act41side

I'm sorry, I didn't think it through...

Who cares? It wasn't Nemos's idea, anyway.

I was against it from the start. What's so auspicious about offerings from people who deal with ghosts and corpses all day? We should be glad they only gave us a whistle.

Of course <i>you'd</i> take her side—she saved your life. But we can't just laugh this off! Tell us, Wakewoman, how do you plan to take responsibility for this?

Quiet!

This was not solely her responsibility. If you truly wish to hold the wakemen accountable for disrespecting The Leader, we can revisit the matter later.

Set aside the matter of the ritual objects for now. The Leader sent me ahead to make sure everyone is enjoying themselves.

These are difficult times, so we're keeping things simple—there will be no feast for the ceremony. But feel free to go and relax until she arrives.

Not you, Wakewoman. I expect you to provide Her Highness an explanation for your failure.

Perhaps you could take this chance to curry favor with the other officials. They could put in a good word for you later.

I'll... pass on that, thank you.

Quite the righteous one, I see.

Brigadier, sir, these fellows, have they always been like this?

Ha. Always?

The Bureaucrat once exhausted himself managing logistics for the Silverrock Bluffs front. He went days without sleep, until he was so worn out that he nearly collapsed on the Na Saoirsí agricultural plate.

The Cruel Officer is a cold-hearted scoundrel, to be sure. But during the war, the wealthy merchants and nobles hoarding grain near Na Saoirsí would tremble at the mere mention of his name.

The Torturer I've seen take pleasure in others wailing and screaming. But I've also seen him charge into the enemy ranks like a rabid tuskbeast.

Now, though? Had Her Highness not vetoed it, they'd probably be enjoying a lavish banquet right now, even with the city as it is.

*Sighs* Will our dear Brigadier ever remove that stick from his arse?

You look like you're in a bit of a mood too, Bureaucrat. What's wrong?

What's wrong is that the city's almost out of grain, and I'm responsible.

Well, what can you do? It was a poor harvest.

(*whispers*) Besides, didn't I tell you to pin it on the Victorians? That Emma girl said exactly what you told her to, and the townsfolk took the bait, so what's the problem?

(*whispers*) Even if there <i>is</i> a famine, these people treat The Leader like a god. They'd never turn on us, never.

(*whispers*) Or are you afraid Emma will spill the beans?

(*whispers*) No. She's been on edge since she got back, but she follows instructions to the letter. I'm not worried about that.

(*whispers*) What worries me is the merchant who met with her—there's been no word from him. Normally, we'd have heard something by this morning.

(*whispers*) So there's a little delay, what's the big deal?

What are you two muttering about over there?

Oh, uh...

We were discussing that hero, Culann.

Oh? What about him?

At the time, he told us he took out a whole squad of Victorian scouts in the Dark Woods by himself. Four or five men, by using the terrain to his advantage. Said there was one child left behind, but he couldn't bring himself to finish the job. Sound about right?

But think about it. Why would a scout squad bring a child with them?

Huh? The Wakewoman already explained that. The scouts had taken hostages—a group of merchants who'd travel between Tara and Victoria—and forced them to guide them through the forest.

Sure, I buy that there was a caravan, but the <i>scouts</i>? *sighs* I don't know about that...

'but the scouts? I don't know about that...'

His throat getting dry, the writer grabs his mug, only to find it devoid of beer.

I'll go get you some more.

The mysterious woman stands up and heads to the bar. The writer leans back in his chair.

As has been his habit for many years, he sets about planning how to make the next part of his story captivating. However, as he thinks it through, a sudden tightness grips his heart.

Even if this woman is also a survivor, and even if she knows a thing or two about what happened, he cannot simply lay everything out there like he has been, at least not for this next part.

Heavens knows what she would have to say about it.

This is just a story. A shadow cast on the wall, not the fire itself. A storyteller must always remember this, or they will find themselves consumed by the flames.

Here you are, your beer.

Thank you kindly. Now where were we?

The Dublinner's ugliness at the celebration banquet.

Oh, right.

Well then. The true star of the party is about to make her entrance...

The true star of the party is about to make her entrance.

But until then, Dublinn's ugly visage will remain, so hideous that no one can face it directly.

*sighs* Well, I—

Tch.

What is it?

Is there something crawling on my head?

Ha. It may be freezing here in Na Saoirsí, but at least there are still bugs. Don't move. I'll grab it.

W-Wait...

The banquet hall suddenly quiets down.

Everyone is staring at The Bureaucrat's head, where a beetle is perched.

A solid gold beetle.

...Uh, one of the decorations fell down. Go on, put it back.

The Officer removes the gold beetle from The Bureaucrat's head and places it in his palm.

The Bureaucrat lets out a sigh of relief. He is about to place the beetle back in its original spot when it flutters its diamond-encrusted wings, flies a short distance towards the door, and lands in the center of the hall.

He takes a few steps forward, and the beetle, as if tempting him, crawls a little further ahead.

Such enthusiasm, Mr. Bureaucrat!

Your Highness?!

I-I just wanted to catch this stray beetle for you!

Of course. Why would I blame you for that?

O-Oh, alright then.

By the way, about the sacred instruments I reported to you about...

A trifling matter.

What is truly important is that my faithful servants be rewarded for this victory.

Eblana picks up the beetle from the ground and flattens her palm. The beetle buzzes as it flies toward the door.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are in the very hall where the treasures of the ancient King Gaeil were once displayed.

The furnishings had all been looted by the Victorians, as they are wont to do, but we have finally returned most of them to their rightful places.

That beetle you were chasing was awarded personally to a capable official. He was praised for his tireless work in gathering ever last grain of the harvest and storing it in the treasury.

And now, you are worthy of the same. Without you, our army would likely have collapsed from hunger a hundred times over.

Go chase it down, for it is yours. As long as it is willing to land on you, you will always have the right to collect our grain.

Yes... Thank you!

Now then...

Eblana scans the room.

Some stare intently at The Bureaucrat's back, wondering what rewards they will receive, while others cannot help but glance at the other treasures in the room.

The sword that enforces the law, the cloudbeast that listens to appeals, the knot that records history, the crystal teardrops that symbolize compassion...

It seems none of you can stand to wait any longer.

How about this, then: everyone, feel free to take whatever in this room you desire.

In an instant, it is as if all the treasures come to life, moving on their own.

The cloudbeast statue starts running, the crystals start rolling, the knot begins to twist, and even the ceremonial sword studded with Sargonian jewels breaks free from its stand, hopping comically toward the door.

Go, my servants. These are my rewards for your loyalty.

It is unclear who takes the first step, but once he does, the tide is unstoppable.

The crowd chases after the treasures, surging out of the banquet hall.

A beetle flies through the dark alley.

It flaps its wings furiously, but only manages to find its way into an abandoned block that few souls tread anymore.

Its golden body is too heavy, weighed down even further by the gems on its wings. It can only fly a short distance before coming to a rest in a gap between the stone tiles—

Found you!

I got it! I got it!

You've got your bug, now help me get these crystals before they fall into the ditch!

Coming—

Hold on, I <i>am</i> going to get my cut if I help you, right?

Sure, sure! Just hurry! You don't want to see these crystals end up in the ditch, do you?

Sweet cloudbeast, you're mine!