at Yves. "Anything you still need for that water feature? Sounds like a good place for that." The city in his hands continues to move minutely, guarding its secrets.
Yves hesitates in the doorway. "That's an excellent point," he says. "Maybe I need a larger bag. For... equipment. Yes. I'll be right back." He strides away with great determination. "Final approach," Marina calls out. "Find a seat, or one'll be found for you momentarily."
(Mostly to show off, Linnet is still hovering over a seat.)
Orrey puts away his artistical accoutrements and straps in.
Yves returns with a cup of coffee, his usual satchel, and a large rucksack that emits muffled clinks as he sits down.
Bast slides farther back in his seat, hands cradling the city in his lap. "You want railing welded where?"
"Ten inches back from the wall, behind the windows of the bridge."
"Weird, but you're the boss."
Isa locks the heel of her boots against a metal bar, and resumes her grip on the railing, as if she were on the bridge of a cruiser built in Cardia and not the ancient remnant of a dead empire.
The first thing everyone notices is the pillar of fire.
Some will try to talk about the architecture -- brick and wrought iron, welded steel pipes -- or the sounds -- the eternal clanging of metal, the tinny sound of boots on hard walkways -- but really, it's the pillar of fire.
It stretches over a hundred feet high from its base, emerging from a massive cauldron atop a steel ziggurat in the center of town. The fire burns bright red, though the color and heat change on special occasion. It does not blow with the wind, and embers from the fire do not threaten the safety of the buildings on the outer edges of the plaza that holds it.
None of the smoke rising from the various forges and workshops throughout the city ever reaches as high, always dissipating just before it would join the fire's own cloud.
Joining the officers on this excursion are Artemicion (putting in professional appearances), Owen (for carrying impulse buys), Lily (sword-related curiosity), and Mogali (no reason, really). "Does anyone know where to begin looking for Marquez?" Orrey asks quietly.
"...if we're looking at anything other than the giant burny bit, I'm gonna need a minute." Linnet is entranced. Not necessarily in a good way, just utterly absorbed. A-la "moth, meet flame."
Bast whistles quietly as the fire pillar comes into view. "Can't really do justice to something like that in stories, huh." He glances over at Yves' Large Bag. "Time to do some mingling and see what we can find out."
Yves is examining the people near the pillar critically, though even he has some admiration for the actual GIANT FIRE part while he's doing so.
"A story in a good picture book might come close." Orrey muses, considering a future career.
Isa has aligned herself with Lily and Artemicion, as an ersatz Sword Faction. "Like to see where the fire's put to use," she suggests.
Lily nods firmly. Good Cardian nod. They're good at it. Nod's not as good as the Stern Disapproval. Isa's gotten really good at that.
"Yes," Yves says thoughtfully, "that's a good plan. You know, I've been thinking about picking up some functional things, and also some decor. Could everyone keep an eye out for a place selling, I don't know, maybe something that would go well with the water feature. Iron turtles, maybe? Fish wouldn't do as well, they would be inside the water."
About seventeen minutes of wandering (mixed with eleven minutes of Linnet going "ooh!" and Orrey saying "I don't think we can afford that" and Orrey saying "ooh!" and Linnet saying "I am absolutely certain we cannot afford that"), Artemicion murmurs, "An entire store of turtles? Curious."
(Every time they stop somewhere that is not a shop, Linnet finds herself staring fixedly at the giant pillar of fire. So Linnet is very careful to stop in shops.)
"Where?" Yves demands, whipping his head around so fast his ears swing about him and nearly impale someone with an earring.
Isa and Lily have taken to poring over every weaponsmith they pass, debating in forceful whispers. So far, none of them seem to pass muster.
"Right over... here..." Artemicion says, pointing to the store right next to him. "Too much time in the sun, kupo."
"I need," Yves says seriously, "an iron turtle. Or a few, if they're small. Maybe a few other things, but give me a moment." He hurries into the turtle store with much intent.
Orrey never has enough time to actually finish sketching the pillar of flame or the shops or the interesting people passing by, but has about 20 interrupted, halfway done drawings.
Moving with the innate grace of the very tall, Owen silently follows Yves, in case eighty pounds of viera cannot carry eighty pounds of turtle.
Bast looks over from where he's poking through flanges and filigree at yet another metalworker's stall, decides that Yves is probably not in significant danger from an assortment of metal turtles, and gets back to examining some rather excessively decorated smithing tools.
The iron turtle shop -- it's actually called The Iron Turtle Shop -- has turtles of all sizes and shapes, so long as that shape is a turtle. The proprieter, a stocky moogle with a shield on his back, adjusts his thick glasses as Yves enters. "Turtles," he says, helpfully.
"YES," says Yves, and then clears his throat. "So, I was thinking maybe a smallish set that would look good with an indoor water feature. Sturdy, so that they won't break if they get knocked around a little in a storm, but not so sturdy that they punch holes through the furniture. Anything along those lines?" And he thus prepares to negotiate Turtle Acquisition with the expert.
"Wide base, second edition," the moogle says, lumbering up from his stool. "Treated for full immersion. Call 'em the Trotter Squatters."
At that, Linnet has to abruptly exit the shop lest she fall over laughing and break something.
Artemicion has left the turtles behind and is observing rugs with a practiced eye.
Outside, Isa throws up her hands. "They're fine, I guess." Lily shakes her head. "'Fine' isn't good enough and you know it."
"Oh, excellent," Yves says, following along to examine the trot-squat squad. "I'll want at least--oh, Owen! Excellent, then I'll be able to take that set."
Owen dutifully scoops up the turtles and follows Yves out of the store.
"What are you looking for?" Mogali, or at least a giant scarf with a pompom pretending to be her, asks up to Isa.
Isa and Lily both look down at Mogali with a synchronization so precise that they must have been practicing. "Private," they say in unison.
The scarf murmurs something unspeakably vile and drifts away.
Yves strides briskly along, the sunniest black bunny today, and stops to examine rugs near Artemicion. "...okay, professionally, what do you think of that?"
Linnet collects the scarf and soothes her wounded ego by commencing a search for enameled pink things. There aren't many, but every so often, someone's injected some color into this city full of bright fire and confusing metal.
"...speaking of pink things, you haven't seen any eccentric young engineering-type girls while we've been browsing, have you, Mogali? Someone who looks like they should be in class but they're skipping to go tinker in an engine." Linnet shrugs.
"It's a rug," Artemicion says. "I don't know rugs." After a moment, though, he says, "The make doesn't match the one next to it. There are too many different schools of design happening here for these rugs to be made by the same person, or even a single school of thought. That is a siren weave placed alongside a batagnian pattern. This isn't a rug merchant, this is a front."
Mogali shakes her head, pompom dancing all about. "I haven't. I'd have noticed anyone else who looks like Yves."
"See, that's the sort of thing a person who understands crafts would spot, whether or not they know rugs," Yves says agreeably. "Maybe if we find the proprietor, we could ask after what's in the back. ...and a rug, I wouldn't mind a rug too."
Bast, while looking over a figurine of a hawk in flight, forgelight glinting off its feathers, carries on a quiet conversation with the merchant: "...know who the best shipwrights are around here? Got some changes to make to the hold, you don't just hand that off to the crew and hope it doesn't fall apart one day..."
Linnet pauses. "I wouldn't have said 'looks like Yves' would be our criteria, but in many ways, you're right. Let's keep looking and maybe we'll hear something useful. Ooh, look, hammered feathers!" (They're nearby, but the jewelry merchant is far more interesting than the rugs.)
After a few miscommunicated whispers between Yves and the rug merchant, who looks entirely honest but is definitely wearing a fake mustache, a Secret Stash is revealed.
Lily pauses outside and grabs Isa's arm. She points into the rug merchant's shop, which has a new back-wall display that is full of very impressive blades.
"...oh," Yves says, faintly disappointed, "those are very nice weapons, and I think some of my friends might like to purchase them, but do you have anything less weapon-like behind the behind?"
Isa's eyes widen fractionally. "Alright that's interesting..."
"You're here for the Quacks, then," the merchant says conspiratorially. "The Quacks of Quedlinburg's?"
"Yes," Yves says, in great relief. "Though if you want to sell the pointy things to the others, I'm sure they'd love those sorts of things. Very into the stabbing and all that, so good at it, you know how some people are. Absolute experts. I'm more of a chemist, myself. Though, hm, I wonder if Linnet would want to come along, since she's also a cook."
Isa and Lily get closer to the weapons display, and you can see the interest in their eyes die. "Oh," says Lily, disappointed.
"Yeah," says Isa.
"So close," says Lily.
"Shit," Isa agrees.
"...maybe too into stabbing to love those ones in particular," Yves amends woefully.
Kupostache opens a door in the back of the store and directs any who are interested (and interested in keeping their godsdamned mouths shut after) into Quedlinburg's.
Orrey is most certainly in on this quackery.
Yves doesn't need to be asked twice, and hauls himself in there, along with that faintly clicking rucksack. He's come prepared.
(Linnet has noticed and pried herself away from a display of interesting (if cheap) jewelry, though not without a few purchases. Mogali follows, playing at being a ninja, if a very pink one.)
Bast, finished with his inquiries, follows the rest of the crew to find out just what has them all so interested in a rug shop.
The first thing everyone notices about Quedlinburg's is the smell. It smells like chemical burns, with an aftertaste of paint thinner and a sprig of parsley. Though from the look in Yves's eye, that's not parsley.
The seedy little shop has a tonberry in a knit cap behind the reinforced glass counter, the display full of vials of various powders, liquids, and gases. A record player spins next to them, spitting out an upbeat jazz number.
"It has been so long since I restocked," Yves says, "and I've been hoping we could even compare--wait, do you have the Silver Unicorn flavor of axiomatic? I thought that everyone who knew how to make that had died! Or was it finally recreated? I never quite dared try my hand at that personally, but maybe one of these days if I get a sturdier lab and some proper respiratory protective gear..." He beelines for the counter.
...Linnet just tucks herself in a niche by the door and tries not to glue her palm too hard to her face.
They're using words all of you recognize, just not in the order they're using them. Yves hasn't looked this excited since Principia wanted a bookshelf in Yves's cabin.
It is becoming clear that not only did Yves bring a rucksack to restock in, he's brought his own vials and powders and what not to compare, a set of droppers and other liquids to test aspects of things on sale, and a great deal of enthusiasm for the entire proceeding. Some of which he gives passing commentary on to his crewmates. Mostly about which things shouldn't be consumed by which species. It turns out that everyone who's not human can try the axiomatic if they want (though maybe not Silver Unicorn blend as their first attempt), but there are a few things not appropriate for sylphs. Or moogles. Or--oh, there's one that's only safe for moogles and tonberries, go figure.
Bast wanders slowly past the display cases, nails occasionally ticking on glass as though marking things off, before he retreats and cedes the field to the lop-eared, awkward master.
Isa and Lily decided not to descend into a drug den, because Cardians are Ducorde's greatest buzzkills. They have taken their debate onto the street.
"Best customer I've had all day," the tonberry -- Olamide, they introduced themselves eleven vials ago -- says happily. "And you had stiff competition!"
"Who could possibly compete with our Yv...Ivan?" Orrey asks, watching Yves at work.
(Mogali has begun poking at various brightly colored objects. Linnet has her free hand on the end of the scarf.)
"Oo, who's been by? Anyone who does their own blends too?" Yves asks, full of the most sincere sincerity most people here have seen from him when no masks, journals, or grandmothers are involved.
"Marquez," they reply succinctly.
(Linnet yanks on the scarf when Mogali starts to speak up. She gets the hint and nearly topples into something ludicrously colorful.)
Bast tilts his head and makes an inquisitive Hmmm? sound at Olamide.
"Huh. I feel like I've heard that name elsewhere recently," Yves says absently, sliding another vial across the counter. "So, you'll tell me what you think of this the next time I stop by, right? Just for the sake of comparison."
"Absolutely. You take care now, and be sure to lock all the doors before you try the Couerling Iron."
Yves adds another note to the journal where he's been keeping tabs on all the warnings for new drugs. He's libertine, not reckless. "For sure. Thank you."
Olamide turns to Bast. "Can I help you?"
"Oh, not with the product." Bast waves vaguely at the displays. "He's got a much better head for this sort of thing. That name sounded familiar, but I can't quite place it."
"Are they famous?" Orrey asks Bast and Yves.
(Linnet has begun gently shepherding the rest of the party out the door before they buy something ill advised or ask a poorly timed question. It's not going well.)
Orrey looks thoughtful. "Or are they someone we partied with a while back?"
"I mean, I partied with a lot of people before the--this job, but most of them I don't remember the names of if I didn't work with them in that job," Yves says dubiously. "I'm not sure that's it. Maybe it came up more recently."
"If you were in Thalatte two weeks ago, you definitely did," Olamide says jovially. "Isara Marquez. Celebrating the run-up to her 20th birthday, which I think she said is eight months away, which should tell you something. She's in for the Faire, and made sure to stop by like always."
"What's she look like?" Orrey asks Stachemaster O.
"Sounds like someone looking for a hell of a party." Bast grins at Olamide. "Some noble kid cutting loose?"
Outside, the noble kids have enlisted Owen in their discussion, though he seems uncertain what side to take. Or if there are sides.
"About your height, fire-red hair half-dyed black and chopped short, big on the one-eye eyeshadow," Olamide tells Orrey.
"See, I told you pink wasn't her color. Save the pink for you and we'll get the copper for her." Linnet winks at Mogali.
"Memorable!" Orrey grins. "Where is everybody gathering for said party?"
"Oh, hey," Yves says, "now I remember where I know the name from! Oh wow I bet she knows exactly how to make a proper ventilation hood that can hold up to turbulence."
Linnet begins several sentences, finishes none of them, and gracefully exits the shop before starting a pointed discussion with Yves about the wisdom of chemistry experiments aboard ship.
"Celestial Forge, center of town," Olamide says. "Facing the fire from the east."
"Awesome! Thanks, I imagine we'll be back relatively soon." Orrey glances at Yves and Bast. "Got everything we need?"
Bast opens a hand towards Yves, obviously deferring to his judgment on this question.
Yves looks into his rucksack, and smiles dreamily. "Oh yes. I wonder if Principia would be able to try any of these? I'll have to ask about that. Species issues and all, you know. Don't worry, we'll be very careful with any experimentation." He ducks something like a bow to Olamide. "Thank you so much. I'll be back the next time I'm in town, for sure."
Orrey heads out and approaches the Cardian Cabal. "Isa, I think I might need your help. I may be becoming...an actor."
Once everyone is gathered outside, Linnet steers them toward the Celestial Forge with a warning: "Anyone catches me staring at the pillar of flame again, pull my braid and point me somewhere else. They better have good snacks over here. And strong tea."
Isa gives Orrey a look of pure, unfiltered horror. "...why."
Owen just walks over and gives Orrey a warm, gentle hug.
"Talent. Move, people," commands Linnet.
"They can help," Owen says, and then follows Linnet, because Owen is good at following orders.
Orrey melts in Owen's warm embrace, completely refreshed, and hustles to catch up with the Gale Linnet.
"I'm getting better at dealing with people," Yves informs Isa, as he follows everyone along with his now much heavier rucksack. "But not in an acting way, I think."
"Oh, you acted phenomenally in there. Thanks for backing me up. I couldn't have done it without you." Orrey says.
Linnet gives him a Look that would break his toes if dropped, but doesn't stop hustling.
"Actors don't deal with people," Isa says as she falls in step with Yves. "They deal with the idea of people. Authors' ideas of people."
"We did get a lead from the Stachemeister. Marquez is partying at the Forge." Orrey says.
"Isa, there's on-stage acting and then there's roleplaying. They're two sides of the same coin." Linnet sounds like she's given this speech before.
The first thing people notice about the Celestial Forge is the--
--well, it's probably not the thick guard presence surrounding the building, with the crowd milling about past them, all watching the building.
"You don't always have to be slotted into a role constructed of paper and fondant by someone sitting scribbling in a garret for a year; sometimes, you slip into a role much more naturally...like we're about to slip into the role of 'quiet bystanders.'" Linnet stops abruptly and joins the milling. Naturally, she glances about for signs of an explosion.
No one is going in or out of the Celestial Forge; no one even approaches it. Guards keep their distance, with a few occasionally gesturing for the crowd to stop approaching in their curiosity.
"I'm not sure I understand the distinctions being made," Yves says dubiously, "but if someone has a journal article about it, I'll try to read up."
Bast nudges the shoulder of some viera who was there before the party arrived on the scene. "What's going on?"
"That's not a journal article, honey, that's an entire field of weighty theory tomes and popular philosophy. Save your energy and try to puzzle out whether something exploded or someone's been arrested - or they're anticipating one of the above." Linnet cranes her neck to see above the crowd, to no avail.
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaan," whines the male human next to Bast. He has a blond beard tied into three separate braids and smells vaguely of sand and regret. "Someone went and took hostages inside the Forge and now they're sayin' we might have to cancel the Faire or they're gonna 'reforge the defilers' or somethin'."
"...wait, are the guards threatening to reforge people, or the hostage-takers?" Yves asks, realizing that there might be more interesting things than sociology at hand. Or maybe just really applied social dynamics. "Because either way it sounds...combustible."
"If only we had a hero around," the dude laments.
"Defilers...is this some sort of cult trying to take over?" Orrey asks.
"Yeah, that'd be helpful," Isa admits.
Linnet glares at her companions. "When did this happen?"
"I don't know," Yves says, baffled. "I've never reforged anyone metaphorically before, and if I've defiled anything, I was probably not entirely sober at the time."
"Yeah man," the dude says, offering a fist to bump with Yves. No one's quite sure why.
Yves fist-bumps back solemnly.
Linnet dismisses the stoned idiot, climbs up a lamppost, and starts looking around for some sort of approachable authority figure.
Orrey frowns and pulls out his necklace with the symbols of the twelve, holding the anvil of Koehnta. "Keohnta, master of fire and forge, should we intervene in this hostage situation in your Celestial Forge?"
"Woah," says the dude.
"I mean, I'm sober right now, so as far as I know the no-sober-defiling streak is still good," Yves says to himself.
"We should go," Orrey says, pointing towards the Forge. "Our intervention is blessed by the God of the Forge."
"Wish I wasn't, though," the dude says. "This is heavy. And the gods're getting involved now?"
"The Twelve are always with us, uh, dude." Orrey says.
"Wicked," he says, nodding over a dozen times.
Yves rummages through his knapsack, and then comes out with a tiny baggie which he hands to the dude. "Probably if you want to get some distance and get less sober, now's a good time," he says amiably.
"Abide later, dudes. Mogali, maybe run back to the crew and tell them we'll be a little late? And find Owen and the smith and let them know. No use having Owen worry, and you and Lily continue to enjoy the festival in the meantime." Linnet hops down off the lamppost.
Orrey checks his watch and looks towards Isa and Bast, waiting for their lead.
"Cap'n, find us a way in; I'm going to see about someone to talk to," declares Linnet.
"Nah man," the dude says, pushing the baggie back to Yves. "If our most holy smith wishes to use me as a tool of his will to secure his faithful, I will be ready and willing. Anytime, anywhere, man!"
Isa just looks at this whole...situation, and gives a dubious glance towards Bast.
Bast narrows his eyes. "...let's see." After glancing this way and that, he nods for Isa to follow and marches up to the guards, stopping before one who seems to be in charge and glowering up at him. "Bast, of the Starfall. I understand you have a hostage situation here?"
Isa does her best henchman impression.
(Linnet hovers behind his shoulder for effect.)
"You've got some real ethical principles there," Yves says to the helpful bystander, and puts the baggie away again with the others. "...I should've sent this knapsack off with Owen, huh. Well, it'll be fine." He then turns to watch Bast do that captainly magic. Not the real kind of magic (which tends to involve fire, lightning bolts, horrible screaming, and so forth) but the metaphorical, social type that there are so many journals about.
A figure pushes to the edge of the crowd, pausing at the forefront. Of moderate height and slender build, wearing loose clothing over light plates of armor. A sword at their hip, and a mask of ceramic, white and crimson and gold, on their face.
They look from guard to guard, choosing their moment, which happens to be just as Bast steps up to speak to them... and then break into a dash for the Forge.
Twelve fast paces and an athletic leap, and they are past the line of security.
Whatever balance the situation had, is about to be upset.
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