Fallen London is © 2015 and ™ Failbetter Games Limited: www.fallenlondon.com. This is an unofficial fan work. All rights in this work are ceded to Failbetter Games.
Hi everyone, please don’t interfere until the end, this is collaborative, so that might take a bit. It’ll be clear when it resolves.
In the depths of Bugsby’s Marshes a desperate group gathers. Three Londoners, a squad of warriors from the Isle of Cats, and one Huntsman – yes, Her. Of the Londoners there is one woman, one man, and one person of an indistinct gender; Phryne, Mathieu, and Absimiliard.
The Curious Captain stands straight, if not tall. They have dressed in their uniform, in a nearly-black shade of irrigo. In one hand a small mirror, backed in snake-skin, and a sword in the other hand. They have a kit-bag slung cross-wise on their back. At their neck a Golden Apple pin, and on their spider-chitin gauntlets a golden wedding band gleams. Their demeanor is grim, determined, and unyielding.
"I fear it is a truism that no plan will survive contact with the enemy, so here is what we have Mathieu. Phryne and I stand ready to journey to Parabola. We know the Chromium Throne would be at … . . no, it is at the ancient Temple at the border of the Smoking Coast, the Hanging Mountains, and the Waswood. The Huntsman," Absimiliard nods towards a leopard-masked figure, "will bring us near the Throne. She will try to keep a way open for us to return. You and the Serpent Cutters must protect her." the Captain nods to the warriors from the Isle of Cats. "She can not directly oppose the Fingerkings, if she does they can replace her immediately, and that is what we must prevent."
Absimiliard sighs deeply, their face upset, "Phryne and I must stop Vavakx from joining with the Trader in Birthrights . . . . or else the new Huntsman will be a Snake, and will always have been, and always shall be. It would be disastrous."
Turning to Phryne, "One more thing, the dreams I have been having of the Throne – time does not work there as it does here. Be wary. It is very close to the Waswood and to Irem. There, near the Throne especially, all things shall be would. I would attack, not I did – nor I shall, nor even I will – all is would. It would be confusing." Absimiliard’s grim features suddenly break with a quicksilver-fast grin – toothy, predatory.
"Well then. Now you know as much as we Mathieu."
The Captain tucks the mirror into their belt, and rests their hand on a tiger sitting at their side. The tiger rises to stand. "Dawon knows me well – I despise delay once a plan is underway."
Absimiliard turns to the Leopard-masked woman, "Lady Huntsman – Take us out."
{edit: because words, we hates them}
edited by absimiliard on 6/20/2016