Completed Let's Play Tyranicon's "Memoirs Of a Battle Brothel"

[Dhaze]

Ok then, let's get to it.

Do you guys remember the whole affair with Isutyr? Early on in the story, Miranda (this gal) counseled her into talking with Director Mitty (this guy); the matter being related to some alien business with a Gate below MoonFall. There's an abyss, and in that abyss a door, and beyond that door—whose opening is conditionnal to Isutyr's presence—yet more of the abyss, and in that part of the abyss a prison, and the opening of that prison has been foretold, and the Three Moons want to help otherwise MoonFall in its entirety will be destroyed, and in a vision Miranda saw me in The Blue Chamber Where The Door Lies, and raspberry jelly-filled donuts are the best kind of donuts, etc, etc, etc...

Really, the entire thing is, for the moment being, an unexplainable mind-twister kept thus for the enjoyment of those behind the curtain while they pull the strings. Well, now we go back to the Commercial district to pursue this strange matter and, hopefully, make sense of it all.

No sooner do we enter the Travelers' building that the guards want us to relinquish our weapons before we are allowed to push deeper down, into the bowels of MoonFall:

That is fine, I think. I, Diana, and Isutyr are Shapers; we don't need weapons to crush someone's mind, should this need arise.

A vast blue cavern, is it? Could someone, I wonder, someone with augural proclivities, someone like Miranda, call such a cavern The Blue Chamber Where The Door Lies?

He then claims we—I, Diana, Kaywin, and Zafra—must stay in this here room, for our own safety. It's okay. Strange rituals and alien magic and all that; I'm not exactly that keen on standing near a strange door of unknown origin at the precise moment of its foretold opening. More: I'm not a huge fan of Isutyr, whose bobance about her being an elf a Goada Naren, combined with her general haughtiness, rather annoys me. In fact, thinking about it, I really don't like her at all and probably wouldn't care if som—

You keep your hands off my beloved girl, you brutes, you curs, you miscreants!

Through the reinforced glass I threaten Director Mitty—something about tabasco-based lube—while one of his goons forcefully grabs Isutyr by the wrist. But a gentle prick of her fingertip later, as the floor is reddened by a droplet of her blood, all is well. Then Mitty, with assurance borne by practice, begins intoning a ritual of sorts.

– "Blood Unwillingly given and forcefully taken. Blood of the old blood, heir of the Oldest House. We of the Wardens, shackled by our Mandate, we unlock the Door, we accept the Consequences."

A deep, sonorous, and unsettling noise is heard, and caroms on the cavern walls. The door opens slightly and, peering cautiously through the aperture, Director Mitty says, "There's... something up ahead."

And ahead he goes with his Delta squad, to secure the way. A moment later we follow, and:

But the door was shut. Never has the Mandate been inside this part of the Abyss. Incomprehension veils Mitty's visage. Thus I turn to a scientist of his team, hoping she has any inkling as to the reason for all this:

Perspicacity, thy name is Ashen-Haired Female Scientist.

Suddenly the security team's instruments detect movement ahead. Mere instant later we find ourselves fighting victims of the Crasher virus who have somehow survived here, in the Abyss. Their meager threat dealt with, we enter the encampment's prefab, then intently read logs left by whoever built said encampment:

We girls emit an involuntary collective gasp. Reading on, and despite parts of the logs having been redacted, we gather that the expedition—having suffered heavy losses—eventually withdrew out of the Abyss, soon after Isutyr and her brother Maleon left together, to forge onward. The memory of all survivors, indicate the logs, will be wiped; and failsafes will be installed to ensure no one even re-opens the Door.

Learning of this, Mitty is flabbergasted. Isutyr is plunged into profound disbelief. "Surely the logs must lie," she asserts as if to convince herself; to which Mitty replies that, possibly, the logs have been fabricated by whatever anomalies reside in the Abyss. Moreover, his team had not to deal with any failsafes when endeavoring to open the Door, which makes him believe that indeed these logs might be a fabrication. After which Isutyr conjectures the failsafes might simply have failed to the point of remaining undetected.

For the time being, we leave the Abyss in a most cogitabund mood, having uncovered more questions than answers.

As an aside since one of your main criticisms about the writing was how characters could repeat info they already knew IC in a clumsy way.

This was one of the points where Tyranicon does it ok. Had you done another of the questlines that introduces you to that mysterious woman beforehand, the option to ask who she was would instead be "Was that....?" and then Revel would have been all like "Oh you already knew about her? Guess i shouldn't be surprused. Yes that was indeed x, she is y etc..."

Yes, the treatment of known information in such cases varies a bit in quality. Oftentimes it's well done with, as you say, your own character remarking upon the fact they already know X, then more valuable information being added on top of that. At other times, the information received in addition is purely redundant and inevitable, making for useless and potentially annoying reading, which I would rather avoid. And so far I've seen a couple—but only a couple—of instances of the game entirely ignoring the fact that your character knows some massively important information.

But then again, this game offers a lot of text and a lot of options when it comes to non-linearity. So it can't be easy to keep track of it all.

 

[Dhaze]

Back to the brothel for some well-deserved sleeps and much-required ponderings, Isutyr tells me she has some free time, should I wish to bond. Bond? Wide go my eyes upon hearing that; what exactly does she mean? And since when does Isutyr the Goada Naren of noblest haveage wants to spend time with me, a lowly human?

Intrigued, I meet her in the upstairs hallway she—for some reason—so frequently haunts. And am wholly taken aback when she formally apologies for having acted so curtly since first we met. "Are other acts of apology required?" she then asks, in earnest. Devious buer that I am, my mind ever a-swirl with pink vapors, I plaster a moue of disappointement on my face and ask her the very vague, "What else do you have?"

Despite she answers with a seemingly definitive, "Nothing sexual in nature, if that is what you are expecting," mere instants later I unexpectedly face this line of questioning:

'Copulate'. How clinical. How well it goes, with the white gloves.

I assure her it is. At least clean enough for Kore, Windress, and Dejah.

Yes, she certainly has a unique way to be at once forthcoming and unimpassioned. But as I briefly consider the possibility of calling it a night there and then, the matter of my fleeting indecision is solved when:

Queenly in stature, queenly in attitude. And spreading her legs, she invites me wordlessly.

(since Tyranicon is an incompetent nincompoop there's a conflict between some artworks' resolution and the internal resolution of the game, thus the in-game gallery rarely allows to see the artworks properly; so I went digging in the game files to find what I wanted)

 

[Dhaze]

Following my brief and unchaste rest at the brothel, and having transfered some money to upgrade the Blood Pit (which I have yet to visit...), I find that Miranda has joined Director Mitty in the Mandate's underground facility:

Adown we go, diving for the Abyss! (can we title ourselves bathybic adventurers, or would that require actual water be involved?)

The first man to whom we talk is a Mandate scientist, obviously brother to the keen-eyed woman who earlier told us, "Look, tents."

Gravestones, in an abandonned expedition lead how long ago we do not know, expedition whose very existence has been willfully erased from memory, and all this in a place utterly alien to the human condition... Yes, Scientist Man, I think 'ominous' is indeed accurate. That really made me laugh.

But what epitaph is engraved in the stone?

Is that a general 'yourself', or is that aimed at me in particular? I can't tell.

Making our way eastward, we meet this eyesome creature and her husband:

Here she is in full:

Yet more abandoned Mandate encampments have been rediscovered here and there, she explains. And further still eastward is what the scientists have taken to call the Valley Of Pillars; but there, some eerie, disturbing entity calling itself the Guardian proves an impassable balk to the Mandate's forward teams.

Thus for the moment other ways must be explored. Fortune has it that, strewn about the Abyss, are what glaucope beauty Nona calls DBTP: Dematarialisation Beam Transfer Points.

A.k.a. 'teleporters', a technology developed by the Mandate and thus far kept unshared with the unworthy public. Surely, we conjecture, using such a teleporter would allow us to warp further into these abyssal environs, bypassing the Guardian entirely. Alas, the network is deactivated, and a certain key is required to reactivate it.

So... where is the key, oh my Nona?

Classic. A short cave trek later, uneventful save for an encounter with weak crashers, and after rummaging awhile through an abandonned Mandate camp, we find a metallic disc conveniently stamped 'DBTP Network Key', which we promptly bring back to bella Nona.

Precautions are taken. Forward teams venture through the reactived teleporter; and they do not warn of any danger on the other side. Consequently, I and the girls are given the green light to use it in turn.

Don't you just love it, when a game warns you—in a vaguely disguised meta way—you are about to walk into a trap?

And indeed I learn my keen gamer presentiment whispered of verity.

We cannot move, cannot speak, suspensed mid-step it seems by means technological in nature. These men are prompt to understand we are Director Mitty's special guests as Nona's husband put it. The name 'Dells' is mentionned; and so too are mentionned the foreboding terms 'questioning' and 'processing'.

He introduces an 'anomaly' into our cell. A black flash of oblivion later, it seems we girls have unvoluntarily spilled the proverbial beans. Then:

What's that I have about this situation? Oh yes, of course... misgivings aplenty.

---

Side note before I move on to the next post.

Earlier, on the subject of the Guardian, Isabell Nona told me that some amongst the Mandate's teams have been able to slip their way past it. But after I recovered the teleporter key, she told me no one has been able to move past the Guardian.

Obviously it's a continuity bungle in the writing.

And I think a similar thing happened a couple of steps earlier in the Abyss questline. At one point, from Isutyr's dialogue, I got the distinct impression she of course remembered having a brother, but thought he was elsewhere entirely, safe and sound. A few dialogues later, Miranda said to Isutyr, "I didn't know you had a brother," to which Isutyr answered neither did she until reading the Mandate's forgotten logs.

Unfortunately, for practical purposes I delete unused screenshots as I go about putting this Let's Play together (here's a process needs refining...) so I'll have to wait until a second playthrough to see if I dreamed that, or if it is in fact a little whoopsie on Tyranicon's part.

 

[Dhaze]

I... wake up? Alone.

I don't even know what you're talking about, mister unknown person. So no, I did not finish any reports; have not even started them.

Deciding my time—my alien, confusing, Abyss-distorted time—would be better employed to more pressing concerns, I leave this ugly and irate balding red-headed dick of a dude to his ramblings about reports and working hours.

I explore my new surroundings, searching for my companions and a way to escape. In a bathroom, I catch a glimpse of some pretty thing in a mirror; and my reflection is evidently possessed of its own volition, yet the latter is in in all ways identical to mine and, utterly confused while simultaneously experiencing the most crystalline clarity of mind, I talk to myself, telling myself what is needful for myself to hear myself advise myself.

Understanding my own counsel to be sensible, I redouble my efforts to find a way out of this place. Ere long I discover one: a large double door helpfully topped with a luminous, beckoning 'Exit' sign. Alas this way is barred by two guards; and true, true, I could mind-rape them with my Shaper abilities, but I mischievously think about causing some manner of fracas, a distraction or another would see the guards abandon their post awhile.

Now, in a a couple of sentences you guys are possibly going to say to yourselves, "Wait... what?" And honestly, yeah, that would be a fair reaction.

Exploring the facility, I find a nearby place called Lab 14. In it is housed an abyssal creature I cannot see, that is apparently quite the... carrot enthusiast, of all things, for some reason? Flipping through research logs written by scientists, I am given to understand the aforementionned creature is rendered overly flatulent upon ingesting carrots. More: said gazeous by-products are spontaneously combustible. Fiddling with levers and switches, I clog the ventilation system then dump a ridiculous quantity of carrots in the creature's enclosure. Then, I run—and run like hell.

An explosion shakes the building, attracting guards and scientists alike; and I slip by, unseen, entering this place:

But where oh where are my girls? My search continues. Anon I stumble upon Cell Block A, and from one such cell this woman hails me:

Of course I can help, fellow wannabe escapee. And this I do, help. Guys in my brothel's administration services have taught me a couple of OS-related things, and never has the term 'jailbreaking' been more à propos: clicketing-clacketing my fingerway over the keyboard of a nearby console, I unlock the girl's cell.

At which point she promptly joins me, thanks me, and before leaving me shifts her very form into that of someone else entirely? What the Helen of Troy is going on, here? Still, in return for my helping her, she pointed me towards Cell Block B, conjecturing that if my gal pals are indeed kept in this facility, then there they will be.

I dart; and no sooner have I crossed the threshold into Cell Block B that my mind, unprompted, whispers to me anew:

Steps further I find my friends and liberate them, to everyone's mirth. Well, almost everyone:

Isutyr, I swear... One more disobliging comment like that and the paddle comes out.

Moments later we find for ourselves an exit—a real one, out of the building proper! Guards guard it, as guards are wont to do; but they are rookies and, with charm and cunning mixed equal parts, plus a pinch of authoritative threats for good measure, I get us out by verbally falsifying our identities (nevermind the fact we lot are so evidently dressed like courtesans, and not at all like scientists).

To the teleporter then! But oh no: it is guarded also.

Ohhh, it's that girl, the shapeshifter. I wonder if I might be able to convince her to shift into Kaywin, just for a night.

Back to Director Mitty's facility, he stands in disbelief when we explain the events we endured. I empathise, as I myself understand very little.

But though it obviously pains him to so much as envision the possibilty, anon he is forced to admit that yes, indeed, a division must have gone rogue. And with advanced Mandate technology at their full disposal, the very thought is cause for much distress.

Finally, I cannot help but wonder why exactly he lets me wander around the Abyss, freely. Given her evident link to the whole affair, her close relation to the Three Moons and Miranda, I would understand if Isutyr—and Isutyr alone—were allowed this freedom. But I, and the other girls?

 

[Tyranicon]

Can confirm they are continuity errors. I'll add them to my fix list.

 

[Dhaze]

While Director Mitty and his subordinates investigate the worrisome issue of a division gone rogue, I receive news.

Some heartening: Isabell Nona and her husband, having made no progress with their observing of the Guardian, propose we cunning girls try and talk to it.
Some disheartening: should I err upon answering the Guardian's riddles, it will be the death of me.

Understood. But tell me, Nona, what does it look like?

We board a vehicle with the Nonas; then a short while after disembark, as we brothel girls alone make to enter the Guardian's abode.

Its flesh moves as if water in a river. Currents run along its limbs and face. Its mane is ever a-squirm with the fluidity of ripples; and where individual hairs should be, I descry the most minute rivulets constantly flowing yet never truly moving. With a voice that evoked the rubbing together of two granite blocks, it declared:

– "There are four goblets in the room. All contain a lethal poison. You must drink from one if you wish to pass. However, only one of you needs to drink. But be aware! Your fates are linked, and what happens to one will happen to all. You may choose amongst yourselves who will be the one to drink."

– Who are you? "I am the Gate Guardian, of course. As that suggests, I guard the gate. If your question is instead what am I, rather than who, then I shall simply respond I am not what I seem."

– What are you guarding? "The Gate to the Valley Of Pillars. I have no doubt the next question from you shall be why I am guarding the gate..."

– Why a game? "Because I adore games. It lets me know my new friends and their worth."

– Can we leave? "The way back is shut. There is no power or artifice amongst you to open it again."

– The goblets; they are all poisoned? "Yes, with a virulent concoction will kill most things drink it. Be they machine, man, or a ghost from the Barrens."
– What's the point, then? "That is the game, friend."

– Only one of us has to drink? "Yes, one of you. I leave the choosing to you."

– How can I choose? "The goblets are all different, as are your companions. Seek not for wisdom outside this chamber. The answer is here. Closer than you may know."

(Perception check)
– My companions; how many of them do I have? The beast bared it teeths in a wide grimace you recognised as a smile. "One more than you may think. They are amongst you, moving unseen."
– Can you see them? "No. They are not something can be seen by such as I. Yet, I mark their presence all the same." The smile grew wider.
– Who are they? "I am afraid I cannot answer this question. Not because I am stingy with truth; because I do not know."


Do I have, in me as Revel inside Jack, the reincarnation or continuation of some being? Is that the voice I hear, mine-but-not-mine? Is it something in that vein? That could make sense, I guess.


As for the goblets themselves:

– The goblet was burning hot to the touch, and the liquid inside smelled like a rich broth.
– The goblet was freezing cold to the touch, and the liquid inside smelled of expensive perfumes.
– The goblet was cold to the touch, and the liquid inside smelled of exotic spices.
– The goblet was warm to the touch, and the liquid inside smelled like a decaying corpse.

It's the fourth one. Something, someone inside me, and the stench of a corpse... Has to be the fourth goblet.

You tilted your head back and poured the clear liquid down your throat. Strangely, you felt nothing. It was as if the drink was whisked away down someone else's throat. Then your body felt light, as if you were falling a great distance.

– "You have won my game fairly, by my own rules. Now you must depart, and I thank you for releasing me."

Releasing you? Oh, so this was not his volition; he was constrained into it.

Once on the other side of the now guardianless gate, I chance upon a DBTP:

I activate it and a heartbeat later a team of Mitty's men warp in, guns at the ready as they sweep the environs; then a minute later the Nonas follow. In passing, Isabell mentions Mitty thoroughly investigated the rogue division problem and how, with some violence, he handled the matter in a more-or-less discreet fashion. Though only the grunts were thusly handled, as that division's leadership could simply not be found, and are presumed to have taken refuge in the Abyss.

---

Since this is a blind playthrough, and I don't have a habit of reloading saves during a first playthrough, I don't know what would happen were I or a companion to drink from another goblet. Game over, possibly? Or a single character dies? Permanently lowered stats for everyone? Halitosis, and no one wants to have sex with me ever again? I don't know; I'll see that during my second playthrough.

 

[Dhaze]

So then, under our high heels now lies the alien soil of the Valley Of Pillars.

Yep, those are definitely pillars. Wait a minute. Pillars... A Memory Of Eternity... Pillars Of Eternity!

Eldritch beasts roam about the place, though unmenacingly so, being content perhaps to graze on the otherworldly flora of the valley. Their laisser-faire attitude stands in contrast to that of rogue Mandate troops who, in the fashion of Pokémon trainers, will dash at us soon they see us.

Entering the valley I immediately see, as in the first screenshot, two places named Decaying Tower and Forgotten City. But exploring northward I discover a Central Temple, tightly guarded by rogue troops, and likewise a Refinery. Still northward from these is a Broken Monument:

Engraved in the stuff of its make is a faded text I cannot decipher. But loremistress Isutyr can: "Beneath, she sleeps. Our sorrow keeps her there, chained by our will and hate."

Ever northward I find a great, white, domed building named Third Division Installation—the very same Third Division gone rogue on Mitty and the Travelers' Mandate! It is heavily guarded on the worldmap but, circling wide and to the back, I manage to reach it undetected. Alas the game prevents me enter it, as a text alerts me to the following:

I can see [...] an invisible web of cameras? Yay, me! Forget 20/20 vision; I've got True Sight baby!

Finally, northernmost of the valley I see this:

It stands there, immobile.

I actually whispered, "Oooooh, that's an easter egg of sorts!" upon seeing it. Again, Tyranicon:

So then, what happens?

"We await. We wait forever. In the black beyond. You will join us. In the dark, we love you. Will you join us? Take our power?"

Accepting it grants me... an insta-kill skill! I'll have to try it at some point. Maybe on the last boss or something, to trigger a super-mega-top-secret alternate ending, in which we solve all of MoonFall's problems via one giant orgy.

Southbound then, the lot of us girls, back to the Decaying Tower. But this place I cannot enter either, as my companions feel stir in them a deep unease when we approach the structure; plus, the only entrance we can find is locked, so there's that.

It seems the only place the game might allow us explore at the moment is the Forgotten City. There, silence would reign absolute but for the wind shrieking through streets left lifeless by the passing of cycles. And verily the city is of cyclopean proportions: beneath our feet lay gigantic flagstones, while each wall, each tower, each building is wrought of such colossal moellons could only be moved by the thews of giants.

Carefully, we explore its streets, and finally stumble upon a Mandate encampment:

A manned Mandate encampment, here, without the presence of Mitty, Nona, or someone else I might know? Oh Suspicion, how gently you nibble at the back of my mind.

You're stuck here? Yes, something definitely doesn't feel right.

Such camps as this one, the woman claims, each have a heavily-encrypted datacore, a safebox of sorts for the researchers' findings. But this camp's datacore is missing, and she could not get Mandate troops to quest after its exact location. She suspects—on what basis?—it might have been taken into the nearby tower; and she has—what a coincidence!—the key to said tower.

Moments later we insert the key given us into the tower's door, and the latter swings open. But after stepping into the tower proper, as we take in our surroundings, the door slams shut with such violence shatters its lock irreparably, preventing our exit. Then in front of us appears this:

Here I can imagine ERYFKRAD at a table with friends, not yet hammered but already passably pissed, listening to the DM list the options, getting mentally stuck upon hearing the third one then—dice already in hand—yelling "I use my fists!" as he slams one onto his character sheet.

---

Side note before moving on to the next post, touching on a subject I had briefly raised earlier.

When fighting a couple of monsters in the Valley Of Pillars, I encountered this:

This is what should have ideally happened, presented in order:

– I encounter a plant monster during a random fight;
– I meet an important and mysterious character in a tower;
– I instantly recognises that said character shares the plant monster's sprite;
– I conjecture that the character is either an evolved form of this plant, or is something else entirely having elected to garb itself in the guise of this plant.

Instead of the fourth and last point, what unfortunately happened is that I wondered if I wasn't overthinking it, if it wasn't simply a case of sprite or portrait reuse as I've seen before in the game.

I mentionned before the man seen during the game's introduction. He works for the Courtesans' Guild, he seems evidently implicated in some cardinal conspiracy, and he shares his portrait with a number of NPCs. Most of these NPCs are unimportant people readily recognised as such, and so in their cases the portrait reuse is quickly shoved aside as anecdotal. But in the questline 'The Coming Storm' with Dejah there features prominently a man with this same exact portrait; and at this point in my playthrough I still don't know if the character in that quest was indeed the character in the introduction—which would have certain momentous implications—or if it was simply a case of portrait reuse.

I can imagine the problems begot by lack of manpower; and so would say that most of the times, sprite or portrait reuse is fine. But in a small handfull of instances it is quite detrimental to the game.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

not yet hammered but already passably pissed

Both are unlikely to happen.

getting mentally stuck upon hearing the third one then—dice already in hand—yelling "I use my fists!" as he slams one onto his character sheet.

This one though, can't say.

 

[Dhaze]

Both are unlikely to happen.

I know you only wrote 'unlikely', but now I'm picturing a teetotal barbarian. That would be a potentialy interest twist on a classic.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Yeah I spend my loot and plunder in libraries rather than taverns.

 

[Dhaze]

 

[Dhaze]

Continuing from before, we are now in a subterrane locale peopled by alien creatures and rogue psy-ops agents, locked inside a decrepit tower, and a yet-unnamed entity resembling a plant of sorts proffers us a cup of tea. Perfectly normal situation. Typical of any friday night in MoonFall.

I decline the cup of tea; "Your loss," says the entity, "it's quite good." Then, in a language I do not understand, it and Isutyr acknowledge each other; she as 'one of the people', and it as an 'elder one'.

These mundane politenesses out of the way, I get to ask a couple of questions. "What are you?" being at the forefront of my mind, so too is it the first one to part my lips. "That," answers this entity, "I shall not reveal just yet." La! again with the mysteries laid atop mysteries. But fortunately Isutyr proves knowledgeable and provides a modicum of precision: "It is an elder changeling spirit. A 'sien of vaul'. I have never seen one before." To which the entity adds: "Nor will you see one again. I can feel it in the earth... that I am the last of my kind."

Further into the conversation I learn this entity titles itself Caretaker and Goaler [sic], whose duty bids him keep watch over the valley. But said duty is now coming to its end with the forthcoming arrival of one 'Princess of the Blood'. And my arrival, too, is fortuitous to such events; I, whom the Caretaker then calls the 'Herald'.

As to my current questings:

Of course. But despite the Caretaker's hospitality being limited, hospitality it remains nonetheless; and he proposes to help us... for a price. What price? The tower—his abode—is decrepit, ravaged by the creeping-forth of moss, with stones crumbling from the walls as if flakes of wizened skin sloughing off a leper. "If you can lend a hand," says the Caretaker, "I'll see about assisting you on your quest as well."

(doesn't that attitude, that proclivity for games, remind you guys of anyone? It sure did for me)

Now here is something I really like:

Yes! Finally! I've been waiting since the beginning of the game for this, and was starting to despair it would never surface. This, I think, is the way to go about stat checks; certainly it is my favorite. Present me with the options, and be clear as to what stat or skill or whatever gets checked, but do not tell me in advance if I'm going to pass the check.

Telling me in advance if I'm gonna succeed does a couple of things; one of which I do like, and one of which I do not personally mind one way or the other.

Firstly, the obvious: it robs me of any suspense. Will it work? Will it not? I already know. There's no wondering, no risk-taking. Though this can potentially be wholly counteracted or partially mitigated by allowing bad outcomes to successes. For example:

– In order to discreetly gain access to some place, you are given the options of bribing a guard with 1000 credits, or seducing him;
– You turn the charm to eleven in order to seduce the guard, and your mission is a success;
– Out of your sight and hear, behind the scene, the guard—now deeply infatuated with you—keeps mentionning you over and over to everyone in his place of work;
– This catches the attention of his boss, your enemy, who after the fact discovers your incursion in his domain;
– Said boss, at some later point in the game, exacts his revenge by ambushing you (and you are obviously taken by surprise, as you thought you had escaped his radar).

Making the 1000 credits bribe the 'best' solution, as that would simply have made the guard allow you passage, without causing him to blab incessantly about your person. But this whole concept is a tricky trick to pull in a video game.

Secondly, it can help players into power-gaming the system. If my charisma of 7 has won me every charisma check so far, even some evidently difficult ones, why would I improve my charisma further still, when stat points—a rare commodity—will surely prove more beneficial invested elsewhere. This is not a problem for me as player, given I extremely rarely go the power-gaming route of things; when I play a roleplaying game, I actually roleplay and stats are a mean to do just that. So in the end, whether this aspect of the problem is an issue or a non-issue is dependent on the developer's point of view. Do you, the dev, want to curtail attempts at power-gaming, for one reason or another? Hide the numbers required for stat checks. Do you not care? Display the numbers.

But moving on. As per the previous screenshot, I try to talk my way out of doing any work:

This, I simultaneously like and dislike, but it certainly doesn't lower my opinion of Tyranicon in any way. How do you, the character, manage to persuade or begowk such a strange being, whose mind-workings are utterly alien? It is an exceedingly difficult thing to write convincingly without diminishing somewhat the alienness of that being—after all, if he can be reasoned with or tricked as would a human, is he really so different?

So you, the writer, take what I call the 'italics way'. Surprising yourself, you managed to convince [...] As a means to an end, it is what it is: simultaneously brutish and slick. I dislike it, because I always enjoy seeing someone attempt to actually write something convincing; but I also like it, plainly because it does what needs done.

And with that silver-tongued trick, I gain access to the second level of the tower:

 

[Dhaze]

The second level of the tower is curiously devoid of almost any feature, save for a bunch of discarded sleeping bags. Rummaging through these, I discover a note:

(N.B. this 3rd Division being the rogue one causing much trouble for the Mandate, and responsible for the memory wipes)

So Isabell Nona (in company with her husband?) was here, however long ago.

With nothing else of interest here, we endeavor to climb the rope ladder. But while the distance separating us from the next level seems short, we grab and step on rung after rung after rung after rung during what feels like much too long a time, indicating perhaps that the tower shifts in imperceptible ways.

On the third level:

"This tower," explains the Caretaker, "much like the rest of the Cage which you call the Abyss, has rules onto itself. This river encircles the Abyss as its Binding Chain, and the Pillars configure it into its varied shapes. It is here, however, mainly to protect the upper floors from intruders. You see, it has certain territorial tendencies."

[...] the Pillars configure it into its varied shapes. Uh... Log 4.55—which we read moments earlier—mentions the tower being "due south" of the Forgotten City; but in truth the tower is situated to the south-west of the city. So either that's the tiniest of bungles on Tyranicon's part, or the tower was indeed due south of the city when Log 4.55 was written. I do like the idea of a zone that rearranges itself; very intriguing.

Then, I bethink myself of the Guardian I had previously encountered, as the Caretaker proves anew his great liking of questions underscored by curious notions. Now taking on the role of a troll guarding his bridge, he voices his conditions for our passage:

First question: what is your name? I of course answer with my name. To which the Caretaker retorts: "Ahhh, for calling names, that is strange to my ears. When you reach Her, She may tell you a truer name."

Second question: what is my quest? The options are:

– To find Isutyr's kin;
– To resolve the Guild's civil war;
– To obtain great power or wealth;
– To survive;
– I have no 'quest';
– Something else;
– Say nothing.

Given recent discoveries—or, really, undiscoveries—about myself, I more than anything aim to understand the truth about my lost memories. Thus I answer: "Something else." And the Caretaker to say: "Oh? Is it a great secret? Nonetheless, you have in you the desire and chance for greatness... should you wish for it."

Third question: will you free Her, if you are able to do so? Despite I yet fail to grasp the granular intricacies of this entire affair, I am quite certain that She, whoever that is exactly, is not someone I wish to set free. Thus I answer with a simple 'no'; and the Caretaker allows me safe crossing of the river.

Meters away from the bridge I descry, anew, some discarded sleeping bags inside which is a written log:

Climbing to the third level of the tower:

Sorrow and grief felt towards, as he says, those made in his image and now fallen. Into each of these strange memorials has been scribbled a sweet notekin or another.

Making me wonder if the people who had herein been besieged had, much earlier, bought a company's worth of sleeping bags, I find yet more of these, and of course a written log.

Still we climb. And once standing on what we learn is the penultimate level of the tower, the Caretaker speaks:

Daughters? Traps? Okay...

And indeed a trap is sprung onto us! But it's just two or three droids whose bent, half-broken parts are barely held together by glue and tape, further being given a semblance of life by servos corroded through and through; not exactly a great menace to us feisty brothel gals.

Inspecting the room, I find the following:

So... shapeshifters? I've definitely met a couple of those.

Family bickering over food rights. Cute. Classic.

But at length we finally arrive at the towertop, and I dart for the umpteenth discarded sleeping bags, to read a final log:

"Isabell and I." I make a mental note to talk to her and her husband as soon as possible.

And there it is, the Plot Device after which I quest:

But afore I make to grasp it, I talk with the Caretaker who, perhaps mollified by my amicable dispositions, now proves ready—in truth almost eager—to shine his subtle light where a number of shadows have mounted and deepened:

– What is the Key? "You'll need it if you want to reconfigure the valley... and that is the only way to reach Her prison."
– What is the purpose of this place? "The purpose of this tower is to house the Key; the purpose of the valley is to house the configuration engine. The purpose of the Abyss is to house the Prisoner."
– Who built these structures? "The Goada Naren, with the assistance of the Traveler's Guild. It was very long ago. I'm sure both parties remember very little of what happened here."
– Who is imprisoned here? "A powerful entity from a place of existence very different than our own. She is the Everqueen, and her hunger was what drove your forefathers to imprison her here. You have an appointment with her, one will come soon enough."

"Your forefathers," he said. Forefathers proper, as in 'my ancestors', indicating my kith to be Goada Narens or people from the Traveler's Guild? Or is that a more general 'your forefathers', simply meaning 'people who came before you'? That's the problem with prolonged exposure to crypticality: you develop a habit of reading between lines even when only one line is written.

Still, now I grasp the key; and soon as I do I feel a deep, rumbling shockwave descending the tower's length. The Caretaker asks if we are ready to leave, to which I answer yes.

My 'yes' still floats in the air when the upper part of the tower seems to melt then coalesce into a flesh-like living matter that promptly rises over and surges around us, shaping itself as if a mouth of colossal proportions. And of such verisimilitude are the inner features of this mouth that my companions, feeling panic wash over them, futilely draw their weapons. The flesh-like matter enfolds us whole into its clammy stuff... then spits us out—unharmed but coated by a glistening layer of saliva—back onto solid ground at the foot of the tower, whose aspect is anew that of a decrepit tower made of plain stone.

---

(apologies for the low number of updates today and yesterday, but presently in Belgium the season for week-end flea markets is in full swing, and my collection of century-old postcards isn't going to grow itself)

 

[Dhaze]

Key in hand, and despite strong intimations it is no mere key to a supposed datacore, we saliva-coated brothel girls trek back a short way, to the Forgotten City. Upon entering the Mandate camp, which I also strongly suspect to be a Mandate camp in appearance only, we quickly get flanked by troopers.

Of course I try to talk my way out of a possible fight; as so befits my profession, I am a lover, not a fighter (though Thassia assures me some of her regulars like it when she punches their balls, so that's a consideration). But afore I can say a word, the researcher in front of me approaches yet closer—and her features droop, verily as if melting wax. Face, body, clothes; every part of her now reshapes itself. And boy... I welcome the change.

Good, very good indeed, that we are all still partially covered in saliva, as it is helpful right this moment to disguise my own drooling over her insane boobs-to-waist-to-hips-to-gap ratio.

Uh. Her portrait next to the textbox has complete heterochromia, with one rust-red eye and the other emerald-green, while her artwork has two light amber eyes. -1/10; will leave a negative review.

Yes, I understand. Well, more or less. I helped her shapeshifter sister escape (an act she mentions), so she could have been more inclined to reveal her real shape to me right off the bat; but still, it makes sense she would be mistrusful of strangers in this place of all.

Then my hair is made disheveled after I'm caught in a brief but tempestous whirlwind of information.

– Her name is Alpha;
– She and the other pseudo-humans by her side form a coven of 'slimes' as she presents it for my clear understanding (though they prefer different terms, doubtlessly some do not evoke noisome oozings);
– The shapeshifters have followed my movements awhile;
– From parts of the Caretaker they have been created by the Mandate, who then unceremoniously dumped them here in the Abyss;
– The Caretaker and his shapeshifting daughters must defend the Forgotten City (though Alpha does not know why);
– Some time ago, the 3rd Division launched a bloodless coup within the Traverlers' hierarchy, usurping power and exposing everyone else to memory-deleting pathogen;
– The 3rd Division is currently questing after the shapeshifters, for reasons left vague by Alpha;
– The 3rd Division still has agents within the Travelers' Mandate;
– Alpha knows why Director Mitty and the Immortal want me down here;
– Wait... what Immortal? Why, you dummy me, it's obvious: a powerful female shaper whom I have apparently met before, who goes by many names, and whom Alpha only knows as an immortal;
– Alpha's life was saved, however long ago, by Isutyr and her brother;

After all this, Alpha shifts her form anew, and now garbs herself with the guise of Daniel Levy:

Yeah, no kidding it's a lot to process. My main problem with all this being that the small handful of questions I was allowed to ask only birthed yet more questions in my mind; so come now, Alpha, please let me ask these newly-begotten questions, pretty please...

In a parallel universe wherein everything is called by its truest name, 'Memoirs Of a Battle Brothel' is titled 'Mysteries: The Nesting Dolls Game'.

Fine, I then say, I'll help, if only to sate my perishing curiosity. Thus Alpha explains to me the 3rd division has built a small installation at the center of the Forgotten City—and most likely there they hold captive some of Alpha's siblings, with the further possibility that Isutyr's brother could also be found there. More: the Caretaker wishes to reclaim the city center, for purposes uniquely is own. But with throngs of alien entities in the way, and with devices set up by the 3rd Division to combat shapeshifting abilities, just you go ahead and guess who might be doing all the door-opening and creature-fighting while Alpha shows the way?

Naturally, the next step involves this:

Obviously. As expected. The game momentarily becomes a dungeon crawler, as it should.

Room after corridor after room and corridor, we almost blindly paw our way through most tenebrious environs, periodically finding ourselves set upon by monsters.

In one room, we find statuettes with elf-like features; Isutyr pockets one such object. Further, we descry a variety of murals in bas-relief depicting people disembarking onto an island, with in their custody a fire-enwreathed prisoner; then further still murals depicting a murtherous conflict between the disembarked people, with one of their sides led by the prisoner; then finally murals depicting a field strewn with a carnage of dead bodies, and to the side a prisoner bound anew.

Of equally mysterious origin is a second set of murals, portraying an eerie-faced gelatinous mound at whose figurative feet thousands of people bow so that their foreheads kiss the ground. Lastly—forcing me to wonder if these bowels of the Forgotten City once housed a throng of overly-industrious stonemasons—we examine yet another mural, storying the forging of a massive chain.

At length:

This secreted door is secured by a DNA scanner, explains Alpha; before she reaches into a bag slung about her shoulder, and from within produces a hand, cleanly severed from its erstwhile forearm, which I'm sure very much misses its knuckled companion. Mere moments later, as we explore the handful of rooms constitute this Mandate facility, we easily disable what little security features—drones, and anti-shapeshifters screening devices—are still active.

With Alpha and her siblings now allowed safe passage, and with a fey and antique stone door facing us, then, then, oh at long and final last then! is the time to use the key found atop the Caretaker's tower. With such gusto would cause papa Freud to lose himself into maniacal conjectures, I thrust the key into that eager keyhole, and twist it to my relief.

The door opens onto a room.

Under our curious eyes, Alpha's two siblings begin to melt in a now familiar fashion. The stuff of their beings gently drifts toward a point between them, as if pulled by a magnet; globules of flesh splatter across the floor and roll like beads of wax before amalgamating into a form distinctly non-human. Lo! its final form is reached; and harken! for its voice is the clamor of thousands.

Yay, Lion-thingy buddy; I knew it had to be you.

 

[Tyranicon]

Dhaze I have to applaud you for this blow-by-blow playthrough.

One of the things I agonized over during dev is the gradual unfolding of secrets (which is the story). Naturally, I am behind the veil of my (sometimes ponderous) cryptic-ism.

I wondered what mental picture the player would paint. And I see now that they can form completely different conclusions than I.

Magnificent.

Super eager for your opinion on the final section of the game (you might throw something at me).

 

[Dhaze]

@Dhaze I have to applaud you for this blow-by-blow playthrough.

Honestly? I'm kind of annoyed at myself, as I really—and I really mean really—don't think I'm doing justice to your game. I sort of wish I had done a quick run through the game prior to starting this, to get a sense of its general structure; that would have allowed me to create a more palatable, more comprehensible Let's Play for those who might be reading this thread.

But then again, a blind Let's Play is more to your personal benefit, so it's certainly not a bad thing.

One of the things I agonized over during dev is the gradual unfolding of secrets (which is the story). Naturally, I am behind the veil of my (sometimes ponderous) cryptic-ism.

I wondered what mental picture the player would paint. And I see now that they can form completely different conclusions than I.

That's entirely inevitable. And depending on your point of view as the writer, but also on the specifics of each case, watching as readers come to conclusions wholly different than those you had limned can be a thing either of wonder or horror.

Even between close friends who think and write alike, it occasionally leads to the most incomprehensible moments. I've had arguments—but the goodly manner of arguments—with pen pals over this. One of them once made me laugh, and I'll quote her verbatim: "I swear I could make a character say 'I love the color blue', and there will always be at least one reader who for some unfathomable reason will think 'Oh so that character doesn't like the color blue'."

But forget such hypothetical limpidity as she mentionned. Here in the context of your game, you, Tyranicon, act as if a sly-faced mystagogue unrolling parchment after parchment of esoteries in front of utterly confused initiates. Or perhaps more accurately, you're like a sybil giving voice to orphic lyrics: sure, I the listener gather someone is descending into the underworld—but what exactly is going on down there, now that I don't understand at all.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Honestly? I'm kind of annoyed at myself, as I really—and I really mean really—don't think I'm doing justice to your game. I sort of wish I had done a quick run through the game prior to starting this, to get a sense of its general structure; that would have allowed me to create a more palatable, more comprehensible Let's Play for those who might be reading this thread

Guess the real question now is whether you like the game enough to have another go.

 

[Dhaze]

Guess the real question now is whether you like the game enough to have another go.

That I do. The game has a lot going for itself and I know it'll be a pleasure to replay it, probably soon as I've finished this LP in fact. (plus, a second playthrough will allow me catalogue all them pesky typos left behind him by poor and tired and overworked Tyranicon)

As well, I'm already thinking about how best to gather concluding thoughts; and if these are not all eulogious, most of the criticisms I have so far stem from my misliking of Tyranicon sometimes shooting himself in the foot (at times emptying a full mag into each of his toes), so they could be construed as barely-disguised congratulations.

More than anything, I think he simultaneously did too much and too little. This in part because it's a bit of a weird game he admixed, a pell-mell of ideas that do not necessarily complement one another. But I don't know... I'll have to mull it over a bit more.

 

[Dhaze]

I'd like you guys to think about what follows, and really put yourself in the the main character's stilettos.

You are a former courtesan. Currently, your job is that of Facilitator to a brothel, i.e. essentialy a co-madam. Sounds fun enough, with advantages aplenty—but your corner of the world is a cauldron slowly coming to a boil.

The Guild Of Courtesans—amongst whose ranks you number most prominently—is suffering a civil war of murtherous consequences. For a while you tried to avoid the mêlée, to stay neutral, yet for certain reasons out of your control your brothel has been bombed; and for too long an instant you believed one of your closest companions had been killed. While trying to ingratiate yourself to greater powers who might prove of later help to the Guild, you have directly contributed to the disappearance of a commissioner, a colonel, and a judge, in whose places were substituted trained lookalikes; this in shadowy preparation for the impending invasion of imperialistic forces. All that set against the adumbral backdrop of conspiracies formulated in hushed tones by crime syndicates.

Meanwhile, god-like figures long enthroned into legendries have returned, wielding powers arguably best left unwielded. As well, you have forgotten parts of your past; but like unintelligible murmurs carried by the wind from the depths of a chasm, whispers of said past have begun to resurface. And you have come to learn a prophecy—with you at its heart—is unfolding this very instant, ineluctably so.

Thus the whole situation is, in short, most grave and confusing.

Moreover, below the city, an alien landscape—antonymous to life as humans know it, yet curiously unharmful to you and yours—thrives with eldritch monsters and semi-crystalline flora. There, rogue psy-ops agents kidnapped you, then violated your thoughts afore you managed to escape with help from a shapeshifter.

Now, caught despite yourself in all this fracas, as a cacophony of concerns wails within your mind, you face anew a strange, playful, and amicable creature, whom you've first called the Guardian then the Caretaker. As its voices, its forms are myriad: known to you is that of a lion shaped by the cold and tumultous waters of a torrent; and another, a fey plant such as might sprout from the purple, ruinous soil of an altogether different space.

But at last, feeling comfortable in its own home reclaimed in part due to your own efforts, this creature garbs itself in its favorite, most comfortable shape. What will that be, for such an alien being? For all I know, it might decide to resemble a nebula infinitely collapsing on itself, whose colors are ever being enfolded by swirling clouds of plasma and cosmic dust.

Nope. Not – even – close.

Spoiler

Introducing: Anomalie.

And he/she/it/xev/zom changes the music to something a little less dour.



(is anyone experiencing an issue with the embedded video not starting? if so, the direct link should work: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2azmjFfEB9w)

And what a great host:

But tell me more about yourself, prithee tell!

Fantastic. All of it, fantastic. I can't properly express how much I love this. It would be easy to think of that as just comic relief, given the overall situation. But I think it's more: it's pure, unadulterated whimsy. Of course, a lot of people are going to say, "Uh? So what, it's just a blob." And yeah, you'd be right. But also very wrong. To me it's akin to the PabPab village in BoF4, or Quina and Vivi's marriage in FF9: cute and wholesome and adorable and faerical and delightful and heartwarming and yet all other manners of goodly things.

17/10; would become gay for the dev.

Still, the game is not nearly over yet, and much as I'd like to spend the rest of my days playing arcade games with Ano while drinking refreshing SlimeBrew™ (also available with one less 'e' and zero calories: SlimBrew™), there are topics and questions need be respectively raised and asked.

Of greater import are those follow:

– What is this place? "This is my home. One day I left, and the 3rd Division guys moved right in. How rude. Now I have to set everything back up again... what a pain..."

– You were carved in the walls. "Oh yeah. The Goada Naren summoned me to protect this valley. They called me a 'sien of vaul', an elder changeling spirit. Well... that, but I used to be a man too."

– So these are your daughters? "Uh... kinda? Those 3rd Division guys were playing around with some of my slime trails and decided to mess around with it. Just to see what'd happen. I mean... shapeshifters are pretty useful, so I don't see why not. Anyways, that didn't go well, so these girls came to live with me. And y'know, I've always wanted daughters, so I'm cool with it. If there's love in my life, it be for them.

– You did a poor job protecting this valley. "Is that what you think? I am bound to the Deterministic Chain. The 3rd Division guys are meant to be here, and so are you."

– What is the purpose of the Abyss? "Oh, it's built to contain the prisoner. It's a giant magic cage sealed with a giant magic chain."

– Who is the prisoner? "The Dream Empress. Mother Of Abominations. Now don't go around saying that name. Names got power, and that one sure has a lot. She Who Passes racked up a lot of names in her time. She's an Eswail. A ghost from the Barrens. One of the primordial memories. She also ate a lot of people, so she isn't exactly liked."

– What does the 3rd Division want? "Mmh, if I had to guess, it's that they're after the Chain. But the Chain's not going anywhere as long as it has a prisoner."

– What is the Chain? "Oh goodie! You're finally asking. The Deterministic Chain. The Goada Naren were crazy about that thing. It's not supposed to exist. It gives a giant middle finger to reality. The Naren called it Ae Elswhen Ovanial. A gift from paradise. Nobody knows where it came from nor why. It's smart too, but nobody can speak with it. Its one job is to bind the Prisoner, and that it does well-well."

– Do you know where Isutyr's brother is? "Oh I can tell you exactly-exact where is. The 3rd Division guys have in their large dome things in the north of the valley. He's safe, but for now he's too well-protected for you to reach him."

Yes, of course, I remember the place well. So for now, some questions have been answered—whose emptied places have been promptly filled by new questions—but this lovely place is a questing cul-de-sac.

Hey... uh... Ano? I don't fancy the notion of going back through the dungeon. Could you whisk me back outside, please?​

Oh?

A flurry of thoughts penetrates my mind—thoughts not my own. Then: a dizzying rush of nausea as my mind's eye is whisked heavenward, to a point above the ruins of the Forgotten City. From there to the north, where lays the domed 3rd Division facility. Suddenly I am plunged earthward, through metal and concrete, stopping momentarily within a large circular room into whose floor is encrusted a distorted metal disk. A voice: "This is the Seal; it will be broken." Not merely earthward now, but netherward, below the disk, deep into an inmost crevice of the Abyss. There stretches a dark void wherein I descry an inverted pyramid, bound by massive chains. These pulse with power; and though my body is not present, only my mind, I yet feel emanate from them a low rumble. Again, the voice: "MoonFall will be invaded. This is the opportunity they need to break the Seal."

And with that, I land back into my body, with a very real thud makes me lose balance for an instant.​

No... what have I done? The invasion will be prove the opportunity needed to break the seal? Damme but how I often err, when endeavoring for the good of this place! I should really stick to sex stuff from now on, and leave political machinations to others.

Still, Ano is cheery (and the game takes a page out of Fallout 4's much-renowned Great Book Of Dialogue Options):

So basically, if Ano had an account here on the Codex, he'd be a troll constantly smashing the

button.

 

[Tyranicon]

Inserting this sprite of Anomalie from my previous game S:TA (which takes place chronologically after Memoirs).

I think it's hilarious.

 

[Dhaze]

Pump shotgun? Grenade launcher?

Whatever the case, it should definitely become a Codex button. It's the perfect mixture of adorable and dangerous; like a raccoon or a red panda squaring up.

 

[Dhaze]

Ano's words echo incessantly in my head. "MoonFall will be invaded. This is the opportunity they need to break the Seal."

And here I am, big dumb goof of a deluxe whore, who a short while ago helped the Stormbreakers cement their plans of invading MoonFall. And to think that at the last possible moment, I was provided the opportunity to throw a wrench into said plans.

So then, what do? What do indeed... It might be a huge mistake—certainly wouldn't be my first; certainly won't be my last—but perhaps good ol' Greg, uncouth he of repugnant personality and cringeworthy spiked attire, could prove a balk to the coming invasion by imperial forces?

Last time I saw him, Greg intended to acquire the Seafoam Throne, whose significance would surely help him rise to greater power in MoonFall. To Dockside the girls and I go, to tell Greg we'll help him in his endeavor.

Ugh. So annoying. But fine, fine. We go to a warehouse wherein, if Greg's information is true, the Seafoam Throne is housed.

A fine plan; we brothel girls are quite skilled at hitting it from the back. Greg then explains there shouldn't be much more than nobody guarding the back entrance. This said, he hands us some 'face scramblers', mask-like devices in case should we like to play it on the sly, I suppose. Then after asking us to wait for his signal, he leaves, to circle around the warehouse and start things on his front end.

Diana dearie, Greg is a tool in more ways than one. At no point was trust involved in all this.

Shortly after, Greg gives the signal; but warns that a little shack some way in front of us girls supposedly houses a number of patrol droids in their charging docks.

Ever keen of eye and mind both, I notice the door only opens outward. A fatal design flaw, which we promptly exploit by heaping against it a lot of random debris strewn about the area.

But strikes me the notion that metallic-thewed droids might nonetheless prove able to ram the door open. Thus I climb the nearby ladder, in a not merely impressive but in fact frankly spectacular display of athleticism (with a little boost from my companions, since my Athletics stat is actually very low); then once up there Kaywin the electro-mechanic prodigy gently throws me an improvised remote explosive, which I let roll into the shack's climate control vents. Clang – clang – clonk – thud; and now I am sure the remote explosive has landed inside. I'll detonate it if need be.

Quick and quiet, we try to make our unseen way into the warehouse. We see no one.

A couple of steps forward, and:

Begad, invisible guards! This is Degrodel's home all over again. We are inevitably pulled into combat:

Attacked by guard who weren't there. Didn't get to use our face scramblers to try and pretend we are sexy plumbers called for an emergency. Didn't get to see or hear a super cool explosion in the droid shack. 2/10; would probably piss in the dev's beer if I had the chance.

But no matter. Quick work is done of the puny guards, then the warehouse we enter:

Perception check! These men... they're of the Iron Cartel. Did Greg just kill his brothers-in-crime?

Short hair, light brown skin, playful eyes; I voice my thoughts, admitting s/he's kind of hot like that. His answer of course is crass, and dries me quicker than a Maxi Pad.

But what's this I descry faintly shimmering about Gregarion's neck, and his men's too? Little chains, suspended to which are Stormbreaker badges. Just what is happening here? I have not the time to ask:

At the mention of this Gray name, I sense Zafra tensing; and so too does Greg remark this. Then, prompted by the latter, one of the two kids—willing himself brave—makes a show of braggadocio:

At this Greg laughs; a genuine, hearty laugh. After which he—still currently in the faceguise of a Stormbreaker—puts on a play for the two kids, claiming he was invited here by men of the Iron Cartel, to finalise some business proposition. But said Cartel men tried to renegotiate a formerly agreed upon accord. And look around, now; consider how rich, their idea.

An instant later, the two kids yell in unison as Greg shoots them in the ankle, before allowing them stumble away in a red trail. Then:

Okay but seriously: what is going on? A simple yet cunning plan, says Greg. The old Senhor—who heads the Iron Cartel—will soon designate for himself a successor; and how terrible, should that position be handed to the wrong person. Now, following today's events in this here warehouse, the two boys will report that Gray's crew—rival to Greg—stole the Seafoam Throne and attempted to sell it to the Stormbreakers.

This whole thing is going to come back and bite me in the ass, I'm sure of it.

 

[Dhaze]

Dropping by Iron Gaygarion's place, the cur seems mighty happy to see me and mine:

Yeah, sure. Drinks are provided by the plentiful, and for a while we watch as the Blood Pit shows to all the reason it is named thus. At one point, I notice Gregarion retiring to a backroom, in company with two women of such beauty would befit our Guild. Moments elapse, during which unwanted visions of Gregarion's naked ass pass before my mind's eye—pounding it, pounding it—and I almost retch. But when he emerges from the aforementionned backroom, rather than a certain levity in his steps as I would have expected, I see about him a downcast, vaguely contrite air.

"I hate to be the beared of bad news," he tells me, having received a call. "Zafra. She asked for... some information on a fellow Iron Captain, Gray. I'm afraid she's gone on something of a rampage."

Rampage? Must be a mistake, Zafra is right ther– oh no! She's not there; she must have left, unnoticed, while I let myself be engrossed by the fights.

But what a coincidence. Zafra, whose violent—brutal even—proclivities have enfamed her somewhat. Zafra, who was years ago made the target of an Iron Cartel bounty. Zafra, who never managed to fully leave her past behind and who, during the recent raid on the warehouse, became noticeably tense at the mere mention of the name Gray. To this Zafra, you gave the whereabouts of that Gray man, who just so happens to be your rival in the Iron Cartel.

No time to berate him, no time to slap his face into the wall; I get this Gray guy's adress and we dart there in post-haste:

The place: huge. Zafra: nowhere in sight. And a security lockdown is in effect, with thick, roll-up steel doors blocking every passage leading deeper into the mansion.

But my ears catch, from a nearby room, a ragged gurgling tells me too clearly what I am about to see:

The man is yet conscious, though he is heartbeats away from his last. From him I learn Zafra barged in like a fury, her twin auto pistols discharging a hail of steel throughout the mansion. Also from him I learn there should be a keycard, somewhere in the immediate vicinity, would allow me lift the lockdown. Rummaging through bookshelves and drawers and cushions and everything, we quickly find said keycard, use it, then plunge into the mansion.

Alas the manner of its make is labyrinthine through and through; its every minute feature purposefully conceived to confuse and disorient. Even those intimately familiar with the place must, at times, become lost despite their better sense. Thus, finding our good way is a slow matter; but—Perception check!—we somehow manage to do it all without alerting guards to our scurrying.

At length we step into a library, and there rejoin Zafra:

Without I can do aught but gawk at her celerity, her guns come level to his heart and she fires. Gray reels. A low, deep grunt escapes him. Yet, still he stands.

What the... Only adding to my and Zafra's confusion, Gray then mysteriously declares he has been told—very directly so—not to touch a hair on our heads.

This said, he presses a hidden button near the fireplace. The latter opens, belching a number of Gray's men, while Gray himself disappears behind them.

A fight ensues during which a literally enraged Zafra, not under my control, is first to act and proceeds to kill five enemies in one move:

Once the carnage is over, Zafra apologies, claiming she thought she could handle herself. I tell her she should have asked for our help; but this I say unconvincingly, given how she actually handled herself and those poor guys she ground into... well... into the ground.

 

[Dhaze]

Back at the brothel:

Everybody has thoughts need voicing. Dearsome Kore is passably angered, telling Zafra she "probably would've died if we hadn't shown up in time," with which I can't entirely agree, seeing the almost mindless carnage Zafra was wreaking on her lonesome. So too is Diana angered, admonishing Zafra by recalling how difficult it was to let her come into the Guild's fold, with an Iron Cartel bounty on her head.

Windress gets the rebound and insists said bounty, which for years now had been suspended, will henceforth most likely be fully enacted anew; "We'll have to watch our backs," she adds. As for Hatsuo, Thassia, and cie, they seem of a mind to work—if reluctantly so—with Gregarion, since our goals partially align, at least insofar as concerns this Gray man.

Before we leave the brothel, and considering the most recent events, I have a quick question for Zafra:

...

Back to Greg's place, then, while I mend my heart.

I thought this was a Blood Pit... but evidently this is an owlery, because what a hoot you are Greg! (god... I hope I'll eventually get to slap the stupid off his face)

But serious business promptly comes back on the table. And we girls better buy a lot of toilet paper: we're now on the Iron Cartel's shit list. Unfortunately, not even Greg can erase our names from said list; fortunately he more or less "got us a pass," as he claims, which works as long as we stay on his good side. Ugh.

At length the subject most interests me is mentionned: MoonFall's coming invasion by imperial forces from the mainland.

Huzzah! So there might be a way to prevent the invasion after all, and so too prevent the likely ruinous release of the Prisoner—capital 'p'—kept chained deep within the Abyss? 's worth a try, methinks.

But tell me Greg, this Seafoam Throne, how does it work?

Ooooh, ancient spell. I like the sound of that. What's more, the chair apparently requires be sat upon it one in whose veins runs the blue blood of the Pirate Kings; but in their time, the latters had so profusely spread their seed over MoonFall's soil that any native of the island—Gregarion included—is of their haveage. Thus, finding an heir won't be a problem.

At this point, the game proffers me the option to tell Greg the Seafoam Throne is tied to the Abyss.

"Clearly you have some knowledge about this I'm lacking." Well, no, that's the thing. My character is obviously keener than I am, since I, the player, don't know how the Seafoam Throne is supposedly tied to the Abyss. Did I skip some dialogue, or a quest, or... what am I missing here? Damn, I feel so dumb right now. Is it simply extrapolated from the mention of an ancient spell cast on the island? If so, that seems a rather tenuous link.

But moving on. Multiple pieces were missing from the Seafoam Throne, most of which Greg the wannabe Pirate King and his merry seamen managed to find on their own. Still missing is a sapphire, in whose corundum is engraved "some mumbo-jumbo" as Greg calls it, i.e. some manner of gramarye required for the spell to work properly. Chancely, this sapphire is kept in our Guild's vault situated under the headquarters; and who better to fetch it than me and mine?

Ok then, to the Guild's headquarters we go. There, the guy at the information counter is of no help, but I'm more than happy to see this gal:

For the laglasts or simply forgetful of you guys, Dala is one of the prostitutes left to fend for themselves by Tommasi, Gregarion's troublesome nephew. Last I talked to her, I had given her contact information with the Guild... and there she is now, of health and disposition respectively good and sunny!

She is equally gladdened to see me; and I indulge in some innocent flirting, incorrigible tease I am. But when the flirting ceases to be mere such and opens wide the way to other, more frank opportunities, I firmly decline, not wanting to garner undue attention.

Instead, since she works here now and knows the place better than I do, I mention—in passing, all nonchalant-like—the vault.

Security, she tells me, is apparently mostly handled by one armed guard.

One guard, and not much else. Curiously ominous, yet at once possible portent of an easy heist. As to accessing the vault proper, Dala tells me—like I had suspected—it is off-limits to anyone but members of the Courtesal Council. Suddenly struck by a flash of genius, I ask her an almost rethorical question: is Lady Bathsheva seated on this council? An instant later I call the good Lady, who tells me I'm unlikely to find anything interesting in the vault, only historical baubles.

Still, ultimately she says the following:

Vaultward, girls! In the corridor leading to it, the lone guard does not hail or intercept me in any way, so I ignore him entirely and try the elevator:

Why? I guess because he would escort me down into the vault, and there scrutinise my every movement?

Fine. I talk to the man:

Are you really the only guard?

Oh ok. Right, I get it. If I have to fight him, he's going to be a steel-thewed and -hearted monster of a man with health points in the hundreds at the least, capable of one-shotting any in my team. Guaranteed.

At this point, the game allows me to attack him outright, which I would rather avoid if possible. Or I can call Dala for some help, probably in distracting him; but I would rather avoid that also and not risk anything befalling the girl. The last option is to simply be truthful, telling him I need access to the vaults, after which he asks if I am authorised to enter them.

For the second time I show my temporary authorisation key to the elevator... and for the second time:

Am I super extra dumb today, denser even than a neutron star, or does this chain of events not make much sense? The guard lets me pass, and I have the authorisation to enter the vault; but the game bull-headedly insists I must distract the man before attempting to steal the sapphire.

I honestly do not understand what is happening. Is the implication indeed that he will follow us down in the vault? But his presence there wouldn't change much; as he himself says, my temporary authorisation will shut all the security measures down, save for the cameras. So our every movement will still be recorded, regardless of his presence or absence.

I guess once down there, we'll have to disable the cameras somehow? So if the cameras are disabled, but the guard is watching us, that might complicate things. Then again, between the five of us girls it probably wouldn't be difficult to distract him during the half-second required to pilfer a sapphire.

As to smuggling said sapphire out, a woman has her own intimate ways. So unless it is big as my head and sharply faceted instead of just big-ish and shaped as a cabochon, I have a ready solution. Against which what might the guard do? Examine the inmost parts of a Guild Facilitator, who has been granted access to the vaults by Lady Bathsheva herself? That would be outrageous.

But fine, fine, whatever. As I don't want to further involve Dala in this whole thing, the only option available is to kick the guard's probably overpowered ass. He has a whopping 350HP; natheless Zafra wins the initiative and deals with him with almost insulting ease:

Worthy of the treasures inside the guild vault? That's a line would more befit the Iron Cartel, not so much the Courtesans' Guild. And what was it, Lady Bathsheva said? "You'll have to be creative if you want to sneak something out [of the vaults.]" So much for that, I guess, unless plain old fighting is now considered creative.

But now at least the game allows me use the elevator. Here is what the vault looks like:

Note the complete absence of cameras which I might be able to disable or scramble. So if the guard did not lie and there are indeed cameras watching inside the vaults, I can't see them, I can't fiddle with them, and they record everything I do. I actually went back upstairs, to see if I had somehow missed a control or security room; but no such thing. Or maybe there are no cameras at all, and he was bluffing.

Inspecting the busts and every bit of Courtesans' Guild memorabilia, I fail to discover any sapphire. That is until a careful inspection of the bird statue—Perception check!—allows me descry a cleverly hidden panel, in the base of the statue. Fiddling with the bird itself, simultaneously pressing two particular feathers, a sound is heard, as that of a mechanism triggering, and gears grinding after lifetimes of immobility.

A hidden panel divided in two compartments opens. In one compartment: a sword, Lutra's Everblade.

Steel Wind and Decapitate. Nice. A new toy for Zafra.

In the other compartment: the object of my quest.

It was set in a bronze plaque, which reads:

The Throne Of Vanity
Crafter by Master Artisan Savov Pike

Built for Reavers and Thieves, the dreg of the oceans
And one of their line
The Whore Queen
Dispossessed and despondent
She will sit the throne in a time of need

The Whore Queen? That can't be me, right? Queenly I might be, but so much more than a whore.

In any case, gemstone in hand, we quickly go and deliver it unto Gregarion's eager paws:

Hold on. Greg didn't know about the Abyss, but somehow he knows about the Chain Lines? Ok, I'm definitely missing or forgetting something here, because it doesn't make sense to me.

But finally, similarly to Dejah, Gregarion counsels us before we leave:

 

[Tyranicon]

Sounds like you ran into a bug. I'll make a note of it.