>>42876520
>>42876529
>>42876573

You stand by the sign and raise your voice. “Is anypony home!?”

Your words vanish into the quiet lane. No reply. Twitching your ears, you hear an even clang of metal.

You try again, louder this time. Still no reply.

A frown creases your brow. How in Tartarus does this pony get any commissions if nopony can even step inside his forge? The warning sign suddenly feels less like bravado and more like a philosophy.

You begin to scan the area. Tripwires along the fence line? None. Chalk marks? No. Wards carved into the cobbles? Just old dusty earth and uneven stone. If the blacksmith is paranoid, he’s subtle about it,or confident enough not to bother with obvious deterrents.

Your gaze drifts upward.

The chimney tells a different story.

Black smoke curls lazily into the sky, thick and steady, carrying the sharp tang of hot iron and coal. The forge is active. Somepony is inside, working, very much alive and very much ignoring you.

Whoever this blacksmith is, they’re home.

They’re just deciding whether you’re worth answering.

[What is your next move?]

>>42878335
Head to the house to speak with him.

>>42878335
Take a page out of Murk's book and announce our intentions. Let him know we're heading up to the house to enquire about some metal work.

>>42878335
Hello good sir, I was hoping to converse with you about a job of great importance that requires your skills, may I please enter your property?

>>42878350
>>42878396
>>42878398
You raise your voice again, keeping it measured and polite. “Hello, good sir. I was hoping to speak with you about a job of great importance,one that requires your skills. May I please enter your property?”

There’s no answer. Only the steady, rhythmic clanging of metal on metal, slow and deliberate, echoing from somewhere beyond the walls.

You huff under your breath and step past the warning sign, following the narrow lane that winds up toward the forge. If this is how he greets potential clients, it’s a miracle he stays in business at all.

You pass beneath the archway and enter the forge proper.

The heat hits you first, thick and heavy, carrying the sharp smell of coal and iron. The clanging continues.

You glance toward the anvils. Empty. Then to the forge itself, coals glowing, fire alive and hungry. No smith in sight.

Slowly, you turn toward the wall that backs onto the house.

A pair of blacksmith’s tongs hangs there, swaying back and forth, tapping against the stone just hard enough to produce that unmistakable clang.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
A pendulum with no hoof to guide it.

You approach cautiously and steady the tongs with a hoof. The sound dies instantly.

“Is anypony here?” you call out placing all hooves back on the floor.

No answer.

You turn back toward the forge. The fire still burns hot, the coals shifting softly, as if the work was abandoned only moments ago.

[What is your next move?]

>>42878443
Look around for movement. Be ready to react. I can't remember if anypony told us his name to call out.

>>42878443
Check for swiftly incoming branding irons. And a door to knock on.

>>42878443
Tell him the iron gates in the basement of the temple should be fixed. If our branded ass is his price for it, so be it.

>>42878454
>>42878475
>>42878508

You move along the wall until you spot a door hanging ajar. A thin draft slips through the forge, making the hinges creak just enough to shatter the quiet.

You move closer, hooves careful, ears pricked high. The last thing you want is a paranoid blacksmith swinging a red-hot branding iron on reflex.

You peer through the narrow gap.

Beyond the door stretches a long, unlit hallway, swallowing what little light spills in from the forge. The air feels cooler there, stale, like it hasn’t been disturbed in a while.

You consider calling out,Hello? Blacksmith?,but stop yourself. Brio never mentioned a name. Not even a nickname. You silently curse yourself for not pressing her for more details when you had the chance.

Your voice carries down the hallway, echoing softly off unseen stone.

“Is anypony here? I’m Marrow, PHEER operative. The iron gates in the basement of the temple need to be fixed.” You pause, then add with a tired huff, “If my branded rump is his price for it, so be it.”

For a few heartbeats, there’s nothing but the low roar of the forge behind you and the faint whistle of air moving through the house.

Then,thud… scrape.

Something shifts at the far end of the hallway.

A heavy, uneven set of hoofsteps begins to approach, slow and deliberate. Not sneaking. Not rushing. Each step lands with the dull weight of iron-shod hooves on wooden floorboards.

A voice answers from the dark, deep, rough, and dry, like it hasn’t been used in days.

PHEER…” A pause, heavy and deliberate. “…Luna’s own batpony depopulation program.” The old pony exhales through his nose, and the silence that follows feels sharp enough to cut. “You’re lucky,” he growls. “Another twenty minutes and I would have branded you a trespasser.”

[What is your next move?]

>>42878549
Say we came for his help to fix a crypt which has a bent metal causing unrest for the spirits dwelling on it.

>>42878549
No, there's more to PHEER. For starters, bat depopulation doesn't explain the vatic skull in the center of the picture. If some of the initial design goals were eugenical in nature, I think it was about getting rid of latent thestrals, not all and any bats.
Anyways, how much does he know about the so-called oubliette? Apparently, some builders broke the grille that used to seal it. We haven't figured out if it really was an accident.

>>42878564
I think we should avoid mentioning spirits directly, if he isn't aware of them I wouldn't want to stack more conspiracies on him and risk breaking his brain entirely. My play would be to go along with whatever he thinks we think is down there.

Bump.

>>42879776

>>42878564
>>42878619
>>42878731
You stifle a snort at the accusation of PHEER being a batpony depopulation program, if he knew about the vatic skull that every new operative stares into, that theory would fall apart fast.

“I’m here as a client,” you say evenly. “I need a new cover to seal the oubliette in the temple’s crypt.”

You hear the old pony shift. The door opens just enough for a single bloodshot, dark-blue eye to peer out at you.

“Is the seal broken?” he snaps.

“Well… not exactly.”

“Is it broken?” he demands again.

“It needs replacing urgently,” you reply. “Some details have to remain classified. It’s an open case.”

A derisive snort comes from behind the door. “You government agencies, always hiding the truth behind red tape and classifications…”

You sigh. There’s some ground you can give. “Builders damaged the grille that used to seal it. We haven’t determined whether it was an accident.”

The eye studies you in silence, unblinking.

“Another seal,” he mutters, “meant to patch a tear in the thin skin of harmony. Can’t have these lands singing the wrong tune, can we?”

The words catch you off guard. There’s too much understanding in them, far more than you expected.

[What is your next move?]

>>42880036
More like can't have the angry horde break free and kill every bat in the village.

>>42880036
Admit that we don't have the truth either because the papers are missing. But the little pieces that we could gather too often come mixed with warnings to not investigate this and not peel away that. We have no ground to disregard it.
What's with his eyes? Not enough sleep?

>>42880036
We'd rather avoid that, yeah. Ask him if he's been down there and knows anything about it.

>classified
what a slip

>>42880045
>>42880064
>>42880561

“More like making sure an angry horde doesn’t break loose and slaughter every bat in the village,” you reply, probing him. “Though I’ll admit,I don’t have the full truth myself. Do you know what’s down there?”

The blacksmith goes still.

“That’s how they like it,” he mutters at last. “Just enough truth to keep us calm. Just enough to stop us digging into the past. Three tribes, three voices, all holding hooves and singing,because the cold was killing them…”

You study the eye watching you through the narrow crack. Heavy bags hang beneath it. This pony hasn’t slept properly in days. Something is gnawing at him, keeping him awake long after the forge should’ve gone cold.
The conversation has taken on an awkward, brittle edge.

“I think we both know Hearth’s Warming is a watered-down tale,” you say carefully. “You look exhausted. Is something wrong?”

He lets out a single, hollow laugh. “Something wrong…”

Silence stretches.

“What’s being sung,” he says at last, voice low, “isn’t a lullaby.”

“What’s being sung?” you ask, trying to piece together his meaning.

Instead of answering, he tilts his head, gaze lifting toward the sky. “You should leave. In another minute or two, I’ll have to brand you as a trespasser.”

“Wait-what about the seal?” you press.

“Come back tomorrow,” he replies. “I’ve got a cast mold in the basement. I’m a master of Iron. Won’t take long.”

The door begins to close.

“How much will it cost?” you ask quickly, jamming a hoof into the gap. “Bits, or do you need an invoice?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”

A magical aura snaps around your leg. With a sharp tug, you’re yanked backward, the door slamming shut with finality.

[What is your next move?]

>>42880591
Possession? Split personality? Not-lullaby being too loud at this time of day? Whatever it is, it happens regularly enough to let the smith know exactly when to expect trouble. And whatever it is, it's not safe here anymore. Take a glance at the ki-meter as we leave the property. Note the time.
It was only about twenty minutes out of the hour if the smith's sense of time is any accurate, but what if Murk will leave Meadow early, fly here and get branded before we get a chance to catch him? Leave him a note or something, hopefully it's isn't too bright anymore for his eyes. Then hurry to Meadow to warn him in person.
>gaze lifting toward the sky
Or as if listening to something? Where his ears were directed?

>>42880591
Head back to Meadow's.

>>42880639
I wonder if he's sensitive to spirits or just schizophrenic. Possession is a good possibility, if we can find out more maybe we can have him wear one of those horn rings to see if it helps.

>>42880591
Go to the other side of the street, wait, and observe. It's still daytime so whatever it is can't be that dangerous out in the open.
Unless he's just a loony. But that's a chance we'll just have to take.

>>42880591
Well that's was abrupt at least he'll help us nothing else her go get Murk back at Meadow house to see how things went between them maybe we'll catch a peek of doing something scandalous together and then continue taking care of our other tasks need to get done for today.

>>42880708
If we're going to play with the meter, stay closer to the forge, somewhere where an airborne bat is guaranteed to notice us. Getting your scouts caught and branded is like, a textbook mark of shitty leadership. Warlords of old will laugh at us if we let it happen.

>>42880639
>>42880649
>>42880664
>>42880695
>>42880756
“More like making sure an angry horde doesn’t break loose and slaughter every bat in the village,” you reply, probing him. “Though I’ll admit,I don’t have the full truth myself. Do you know what’s down there?”

The blacksmith goes still.

“That’s how they like it,” he mutters at last. “Just enough truth to keep us calm. Just enough to stop us digging into the past. Three tribes, three voices, all holding hooves and singing,because the cold was killing them…”

You study the eye watching you through the narrow crack. Heavy bags hang beneath it. This pony hasn’t slept properly in days. Something is gnawing at him, keeping him awake long after the forge should’ve gone cold. The conversation has taken on an awkward, brittle edge.

“I think we both know Hearth’s Warming is a watered-down tale,” you say carefully. “You look exhausted. Is something wrong?”
He lets out a single, hollow laugh. “Something wrong…”
Silence stretches.

“What’s being sung,” he says at last, voice low, “isn’t a lullaby.”

“What’s being sung?” you ask, trying to piece together his meaning.

Instead of answering, he tilts his head, gaze lifting toward the sky. “You should leave. In another minute or two, I’ll have to brand you as a trespasser.”
“Wait-what about the seal?” you press.

“Come back tomorrow,” he replies. “I’ve got a cast mold in the basement. I’m a master of Iron. Won’t take long.”
The door begins to close.

“How much will it cost?” you ask quickly, jamming a hoof into the gap. “Bits, or do you need an invoice?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”

A magical aura snaps around your leg. With a sharp tug, you’re yanked backward, the door slamming shut with finality.
You back away a few steps, then turn. You’re not sure what to make of the blacksmith, but something has clearly spooked him enough to force you out. And that alone sets your nerves on edge.

You leave the forge and pause at the end of the lane, glancing up at the sky. The day is bleeding into evening now, the light thinning as twilight creeps in. An unease settles in your gut,enough that you slip a hoof beneath your armor and pull out your Ki-meter.
You flick it on and re-calibrate, watching the needles settle.
As you start down the narrow lane, you freeze.
The Tau needle jerks.
One.
Four.
Five.
One.
Then it resets,and repeats.
Your ears flatten. A Tau one-five spike is enough to make any solo operative reconsider their life choices, even if it only lingers for a heartbeat. The needle doesn’t stay long enough to lock, but it’s there. Brief. Precise. Wrong.

Not taking chances, you cross the street and turn back, lining yourself up to look straight down the lane toward the forge. You check the Ki-meter again.

Nothing.

>>42880785
All readings sit comfortably in their normal ranges.

You exhale slowly. Maybe it’s something in the ground beneath the forge. Old iron. Old magic. Old lies. Whatever it is, it’s not presenting itself openly, and that makes it worse.

You lower the meter, weighing your options. Murk, you can’t let your scout get branded. Even if PHEER is filed under paramilitary under the crown bureaucracy, the warlords of old would laugh us into history if you let that happen.

You trot quickly along the street. After a few minutes, Meadow’s house comes back into view.

You give a firm rap on the door and wait.

Moments later it opens, the warm scent of coffee washing over you. Meadow looks confused at first, then her expression softens into a smile.
“Is something the matter, Marrow?” she asks.

“Not really,” you reply. “I’m just here to collect Murk and update him on the situation. He’s still here, right?”

She nods. “He is. Come on in.”

You follow the mule down a short corridor. The walls are sparse and plain, no generational pride. Instead, a few landscapes. Places. Moments without ponies in them.

Except for one picture that makes you slow.

A jenny, smiling, holding a foal wrapped in linen. Behind her stands a stallion, his face caught mid-glare, frozen in the frame.

In the kitchen ahead, Murk sits at the table with a mug cradled between his hooves. The room feels lived in, warm, welcoming. You can smell fresh baking layered beneath the coffee.

“Marrow?” he asks. “Something wrong?”

“Not really,” you say. “Hard to explain. But the new cover’s been ordered.”

You hesitate, searching for the right word. “The blacksmith is…” you trail off.

“Odd?” Meadow offers from behind you as she steps past, moving toward the tiled counter. She glances back with a small smile. “Coffee?”

[What is your next move?]

Sorry about that, had to rewrite as I misread your posts.

>>42880793
Take up on her offer and enjoy the coffee. Talk to them about what we discover about the blacksmith, what happened when we use our ki meter, inquire any knowledge meadow knows about the blacksmith was he always like that and does he have a name , finally ask did these two manage to talk about the confession Murk did moments ago.

>>42880793
Has he always been odd? It's it something that comes with the profession in this village?

>>42880793
>>42880801
This, but don't broach Murk's fuckup directly, just ask if they've had a nice time or something like that. We can more directly ask Murk later.

>>42880785
That Tau pattern sounds a lot like what Vale saw at the tree. I think that makes possession not that unlikely, at the very least it is probably affecting the smith. We should definitely get him a horn ring, even if he refuses to wear it we should give him the option. Ideally he should move out if it is the location but I doubt he'd want that.
Also if he's noticed it happens at specific times that might be the case for the tree, too. Something to look at sometime.

>>42880793
Apologize for interupting Marrow and Murk so early. The words are "in danger", and it seems like the blacksmith was in this danger for a very long time. But at least he agreed to help us with the temple tomorrow.
Ask Marrow how well she knows Blessed Ashes.

>>42880793
Coffee please?

>>42880847
>Marrow
Meadow. Both times.

>>42880801
>>42880812
>>42880824
>>42880847
>>42880852
Almost on cue, a crushing wave of fatigue hits you. You sway, catching yourself on the back of a chair.

“Actually… yeah. One sounds great,” you mutter.

“You alright, Marrow?” Murk asks, sharing the same concerned look as Meadow.

“Yeah.” You sit, rubbing your eyes with the backs of your hoof. “I think I’ve been overdoing it lately…”

“It’s not a good idea to burn the candle at both ends,” Meadow says gently, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of you.

Murk watches you closely as you hold on to the table. “Did something happen at the blacksmith’s?”

“Got strange readings on the lane leading there,” you reply, shakily taking a careful sip. “Tau spike.”

Murk is on his hooves instantly,until you motion him back down.

“Same kind of reading we got near the Songbird Tree,” you continue. “But larger. One–four–five–one. Repeating.”

Murk frowns. “That’s not normal. Even for Tau. Did you feel anything off?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. But the blacksmith… he seemed to sense it. Told me to leave.”

Murk exhales slowly. “Then that’s something else we need to look into.”

Meadow sets her own cup down and joins you at the table.

Your ear flicks. “Meadow, has the blacksmith always been… odd?”

“You mean Cold Coals?” she says. “Yes. Even when I was a filly. After his father died, he went off the deep end. I still say good morning when I see him, but he’s… withdrawn. Paranoid.”

You rest your cheek against your hoof. “That explains why he never gave me his name. What about the forge itself?”

She shrugs. “Not much, just an old Hornburn tale. They say the forge is pre-Unification. Supposedly Starswirl himself forged a blade there, one that made harmony ring through the forest as it was made.”

Murk looks to you. “Didn’t Doc mention a book about Starswirl last night?”

You shake your head. “Didn’t get around to it.”

“There’s an excerpt in it,” Murk continues. “Starswirl writes about leading an army east, alongside two alicorn fillies. He mentions a blade, one that could strike them down with ease.”

You sigh. “Great. Puzzle pieces from entirely different sets.”

You sit quietly for a moment, then realize your energy has returned, probably the coffee. You take another sip.

“You seem more relaxed, Murk,” you say.

“Do I?” he asks.

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>42880921
You nod. “Did you two… talk things through?”

Meadow smiles, twirling a strand of her mane. “We did.”

You snap your gaze to Murk. “You messed up again, didn’t you?”

Meadow places a hoof on you. “It’s alright. I’ve learned that if you let him keep talking, he eventually digs a hole so deep he somehow climbs back out the other end. Still…” She chuckles. “It was nice to hear I might look good in a wedding dress. Maybe a date first, before the temple bells start ringing?”

Murk buries his face in his hooves, the implication soaring clean over his head.

The mention of the temple sends your thoughts elsewhere.

“Meadow,how well do you know Blessed Ashes?”

“The priest?” she replies. “Pretty well. I help run the foal club at the temple now and then, give parents a break. Why?”

“Just trying to get a full picture. What’s he like?”

She hesitates. “A bit strange. Not Cold Coals strange, but… he smokes like there’s no tomorrow. I’ve caught alcohol on his breath more than once, usually right before Sunday service.”

“How long has he been at the temple?” you press.

“Few years now. He took over after Father Alters retired and moved to Baltimare.”

“Anything else?”

Meadow hesitates.

[First poster, roll any LASS dice with your next move]
Luck - 8
Autism - 2
Skill - 3
Strength - 4

Rolled 3 (1d8)

>>42880928
Blast off

>>42880928
>>42880952
sip to let her decide if she wants to tell us
then ask if she knows about the local legends and recommend she heed them.

>>42880921
So Starswirl forged a cold iron blade at the forge
Maybe the smith back in the day also forged a lot of regular weapons for that army. Might be a reason for it to have a connection to this magic.

>>42880921
>a blade, one that could strike them down with ease
Pleases don't tell me an actual cold iron weapon exists

>>42881296
There obviously were cold iron weapons back in the day. A bit surprising that Starswirl made one but I suppose they also just made for good weapons in general and he wanted to be ready for everything.

>>42881347
Just had a feeling that it'd still exist even now

>>42881423
Honestly with this town's history it'd be more surprising if there wasn't some of it lying around somewhere at this point. This forge would certainly be a likely spot. Maybe it can amplify the background tau song and there's something to the other Anon's theory of there being some in the tree. I'd really rather not have to deal with that stuff as well, though.
Also so far we (or at least I)'ve been playing like Marrow isn't aware of cold iron or at least the fact it helps killing alicorns. Personally I like that so we don't just dump all our meta knowledge in the character. But if it actually becomes relevant to the story we're going to have to drop that or make Marrow learn about it (e.g. reading uncensored books about the thestral-alicorn conflict or hanging around the smith too long)

Bedtime bump

>>42880952
>>42880999

“Not much else I can say,” Meadow finishes quietly. “He’s… odd for a Celestian priest. Always distant. Like something’s haunting him.”

“As in?” you ask.

Meadow exhales and leans back slightly. “I don’t know. Mare’s intuition, I guess.”

You decide not to push. It’s worth noting, but better asked another time.

“You know the local legends?” you ask. “The warnings, I mean.”

Meadow’s ears twitch. “The warnings, my mother drilled them into me. I never tested them, figured they were just old mare’s tales.” She takes a sip of coffee, then gives a small, sheepish laugh. “Well… that’s not entirely true. When I was little, I ran away from home and fell asleep under the Songbird Tree.”

You and Murk exchange a look.

“Did anything happen?” you ask carefully.

Meadow tilts her head, long ears slanting to one side as she thinks. “I don’t think so. When I woke up, there was this bat operative standing in front of me. All I remember thinking was how wonderful he was.”

Your stomach tightens. The tree did have an effect, just like it did on you, your thoughts drifting back to Murk.

“I can’t say much more right now,” you say at last, choosing your words. “But refresh yourself on the warnings, and start following them. It’s just a gut feeling, but something’s stirring.”

Meadow looks to you, then to Murk. He nods in agreement.

You glance out the kitchen window. Night has fully settled in. You drain the last of your coffee and stand. “We should get going. We still have a case to finish.”

Murk rises beside you.

Meadow slips off her chair. “Then you both be careful. Visit me tomorrow, Murk. If you need a morning, or evening, pick-me-up, I make good coffee.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Murk replies, "You coffee is...nice..."

She sees you both to the door. Cold night air bites as you step outside. You wave goodbye and head down the street toward the temple.

After walking for a while, the temple steps come into view. Doc and Vale are seated on the steps there, mid-conversation. A faint red glow hovers around Vale, casting no light on the stone.

[What is your next move?]

>>42882851
Too bad we didn't ask Meadow who was this bat operative.
Update Doc and Vale (and Doodles? Was she with them the whole evening?) on what we learned about the smith and, that movie star guy.

>>42882851
Check in with the team and divulge each other up with all the Intel each of us gather so far. Ask if anybody noticed the faint red glow hovering over Vale?

>>42882873
>>42882881
Doc glances over his glasses, nudges Vale, then points hoof in your direction as you approach.

“Alright, gather round,” you order.

Vale and Doc trot over. Vale smiles and speaks first. “Thought you’d be here sooner. Rounded Screw and Ashes have agreed to meet tomorrow and—” her horn flares, a brief pulse of light, and a small pouch pops into existence on the steps, “We’ve got silver coins. They sell them at the indoor market. We ran into Lonesome Road and he pointed us toward a pawn stall.”

Doc shrugs. “Apparently silver coins get dug up around the moors all the time.”

You nod, taking it all in. “Good work. Both of you. And you too, Doodles…”

Doc and Vale exchange a look, then glance back at you.

“She was with us?” Vale asks.

The red point of light spirals down to the stone, coalescing into Doodles’ translucent form. “I wanted to see how far I could go before I started running out of your energy…” She taps her hooves together, ears drooping slightly. “Let’s just say it was lucky Vale and Doc were nearby…Pulling energy at a big distance didn't feel good...” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And that Vale’s a unicorn…Made things better...”

You frown. Technically, Doodles aren't part of the unit. She has the right to come and go, but the thought of her getting into trouble still knots your stomach.

“She found you while exploring,” you say, glossing over the rest.

You then brief Vale and Doc on what you learned: the blacksmith and the Tau readings, the replacement cover for sealing the oubliette, and finally, the fact that an amateur ghost-hunting film crew is now in town.

That last part earns a sigh from both operatives, other than Vale who is deep in thought.

Doc steps forward, “Nice to see this case is coming to an end, what's the plan for tonight chief?”

[What is your next move?]

>>42882966
Well since we got everything we need for tomorrow let all head into town and see if there's anything else fun to do besides the Jazz Macabre Night at the Inn.

>>42882966
Solved one case to find like five more. Besides, this is more of a patch-up since we're not taking care of the root cause so it'll cause trouble again in the future when someone's dumb enough to mess with the cover.
Either way. I wonder if the bookstore is still open? We should have a chat with the owner and check out if they have anything useful for sale.

Rolled 3 (1d5)

>>42883020
>>42883040
“Since there isn’t much to do until tomorrow, and technically we don’t have any patrol orders,let’s see what’s going on at the inn,” you say.
That earns three smiles from the group.

You and your team head down the street. A few batponies emerge from their homes, yawning as they stretch their wings before lifting into the night sky to begin their shifts. The air feels colder now. As you reach the three-way crossroads and turn toward the inn, raised voices drift from a narrow side street.
You slow and peer down it.

The street is brightly lit. A pony films outside a tall, old stone building, its age written into every block. A sign above the door reads: Hornburn Museum.
Black Diggings stands in front of the camera, perfectly framed, beside a burly stallion with a thick moustache and a blue boiler suit. The stallion props a cleaning brush against his neck, clearly unimpressed.

Vale groans softly. “Is that who I think it is…?”

Murk squints. “Black Diggings himself…”

Doc huffs. “Never heard of him. That's the amateur lot you were talking about?”

You nod. “That’s him. Trust me, he’s not worth the breath.”

You pause just long enough to watch the exchange.

Black turns toward the camera, voice smooth and theatrical. “How long have you been the janitor here at the museum?”

The stallion twitches his moustache. “‘Bout ten years.”

“In that time,” Black continues, “you must’ve seen… things. Strange happenings?”

The janitor shakes his head. “Nope.”

Black blinks, clearly expecting more. “Have you heard of any paranormal activity?”

“Nope.”

Black glances back at the camera, frustration flickering across his face. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“I’m here to clean,” the janitor replies flatly. “Now can you please move? My shift ends in an hour and I’ve got three floors left.”

You chuckle as you turn away. Whatever they were hoping for, it clearly isn’t happening tonight.

A little farther down the road, you slow in front of the bookshop across the way from the inn. Warm, honey-coloured light spills through the broad front windows. Inside, tall wooden shelves crowd the three walls from floor to ceiling, their spines packed tight in uneven rows,

A narrow ladder leans against the shelves, its steps worn smooth by years of use. Balanced atop it is the plump, caramel-coated mare you saw yesterday, her tail flicking for balance as she stretches to slide a book back into place. Dust motes drift lazily in the lamplight as the mare works.

The ladder slips slightly as a warning.

Your eyes snap to the counter below her. A metal receipt spike juts upward, impaled with the day’s sales, thin slips of paper skewered like warning flags.


[First poster Roll Luck or Skill Dice with your move]

Rolled 2 (1d8)

>>42883132
Enjoy

>>42883132
>>42883203
wtf, are we about to watch a mare skewer herself? Try to prevent the worst (and trip over the doorstep I guess).

>>42883239
The mare steadies herself and lets out a tired sigh, but then the ladder jerks, as if shoved by an unseen hoof.

You burst through the door, the bell above it shrieking in protest as you cut sharply toward the counter. Too late.

She crashes down hard onto the polished wood, the impact rattling shelves and sending books and loose papers flying. Her weight carries her forward and she bounces off the counter’s edge, hitting the floor with a heavy, breath-stealing thud. Ledgers, bookmarks, and loose receipts rain down around her.

You sprint around the counter just as she cries out, the sound strangled as she clamps a foreleg over her mouth. Her other hoof grips her thigh, where the receipt spike juts out at an ugly angle, slick with blood. Panic takes over, her hoof flails, grasping at the metal, trying to yank it free.

[What is your next move?]

>>42883247
Tell her to leave it in and have Doc take a look.

>>42883247
Immobilize the victim. if Doc doesn't need more than two assistants, send Murk to investigate if a spirit pushed the ladder.

>>42883247
Help tend to her injuries before the wounds get worse expanding much more causing her to bleeding out.

>>42883267
>>42883282
>>42883287
You slap her hoof away from the metal spike. “Don’t,pulling it out will only make it worse!”

Her eyes are wide and unfocused, glassy with shock as tears spill over. She trembles violently, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Under the warm lamplight, the blood spreading down her thigh looks impossibly bright, the stain widening with every second.

You glance up from the counter just as your team pours through the door.

“Doc! You’re up, she’s badly hurt,” you snap. “Murk, scan the room. That ladder was pushed. Vale, assist Doc, keep her calm!”

They move instantly.

You step back as Doc drops to her side, his expression all business. He examines the wound quickly, then places a steadying hoof against her flank. “Alright, miss, you need to slow it down. Breathe with me. In… and out. Nice and slow.”

The mare winces but follows his lead, her breathing gradually evening out.

“Good,” Doc says calmly. “I’m Doc. Medic, Unit Y—PHEER operative.” He peers closer at the injury, careful not to jostle the spike. “There’s a lot of blood, but I don’t think its hit an artery. Still, I can’t risk pulling this out without proper gear. All I’ve got on me is alcohol, gauze, and bandages.”

Vale circles to the mare’s head and gently rests a hoof on her withers. “Hey. You’re safe. We’ve got you. What’s your name?”

The mare pants, her jaw tightening as Doc cleans around the wound. “P–Page,” she manages.

“Page?” Vale repeats softly.


“Just… Page-ah!” Another groan cuts her off.

Doc exhales through his nose. “Spike’s embedded in the muscle. Vale, can you teleport it out cleanly? No extra tissue damage?”

Vale nods without hesitation. “I can.”

“Good. Give me a second,” Doc says, already tearing gauze free and readying bandages. “Now.”

Vale’s horn flares. The metal spike vanishes in a flash of light and reappears on the counter behind you. Instantly, Doc presses gauze to the wound and begins wrapping her thigh firmly.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” you say, stepping around them and turning to Murk. “Anything?”

“I saw the ladder get pushed,” you add quietly.

Murk holds up the Ki-meter, sweeping it along the ladder and nearby shelves. “Ki zero. Zen at four. Tau at three.” He frowns. “Residual energies. Something was here.”

You glance toward Doodles. The ghost drifts near the center of the shop, ears twitching, her attention snapping upward toward the ceiling, mirroring Murk’s tension.
Both of them are sensing something you aren’t.

“What is it?” you ask.

Before either can answer, a violent shattering crash echoes from upstairs, followed by a heavy thump that rattles the shelves.

Vale looks down sharply at Page. “Is anypony else here?”

Page shakes her head, fear creeping back into her eyes. “N-no…I live and work here alone...”

[What is your next move?]

>>42883410
Set a salt circle around Doc, Vale, and Page, then investigate upstairs, salt blasters at the ready. Put energy draw runes on the stairs to protect our retreat. Dark-ish chaotic is not to be trifled with, so let's be careful and methodical. It doesn't appear we can see it, maybe Murk can, but that makes things tough. The spirit seems hostile so for now it doesn't deserve more intent announcements than these orders (Murk is free to do his, of course).

>>42883443
This will do.

>>42883410
Ask what's up there and if anything paranormal has happened around Page or in the store before.

Bump

>>42883972

>>42884613

>>42883443
>>42883451
>>42883462
“Vale,I need a salt circle around Page and Doc, then stay inside it,” you order. “I’d evacuate you Page, but first I need to be sure the spirit isn’t attached to either of you… or the building.”

Vale tears open a bag of salt, carefully pouring a clean ring around Doc and Page. The grains crunch softly against the floor as the circle is sealed.

“Page,” you say, keeping your voice steady, “has anything strange been happening here lately? Noises, things moving on their own?”

Page shifts instinctively, then hisses through her teeth as pain lances through her thigh. “I–I think so. For a few weeks now… I hear things at night. Books out of place in the mornings. Stuff on the floor when I open.”

Doc exhales sharply. “And you didn’t call us? Or the guards?”

She shakes her head weakly. “I was told if you ignore paranormal things, don’t give them energy, they go away.”

“That depends on the spirit,” Murk says, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. His ears twitch as another dull thud sounds from above. “Summoned or attached spirits feed on ambient energy. Starve them long enough, and they don’t fade, they lash out.”

You glance at Doodles if she would do the same. She gives you a sheepish grin.

“What’s upstairs?” you ask as you load your salt blaster, snapping in a small charge gem before pouring in salt. “Your apartment?”

Page nods slowly. “There’s a door between the shelves. It leads up.” She gestures toward the dark wall at the back of the shop.

“Murk, with me,” you say, slinging the blaster across your back as you head for the door.

You pull it open to reveal a narrow staircase. Books clutter every step, stacked haphazardly and half-slid aside, leaving only a thin, winding path upward.

You fish a stick of chalk from your armor pocket and quickly draw an energy-draw rune at the base of the stairs, insurance for your retreat, and safety for those below.

Slowly, you climb. The light from downstairs fades after the first few steps, swallowed by shadow. At the top waits an old wooden door.

You push it open and look in.

Beyond lies a small lounge. To your right, a cramped kitchen with old wooden cupboards peers through a low archway. Straight ahead, another door hangs ajar, silently swinging open just enough to reveal the pale curve of a bathtub in the darkness, likely the bathroom.

The lounge itself looks ransacked. A bookshelf has been toppled onto a sofa, its contents strewn across the floor. Loose pages and hardcovers lay haphazardly on the brown shaggy carpet. The only light comes from a single lantern on a coffee table a few steps in, its glow flickering uneasily.

[What is your next move?]

>>42885229
Murk ahead so we have an idea where it is. Or Doodles. Another salt circle so we have something on this floor to come back to. If it's been here for a while maybe it really is more annoyed at being ignored (lel?) so I think we can announce our presence and ask why it's tormenting this poor mare, spirit speaker on.

>>42885229
Should probably use our glowsticks so whatever it is can't turn off the light

>>42885229
If it's been a few weeks, then it's probably something she acquired. A haunted item. Murk can keep lookout while we scan things and try to locate whatever it is. Would more light help or hinder Murk's ability?

>>42885229
It may be our safest opportunity to try Doodles' birdy glyph.

>>42885298
Only if the spirit's a bat, too.

>>42885265
>>42885282
>>42885297
>>42885298
“See anything?” Murk asks, slipping in beside you.

“No.” You crack a glowstick and hook it into the loop on your armor.

Murk does the same a moment later. Green and violet light washes over the floor around your hooves, slowly bleeding into the lantern’s dull orange glow. The shadows retreat, but not far enough to feel reassuring.

“If it’s been a few weeks,” you say, moving farther into the room, “then it’s probably something she brought home. A haunted item, maybe…”

You glance back. “Murk, keep watch.”

You pull out your Ki-meter, recalibrating it to include Murk’s and Doodles’ signatures, then step toward the fallen bookcase. You sweep the device along the wood.

The needles twitch.
Ki zero. Zen five. Tau five.

“The spirit’s gone,” you murmur.

Murk shakes his head, still muttering his intentions under his breath. “No. Still here. It keeps moving.”

You frown, tapping the Ki-meter and recalibrating again. It still gives the same results.

“Does the light interfere with your senses?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “As long as it isn’t sunlight. Candle or lantern flame is fine.”

“Good to know.” You scan the room again. The air feels thick, heavy, yet every breath comes out cold. “Draw a salt circle by the door, Murk. I want to try something.”

The batpony doesn’t hesitate, tearing open his salt bag and quickly laying down a clean circle around the entrance.

You take out your chalk and draw a nightjar rune along the side of the toppled bookshelf. The polished wood resists, the chalk skipping and smearing, but enough of the symbol remains to carry the intent.

You glance around for Doodles, and realize she’s gone. Of course she is. The rune you drew downstairs. You draw in a breath, a flicker of guilt tightening your chest. You hadn’t thought about your ghostly companion.

Something moves in the window.

Outside, just beyond the glass, Doodles floats in the night air, forelegs folded tight across her chest, her ears drooping in an exaggerated pout.

“Sorry, Doodles…” you murmur, stepping closer to the window.

>>42885501

Murk shuffles around, then pauses, frowning. “I don’t sense her…”

“She’s outside,” you admit. “I forgot an energy draw rune would affect her and it explains why I thought my Ki-meter was playing up. I was calibrating a spirit that isn’t in the room.”

You turn back to the room, the weight of the moment settling in again. Carefully, you step toward the center, hooves crunching softly against scattered pages.

“Why are you tormenting the poor mare downstairs?”

Silence answers you.

Your ears twitch. Seconds stretch into something uncomfortable. You let out a slow breath.
No response.

You resume scanning the books littering the floor with your Ki-meter. One by one, titles pass beneath your gaze, but the needles stay flat.

Then you stop.

One book lies half-open near the coffee table, its spine barely cracked, pages unworn, the book seems fairly new. The lantern light catches the title just right:
Channel Your Guardian Spirit.

[What is your next move?]

>>42885507
Nothing on the radio? Open the book at a random page, a venerated divination technique. Maybe ask Murk to give us a page number.

>>42885507
What does the page it's opened to say?

>>42885507
Grab the book and bring it downstairs. We should question Page more anyways, and not just about this book. Does she remember buying or doing something right around when the haunting started?

>>42885552
>>42885563
>>42885611
You pick up the book. The cover bends slightly beneath your hoof, thin and cheaply bound, the kind of thing meant to sell ideas rather than hold up to use. You open it to the page already marked and tilt the book to the light.

The article is amateur at best. unhelpful, overconfident prose rambles on about guardian spirits and how they can “gently guide one through life’s trials,” peppered with vague sweeping claims. You skim a few paragraphs, your brow furrowing as it tries,clumsily, to link muses, intuition, and spirits as if they’re all the same thing.

The bathroom door slams shut.

You flinch despite yourself, the sound cracking through the air like a whip. You and Murk exchange a sharp look.

“I’d say poltergeist,” Murk mutters, glancing back down at his Ki-meter. “A dark one at that.” His eyes flick to the book in your hoof. “Find anything?”

“Nothing in the writing,” you reply, sliding the book into your armour. “But the book itself? Maybe.”

You step closer to him, stopping at the doorway. “You alright holding this position alone?”

Murk nods. “I’m not moving form this door anyway, besides I don’t think there are any dark paths hiding in this apartment.”

“Good. There’s an energy-draw rune down the stairs behind you, first sign of aggression, you pull back downstairs.” Your tone leaves no room for argument.

He gives a short nod.

You descend the stairs and re-enter the shop. Doc has shifted Page onto her side, her injured leg propped carefully atop a stack of books. Her breathing is shaky, her round glasses fogged at the edges.

“I really don’t want to be here…” she pleads, tears matting the fur on her cheeks.

Doc exhales through his nose. “I know. But we need to be sure the spirit isn’t attached to you. Once we confirm that, I’ll get you to a proper doctor.”

Vale adds gently, “We can’t risk it following you,especially not the village clinic.”

“Why?” Page asks weakly.

“High energy,” Vale explains. “Lots of death, lots of emotion. Spirits thrive there. Ever wonder why large hospitals always have a small temple and a priest on-site?”

“So ponies can pray?” Page whispers.

“That,” Doc says, adjusting the bandage, “and because every one of those priests is trained in exorcism. PHEER handles it quietly.”

You step closer. “Page,” you say softly, “think back to when this started. Did you buy anything? Do anything unusual?”
She swallows and adjusts her glasses with trembling precision. “I… I’ve been trying to write. Thought it might help.”
You nod. “Did you order anything?”

“A few books,” she says. “Self-help. Health and diet. And… a romance novel.”

You reach into your armour and produce the thin volume. “This self help book?”

Her ears droop as she nods.

[What is your next move?]

>>42887706
Did you do anything from the book that could be a ritual? Was there anything about candles, placing any objects in certain places, drawing anything, meditating? Where did you get the books from?

>>42887706
Did she receive the inspiration she asked for?

bump

Rolled 1 (1d7)

>>42887726

You drop the book onto the counter and flip through it, “Did you do anything from this that could be considered a ritual?”

“A ritual?” Page echoes faintly.

“Anything at all,” you press. “Candles. Objects placed a certain way. Symbols. Meditation. Anything like that.”

Page frowns, thinking hard. “I… I don’t know. The last thing it told me to do was pour water over a mirror in a dark room, by candlelight.”

You exhale sharply. “That’s lecanomancy. A bad form of it.” You skim the page again. “And mixing it with a candle just muddies the intent.”

“It said it would help me see my spirit guardian,” Page whispers.

You continue flipping through the book, your frown deepening. “Where did you get this?”

“Mail order,” she replies. “It came from a ghost-hunting magazine. I ordered it for a friend, and this was one of the extras.”

Vale steps closer, her voice gentle. “Page, you’re not in trouble. We just need the truth so we can fix this.”

Page’s lip trembles. Tears spill freely now.

She trails off, staring at her wound. The silence stretches feeling heavy and uncomfortable.

[Rolling for Murk]
[What is your next move?]

>>42889877
My seventh sense is telling me we should check back with Murk
But more seriously, I don't think Page is in a state where she can give us much useful information, so we shouldn't press her more. Clearly that book had questionable practices that may have emboldened whatever spirit got caught here. Maybe it got attached with the intent of being a spirit guardian though, so explain that the spirit is currently dangerous and ask her to say that it may be released while actually meaning her words. Maybe that calms it down and/or lowers attachment.

>>42889877
Reassure Page she is not going to die we're going to do everything we can to save her and not let her down. Doc is used to seeing and tending to these types of injuries for years.

>>42889877
Lecanomancy? I'm guessing if we know the word we would know more about it, like what we should do in this situation?

Rolled 5 (1d8)

>>42889877

>>42889877
This is literally what PHEER exists for. We get paid for this. Should her customers feel bad for asking about the books?
Just, any bit of info she has will make it easier and faster for everypony involved.

>>42889877
A friend? Have they been having any problems?

>>42889877
That magazine wouldn't be the one associated with Black Diggings, would it?

>>42889877
Who's the friend that ordered the magazine?

Rolled 2 (1d5)

>>42889994
>>42890037
>>42890212
>>42890360
>>42890445
>>42890452
>>42891218
You soften your tone, keeping your posture relaxed and non-threatening.

“Page, I need you to know you’re safe. Doc’s got you covered, I can tell he’s handled worse than this more times than he’d care to count.”

Doc gives an easy, reassuring smile and a nod. “He’s right. You’re doing fine. Just keep breathing with me.”

You shift tactics, easing the pressure.

“This is exactly why PHEER exists. We’re paid to deal with things like this. You wouldn’t blame your customers for asking questions about a book, would you?”

Page swallows and steadies her breathing. “No…”

“Then who was the friend you ordered the magazine for? Any bit of information can help” you ask gently.
“Philo,” Page admits. “You might not have met her, her father runs the inn.”

Your ear flicks. “And this magazine wouldn’t happen to be the one associated with Black Diggings, would it?”
Page nods weakly. “I think so. He’s always on the cover.”

That settles like a stone in your gut.

Your thoughts drift back to lecanomancy. Most of it is superstition,cheap parlor tricks dressed up as ancient wisdom like a crystal ball. Mirrors can be used to enter a trance to allow for possession. It all comes under the right intent.

You glance toward the staircase, then back to Page.

“Did you perform that mirror ritual alone?”

Page nods.

[Rolling for Murk]
[What is your next move?]

Rolled 7 (1d8)

>>42892264
Ask what did Philo need the magazine for and how come Page perform the ritual alone were you trying to test it out to see if it works or not?!

>>42892264
The last time we saw Murk rolling so badly was when he was with a mare. Is he making out with the angered spirit up there?
Marrow seems to know more about these things than we do. What's the procedure? Would the last part of >>42889994 work? Or do we have to bring a candle and hypnotize her to precisely match and cancel out the ritual? Or is it the kind of a situation where now that the spirit helped her write she can't break the bond without paying some kinda compensation?

>>42892264
So, the ritual was supposed to allow possession but she either messed something up, or the book just has it wrong, and she ended up trapping a spirit here instead? Check the spirit speaker. And if we haven't heard any noise at all from upstairs, give Murk a shout. Make sure he's okay.

>>42892341
The book was most likely wrong considering the source is a con artist that chose the supernatural as their grift.

>>42888460

Rolled 2 (1d5)

>>42892291
>>42892339
>>42892341
>>42892927

You keep your voice steady. “Why did Philo need the magazine?”

Page hesitates, then answers quietly, “She orders Ghost Hunting Monthly. Has for years.”
“And why did you do the ritual?” you press.

Page whimpers, ears folding back. “I-I started reading the book that came with it. There was a section about muses, about inspiration and guidance. I thought… I thought having a guardian spirit that was a muse might help me write. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

Doc exhales slowly and rises to his hooves. “That tracks. Sounds like a summoned attachment.”
You nod. When ponies dabble in lecanomancy, the trance acts like an open door, there is a small chance something wanders in.

“Page,” you say firmly, “you need to state,out loud,that the spirit has no right to your energy.”
She looks at you, confused and frightened. “It’s… it’s that simple?”

Vale steps in gently. “Half of the paranormal is consent and intent. Right now, we believe the spirit is attached to you. You have to revoke that consent. Clearly.”

Page swallows, then says weakly, “Spirit… you have no right to my energy…”

Vale winces. “More intent. This isn’t a suggestion.”

Page draws in a shaky breath, her voice breaking as she shouts, “Spirit! You have no right to my energy! I demand you leave, now!”

The upstairs answers her.

A violent barrage of thumps and crashes erupts overhead, bookshelves slamming, something heavy striking the walls hard enough to rattle the windows and make dust sift from the ceiling.
You turn sharply toward the staircase, already moving.

“Murk,” you call out, voice cutting through the chaos, “you alright up there?”

[Rolling for Murk]
[What is your next move?]

>>42895621
Doc, upstairs with us. Vale protects Page.

>>42895621
murk what the fuck are these rolls man

>>42895628
>>42895640
There’s no reply. And those thumps… they didn’t sound good.

“Doc, with me,” you snap. “Vale, stay with Page.”

You and Doc take the stairs at a run. The living area at the upstairs is unrecognizable,ransacked, torn apart as if by invisible hooves. The air reeks of smoke and scorched paper. The salt ring Murk had been standing in is broken, smeared across the floor, scuffed wide by what looks like a hurled cushion.

“Murk!” you shout, sweeping the room with your eyes.

You crack a glowstick, the sharp snap echoing in the chaos. Green light spills out, cutting through the smoke just enough to reveal a small fire licking at a toppled bookshelf that now been moved, and Murk lying beside it, unmoving.

Doc moves instantly. He stamps out the flames, grinding burning pages underhoof, then drops to Murk’s side and rolls him carefully onto his back. He presses an ear to Murk’s chest.

“He’s breathing. Heart rate’s normal.”

Doc cracks his own glowstick and checks Murk’s head, frowning. “Head injury. He’s out cold.” Already he’s pulling bandages from his armor, hooves steady despite the tension.

You step around the scattered books and lift the lantern from where it’s rolled among the debris.

[What is your next move?]

>>42895662
Check the Ki-meter

>>42895662
I doubt it was, but check if we can read anything on what was burning in case it was targeted. Salt circle around the two of them and watch for activity.

>>42895662
>>42895752
>>42895803
Page isn't gonna have to buy saltlicks for months at this rate, lol.
Also yeah, these

>>42895662
Marrow should think about his training. What is he supposed to do in this situation?
I feel like this is one of those situations where the character knows more than us as the players. In universe, he knows how to deal with a spirit. We're just guessing.

>>42893661

>>42895662
Energy drain and/or nada the cusions and everything heavy above or near Murk and Doc. Then turn on the spirit speaker to give the ghost an opportunity to plead and proceed to draw energy drain runes on everything.

>>42898658

>>42900983

>>42901667

>>42902354
Hope you had a nice Hearth's Warming QM

>>42905279
I'm not the QM

>>42905421
Yeah I realised after posting that this looks like it's meant for you. It was just supposed to be a bump with the message. Still I hope you also had a nice horsemas Anon.

>>42902354

>>42905279
Thanks you too, I'll be back soon.

>>42902354

>>42909994

>>42912751

>>42913396

Bedtime bump

I hope you guys had a nice hearths warming

>>42915416
it was awesome, thanks 4 askin

>>42916435

Boop

New year boop

>>42919581

>>42907131
If you need a longer break just say so and we'll let the thread drop.

Bump

>>42923051
uppies

>>42923631

>>42924408

Bunp

>>42925479

>>42925995

>>42927758

Rolled 7 (1d7)

>>42895752
>>42895803
>>42897702
>>42899415
You glance down at your Ki-meter and retune it to include Murk and Doc. The needles twitch, then settle.

“Ki one. Zen two. Tau three…”

Your gaze drifts back to the scattered books. One near the fire is half-charred, its edges blackened and curling. You pick it up carefully and read the spine aloud.

“Songs of Bone, Sky, and Water.”

You slip the book into your vest.

“Find something?” Doc asks without looking up, hooves steady as he works on Murk.

You nod. “A book. And I’ve got a bad feeling the spirit wanted this one burned.”

The room grows unnaturally still, the crackle of dying embers the only sound. The air feels heavier, like it’s pressing in on your lungs.

After another slow sweep of the room, you reach up and flick on your spirit speaker. It crackles, then hums to life with a low, uneven whine.

“Alright, spirit,” you say evenly. “Last chance. Speak through this device, or I rune this entire room to Tartarus and back.”

[Roll luck for spirit box sucess]

I am back, sorry about that lot of work stuff cropped up.

Rolled 8 (1d8)

>>42929537
Welcome back Aftercase hope you had a fun happy new year and Merry Christmas.

>>42929573
I did thanks. Hope all the players here did too. Also nice roll.

>>42929573
The speaker crackles again, static rising and falling like a held breath. Then a sound crawls through it—low, drawn out, wrong. A long groan vibrates through the casing, rattling faintly in your hoof.

“They sing…” the voice drags, warped and distant, as if echoing from the bottom of a well. “Souls for them…”

The words dissolve back into static, leaving the air thick and cold. The Ki-meter gives a faint twitch.

[Luck increase to 9]
Luck - 9
Autism - 2
Skill - 3
Strength - 4

Rolled 9 (1d9)

>>42929601
Thanks and I sure did had a wonderful Christmas and New Year I have some hot white chocolate with cinnamon gingerbread cookies, and order some Chinese takeout to enjoy the celebrations with my friends and family as fireworks was shooting up in the air. Now we can finally get back to playing this story thread. Fire in the hole Boom!

>>42929593
It was nice, thanks.
>>42929601
Call for Vale and burn a wax cylinder or two, even if it may be a waste. The guards in the crypt at least tried to speak clearly, so that the imperfections of our equipment were the only challenge. It doesn't sound to me as of yet like we're as lucky here as back then. And no matter what we do, keep watching for any changes in Tau. It may be more informative than what the ghost is saying. Is it even theoretically possible to lie in Tau?
Since the voice seems to be trying to deflect the blame, a good place to start is to ask it to introduce itself. Does it want to deliver souls for the singers, or does it have to? Can it sing its own songs?

>>42929687
Tau is supposed to not be able to be faked.

>>42929601
Oh goody, sounds like something is wanting to gather sacrifices.

Bump

>>42930958

>>42929601
Who sings? It's been a while, is Doodles with us?

>>42932366
Doodles is outside because we put energy draw runes on the stairs before letting her through and she probably doesn't want to get succ'd

>>42931884

>>42933217

>>42933622

>>42933949

>>42935194

>>42929619
>>42929687
>>42932366
Your eyes lock onto the Tau gauge—and your stomach tightens. It isn’t just spiking; it’s misbehaving. The needle slides up to five, hesitates as if confused, then sinks back to three like nothing ever happened. You’ve never seen Tau fluctuate like that. Not erratic—uncertain.

“Who is singing?” you demand, keeping your voice steady despite the chill crawling up your spine.

The speaker answers with a burst of crackle, then a voice leaks through, stretched thin and uneven, as though forced through a narrowing gap.

“It thins… voices seep…”

The temperature in the room drops another notch. Dust drifts slowly in the glowstick’s light, hanging far too long in the air.

You turn sharply toward the stairwell. “Vale! Bring your equipment. Now!”

Her voice echoes back from below, strained but controlled. “Putting down energy draw runes around Page first!I’ll be right up!”

You glance back at Murk, still unconscious, Doc working with practiced urgency at his side. The Tau gauge twitches again.

Whatever this is, it isn’t just haunting the room anymore.

It’s listening.

[What is your next move?]

>>42936016
Lets take a page from Murk's playbook and tell it a tool to better hear it with is being brought up.

>>42936016
"It" refers to the Veil, right? What things were like before it thinned? Was the voice around back then? Did it get thinner gradually or was there something abrupt about it? Too bad we didn't ask Brio when Cold Coals lost his mind, there may be a connection.

>>42936016
When Vale gets there, ask why they hurt Page.

>>42936016
Voices seep, from beyond or from below? It thins, the veil or the seal?
I've got a bad feeling about this.

Bump

>>42937868

>>42938768

>>42940518

Boop

>>42941283

>>42942071

>>42943316

>>42943660

>>42944420

>>42936383
>>42936405
>>42936893
>>42937379

You hear Vale’s hooves on the stairs, quick and hurried. When she steps into the room she freezes, a sharp gasp catching in her throat at the sight of Murk sprawled among the wreckage.

“He’s fine,” Doc says firmly, not looking up from his work. “Just knocked out.”

Vale exhales, nods once, and moves with practiced efficiency. She sets her miniphonograph on a relatively clear patch of floor, adjusts the horn and needle, then looks to you and gives a brief, ready nod.

“We’ve got better equipment now,” you say into the open room, your voice carrying. “You can speak normally. We’ll hear you.”

You let the silence stretch before pressing on. “Why did you hurt Page?”

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then your Ki-meter crackles violently to life, its speaker spitting broken words in a chorus of static.

“...Choir… needs voices… bones… they sing…”

A cold weight settles in your gut.

Without warning, the room explodes into motion. Objects tear free as if yanked by invisible hooves—cupboard doors rip open, hinges screaming as they snap, drawers shoot out and scatter their contents, vases shatter against the walls, and the windows rattle like they’re about to burst.

“Down!” Doc shouts, throwing himself over Murk, shielding his head. Vale drops low beside her equipment, forelegs wrapped around the miniphonograph as the storm rages around you.

Then,just as abruptly, it stops.

Silence crashes down harder than the chaos ever did. Dust drifts slowly through the air. The room feels… lighter. Emptier.

Your Ki-meter gives a final pop and hiss.

You adjust it quickly, tuning it for Vale as well. The needles settles, calm and steady.

Only your unit’s Ki registers now.

[What is your next move?]

>>42945002
Must've been the last of it's energy.

>>42945002
It's gone, at least for now. We should get the wounded out now that we can. Maybe the guard can help with that?
And also put out the fire to make sure Page has a place to return to once she's better.

>>42945002
Is everybody alright?
Did the ghost just randomly explode with Tau? Did Marrow know ghosts can do that? Or did it pop because it tried to record too much? Maybe evem The Song. This recording may be dangerous, Vale should be extra careful with it. Don't listen it alone. Better yet, only let Doc listen, as he's not a unicorn, not possessed (or does not-his shadow count?), and didn't have concussions recently.
By the way, go feed Doodles with our energy. Sorry about the freindly fire.

>>42945002
It's gone, whether of its own accord or the choir coming to collect it before it divulges too much. Maybe there'll be something on the recording but once again everything seems to point to a connection to the spirits in that well. I really wish we had any documentation from prior units because someone has to have investigated at least some of this. For examples that variable Tau, I'm not sure if we should be scared of it but I feel we should try to get as precise a recording of the spikes as we can each time it happens so maybe Vale can figure out something about the song because it really does seem that's what it's connected to.

Bump

>>42945643

>>42946022

Ki!