Valiant: Tales From The Archive

[CURSEd #26: Avvikerene]

Log Date: 12/1/12764

Data Sources: Ilyana Kemaim, Darrow Bennion

The Revelations of the Ironfist (Journal)

Epistle to Whisper (as inspired by Phoenix)

You know what awaits them.

And you fear it.

Because you were here once, and you know the truth of this place. You have walked its woods, stepped in its streets, sunk your body and your soul into the grip of this world so it could remake you. You stripped your inhibitions in the same way that a swimmer strips their clothes, waded into the ocean of sin, and let it take you. You stayed there for decades, and when they finally pulled you out, it was a question of whether there was anything left of the person that went in. A question you still have not answered.

That is what awaits them.

And you fear not for yourself, but for your friends, your students, who will follow you back into that ocean. You return, an expatriate of this world’s madness, hoping you can provide for your students what no one provided for you: a lifeguard, a lighthouse. Something and someone that can help them keep their heads above the water, to keep their sanity, and retain their minds as their own. Someone that can bring them back to their senses when those senses are slipping from them; someone that can bind them to the mast when Avvikerene is calling to them. For surely, it will call to them, as it once called to you, and as it calls to all who set foot upon its surface.

Beckoning for us to shed our lies, and accept the truth of what we are.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

C.V. Mediator: Viewing Lounge

5:20pm SGT

“I didn’t think it would be so… lush.” I say, staring through the window at the planet beneath us. The Mediator is currently parked in orbit, holding position above one of the planet’s larger continents; the world is riven through with large oceans and rivers, and the visible land we can see on this side of the planet is mostly green, with the occasional streak of brown, yellow, or red color marking out small deserts or mountain ranges.

“Avvikerene has a rich and vibrant ecosystem. The planet is at the ideal range from its star, and it has an axial tilt that allows to have seasons that help circulate weather and temperature ranges across the surface.” Ironfist explains. He’s standing behind us, his burly arms folded as he stares over our heads at the planet. “Natural foliage and wildlife abound, much of it evolving under the influence of the magic that permeates the planet. You will want to be careful down there.”

“Didn’t you say that the primary contact points on this world were outposts?” Kwyn asks him. She’s standing beside me, taking in the view as well. “I see metropolis lights down there.”

I glance in the direction she’s pointing, and I can see that she’s right — on the shadowed side of Avvikerene, there’s strips of light in the dark, radiating outwards from a central point that glows in the night. It’s the telltale giveaway of a major city, the kind that never sleeps.

“The cities are controlled by the Kotetsidokoro. They are not safe.” Whisper says, her tone clipped and short. She’s leaned back against the lounge’s wall, arms folded as she stares through the window at the planet below. “The outposts might be smaller, but they are beyond the reach of Avvi’s children. We stick to the outposts.”

The way she says it makes it clear that there’s no discussion to be had. Neither Kwyn and I remark on it, but both of us have noticed Whisper’s mood has gotten progressively worse as we’ve gotten closer to Avvikerene. Normally she’s the most casual and laid-back, but something’s off; this mission has her wound up tighter than clockwork, and neither of us really know how to handle Whisper when she’s tensed up like this.

“We won’t be going down today.” Ironfist says, piercing the tension. “We will do that tomorrow, when it is daylight hours at the outpost we’ll be deploying to. For now, we should finalize our preparations and get a good night’s rest, and we can’t do that standing here.”

He turns and starts back towards the door of the lounge, and Kwyn and I turn to follow him after a few moments. I’m not sure what preparations Kwyn needs to do, but for myself, I need to do a final check on the Axiom suit and make sure that it’s ready for what’s expected to be a long deployment without support.

Whisper remains where she is, though, staring through the window at the halflit surface of Avvikerene.

The Revelations of the Ironfist (Journal)

Epistle to Whisper (as inspired by Phoenix)

Avvikerene.

This world is one we speak of only in whispers, and never in polite company. It is a world that we do not tell our children about, even though many of our people have gone there, never to return. It is a world that we pretend does not exist; an open secret that most of us are aware of, but refuse to acknowledge — because acknowledging it would mean reckoning with the uncomfortable questions that it asks us.

Our collective refusal to speak openly of this world is what has made it a mystery. When a subject is taboo, it is still discussed, but discussed in secret, in the shadows, in the places where it feels like no one is watching. And what is spoken in the shadows is rarely subject to correction or challenge; in the shadows, misunderstanding, misinformation, and myths are born. Our unwillingness to speak openly of this world is what makes us so ill-equipped to brave its dangers, to the point that the only way to gain meaningful clarity is to go to the source, and experience those dangers firsthand.

Yet having done so, would we share that knowledge, hard-earned in the depths of madness? You would think so, and yet most often, we do not. For knowledge of Avvikerene is an anomaly that causes others to question why you have this knowledge, and how you came by it; to question where you have been, and what you have done. It is a badge that causes others to look at you in a new light, and reconsider their perception of you; it is a trophy that no one wants to confess. For most that brave Avvikerene and return with their wits intact, they never speak of it, because it is easier not to; and in so doing, the cycle of silence is perpetuated.

Something you know all too well, having been a part of that cycle yourself.

Event Log: Ilyana Kemaim

C.V. Mediator: Ironfist’s Quarters

11:04pm SGT

“Get a good night’s rest, he says. And then right as I’m getting ready for bed, who do I get a text from.” I say, folding my arms as Ironfist’s door spirals open. “This better be good, big guy.”

His response is to hold up a cloth-wrapped object that’s two and a half, maybe three feet long.

My eyes widen. “Wait, is that…?”

He steps to the side, motioning into his quarters. “You want to come in and give it a look?”

“Yeah, of course.” I say, stepping in quickly. The door spirals shut behind me at a wave from Ironfist, and he only hands me the wrapped sword once it’s closed. I start winding the cloth off it as he lumbers back over to his bed and takes a seat on it.

“I was concerned that it might not get here in time, but my contacts were able to make it happen.” he explains as I pull the cloth off to see that the shortsword is sheathed in a leather scabbard, mottled in brown and green hues. “Fire and heat enchantments are among the most common ones that people ask to put on weapons, so the work needed to create this one was minimal. The only additional enchanting that needed to be done was a masterwork request.”

“Masterwork?” I repeat, glancing up at him.

“Meaning it won’t break. Masterwork weapons are magically reinforced to resist stresses and forces that would otherwise destroy an equivalent weapon. It’s a type of weapon enchantment that you can usually only get in Ranter forges.” Ironfist explains. “I requested it when I first put in the order. I didn’t want to equip you with a weapon that might not go the distance, especially on a mission to Avvikerene.”

“I see.” I say, drawing the sword now and studying it. The blade seems almost tinted — it has that faint yellow-orange iridescence that tempered sunsteel always has. Etched into the flat of the blade on either side is elvish lettering; I can’t read it, but I can recognize the language. “Elvish?” I question, showing the flat of the blade to him.

“The forge that made it has a mix of staff.” Ironfist says, lacing his fingers together. “Dwarves are good with the metal, but they’ve got some elves on the payroll to do the enchanting. Elves tend to create more efficient enchantments, so.”

“I see.” I say, weighing the blade in my hand. It has some heft to it, it’s still light enough to swing easily, which I’m doing right now, taking it through measured strokes and cuts. “Seems to be balanced well. And it looks like there’s enough room on the hilt to two-hand it if I need to. What’s the story on the enchantments?”

“Nothing unusual. There’s a few keywords for different functions it can perform; they’re stamped into the scabbard to make it easy to remember them.” he says, motioning to the scabbard hanging from my hand. “You can set the blade on fire, cast an arc of fire, and fire a bolt of — you guessed it — fire. It can technically do more than that, but the more advanced functions are something that only professional mages are capable of handling. Using any of the enchanted features consumes energy, of course, and it will draw that from you, unless you stab it into some other reservoir of magical energy. Or if it’s in direct sunlight, in which case it’ll be powered by the sun, since the blade is made of sunsteel.”

“Seems pretty standard, as far as magical weapons go.” I say, studying the keywords stamped into the scabbard. They aren’t inked or lined or anything, so it’s something that you’re not going to notice unless you’re looking for it on the mottled leather. “How much do I owe you?”

“I’ll give you the invoice when you come back alive. I’m not going to charge you for a weapon that hasn’t proved itself yet.” he says. “Are you ready for this, Whisper?”

I press my lips together, sheathing the sword back in the scabbard. “No.” I say frankly, studying the adjustable carry strap that hangs from the scabbard. “A lot will have changed over the last three centuries. The forest won’t be the same; neither will the people that were here during that time. And the ones that’ll still be alive…” I take a deep breath. “…I’m not looking forward to seeing what they’ve become since then.”

“Perhaps I should accompany you three—” he begins.

I shake my head. “No. We need you on the outside to facilitate the extraction. Once we get the artifact, we need someone with a good head on their shoulders to drop in and get us out of there. I don’t want some cockeyed idiot messing it up.”

He clearly disagrees, but doesn’t push it. “I’ll at least see you three to the outpost, then.”

“That should be fine.” I say, tucking the sword under my arm. “Just keep in mind that you may see some things down there that you don’t agree with.”

“I think my dainty sensibilities will survive.” he says wryly. “I won’t keep you any longer. You need your sleep, and it may be the last night of good sleep that you have for a while.”

I snort at that. “Wish I could say you were wrong. I’ll leave you to do the same. Here’s to hoping that that we get this done as quickly and quietly as possible.”

He gives me a nod, and I head for the door, waving it open. Stepping out, I wave it closed behind me, and head back down the hall to my quarters.

Hoping that it would be a good night’s sleep, and I wouldn’t spend the next eight hours tossing and turning.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

Avvikerene: Decadent Harvest (Outpost)

12/2/12764 10:03am SGT

“Mmm, you look like a fine young lad. So, which one of these lovely ladies is yours?”

It takes me a few seconds realize that the words are directed at me. And even so, the question has completely shut down my brain, largely on account of how casual and conversational it is. The elf that asked it is staring at me like she expects an answer, to which I can only stutter “Uh, well… neither? They’re my friends.”

The elf, sitting next to a table that has trays of vials artistically displayed on it, just gives me a long, long look, then smirks. “Right. Of course.” Reaching over to one of the trays, she picks up a slim little vial with a peony-colored liquid inside. “Here. Free sample. Our way of welcoming you to Avvikerene.” With that, she tosses it towards me.

A muscled, green arm shoots past me, Ironfist’s massive fingers snatching the vial out of the air before I can catch it. “That’s very kind of you, but we’ll have to politely decline.” he rumbles, stepping around me to hold the vial back out to the elf. “We’re here for business, not tourism.”

“Oh, are you now?” she says slyly, taking back the vial, deftly returning it to the tray and snagging up another one in the same smooth motion. “Why didn’t you say so, big guy? My inventory is flexible. I stock concoctions for both work and play.” The vial she holds up to him is filled with a thicker black liquid. “If you’re here for business, you’ll want a clear head.”

“The offer is appreciated, but we’ll decline. We’re not in the habit of accepting largesse from strangers.” he says, refusing to take the outheld vial. He places his other hand on my shoulder, steering me back to the other side of the rickety comms tent we’d been waiting outside of. “Have a good day.”

I don’t say anything, going along with the steering until we’re on the other side of the large tent’s entrance, well away from the elven merchant. Inside the tent, Whisper and Kwyn are talking to one of the comms operators; apparently Whisper’s looking for an updated map of the forests around the Decadent Harvest Outpost. Ironfist and I were told to keep watch outside, so that’s what we’re doing.

“I suppose that generally speaking, I should turn down any other offers of ‘free samples’ from strangers while we’re here?” I ask, keeping my voice low as I stare out across the outpost. It’s a rather large outpost, with clearly-developed areas, buildings arranged in rows, and clearly-demarcated residential and business sections — more like a small town than just a simple outpost.

“It would be wise to treat any offered ‘gifts’ with a measure of caution.” Ironfist mutters in reply. “Avvikerene is the world from which a vast array of arcane catalysts and magical ingredients are exported, both basic and exotic, legal and illegal. The laws of the Colloquium have no power here — there are, without question, many products being sold on this world that would be extremely regulated, or downright illegal, on a Colloquium planet. And the offer of free samples from merchants is not purely altruistic, either. It is intended to introduce you to their product in the hope that you will like it enough to actually pay for it. Which is an effective tactic when some of those products have addictive qualities.”

“Is there a reason the Colloquium isn’t trying to regulate exports from this world?” I ask, watching as the residents of the outpost go about their day. Some are trading in the market area, others are working in open stalls or buildings where it looks like they’re threshing, stripping, harvesting, or refining flora or fauna that like like they came from beyond the outpost’s walls. Most of the outpost residents look like they’re not human, with a composition that seems to be largely made up of human-animal hybrid races like Halfies or vashaya’rei, or human-adjacent species like elves, orcs, dwarves, or Kidaku. I can even spot some human-plant hybrids, like sylvans and florans, wandering around. “If they know that illegal substances are being produced on this world, I figured they’d try and keep them from reaching the galactic market.”

“The Colloquium has tried. It did not go well.” Ironfist answers, folding his arms. “Avvikerene is responsible for a large fraction of the galaxy’s total supply of basic magical ingredients. Raw products that are used for the foundation of many everyday magical products, along with an array of more exotic and rare products that are used in medical, research and arcanology settings. When the Colloquium tried to start filtering the legal from illegal exports, Avvikerene went along with it until they realized what the Colloquium was doing, and immediately shut down all exports. No product was allowed to leave the planet at all. The galactic market, both legal and illegal, felt the pain pretty quick. The basic stuff could be sourced from other worlds, but the exotic and rare products got squeezed pretty hard. Prices shot up across the board, and so did the pressure from various groups that relied on those products. The Colloquium eased up after a few years, and carved out exceptions for Avvikerene into existing regulations. Since then, the unspoken agreement is that Avvikerene is allowed to export whatever it wants, to whoever they want, whether legal or illegal. That’s the price the galaxy pays to keep down the costs for certain magical products that would otherwise be very difficult, and very expensive, to source.”

“Really? They’ve got that much of a chokehold on the market?” I ask, unable to contain my incredulity. “There’s gotta be other worlds out there that produce the stuff that’s harvested here. Aren’t the Ranter colonies—”

“There is no other world in the galaxy that can produce raw magical product at the scale that Avvikerene can.” Ironfist says, shaking his head. “The conditions here are… different than on other worlds. The residents of this planet have made certain concessions so that this world may be soaked, drenched in magic and arcane power, even more so than a Ranter colony would be. And that magic permeates this world, infusing everything that lives and grows upon it. Often it supercharges the growth of flora and fauna, making things grow bigger and faster than they would on other worlds, but sometimes it results in mutations and unique creatures or plants that can be found nowhere else in the galaxy.”

I absorb that while I’m studying the paths that lead between the different sections of the outpost. There’s almost no paved roads here; it’s all dirt paths, packed hard by the passage of countless feet, tires, and wheels. “What do you mean by concessions?” I ask, starting to suspect that something isn’t quite normal here. “You’re implying that the people here have given something up, but as far as I can tell, they all seem pretty content, if a little…” I jump a little as a feel a finger run along my arm, and look to the side to see a couple of locals leaving the comms tent. “…uhm. A little… uh. Affectionate.”

“Oh?” says the woman that ran her finger along my jacketed arm. She’s young and slender and uncomfortably attractive, and what I first took as tribal tattoos are actually cheetah markings, with the signature tear marks running from the inner corners of her eyes down to her jaw. Similar markings are likewise visible across the rest of her exposed skin, of which there is… a lot. “Interesting choice of words. I don’t disagree, though.”

“Find something interesting, cousin?” Someone else leans around her to get a look at me — a young man with feline markings and a lot of exposed skin as well, his hair a silvery blue, and bound back in a braided ponytail. His yellow eyes light up when he sees me. “Oh, is that a human? Well fancy that. We don’t get a lot of those around here…”

“No, we don’t.” the woman says, tilting her head at me. She’s got a shock of pale yellow hair, fading to black at the tips, and her irises are orange. Judging by the tails and ears both of them are sporting, they’re vashaya’rei, specifically of the feline persuasion, and they’re both studying me with that unsettling focus that cats get when they’re presented with something new. “He’s… fresh. As a peach. Young, too.”

She slowly lifts a hand towards me, reaching for my cheek, until a hand clamps around her wrist like a vice. Everyone looks to the side to see that Whisper’s standing at the entrance of the tent, her upper lip twitching as it starts to peel back to reveal her bared teeth and a low, chest-deep growl. Kwyn’s standing behind her, looking generally unsure of how to handle the pending confrontation.

“Hands off.” Whisper snarls.

The vashy woman looks a little startled at first, but then quickly recovers, jerking her seized arm to the side, and pulling Whisper towards her as she leans down a little to show her teeth in return. “I didn’t catch your scent on him, Calyri’ashka.” Her orange eyes flick up towards Kwyn, lingering in the shadow of the comms tent. “Are you going to lie and tell me that one’s yours too?”

“I’m going to tell you and your friend to walk away before I snap your hand off and stuff it so far up your ass you’ll be sucking on your fingertips.” Whisper growls. “These two are off-limits. Do the rest of the outpost a favor and let them know it.” She lets go of the woman’s wrist with that, glaring at her.

“C’mon, Miari.” the male vashy says, clasping his hands behind his back as he trots away. “Let’s give them a little space, let them relax. We can swing back around once they’ve loosened up a bit.”

Miari smiles as she starts to back away, following her cousin. “Yes, of course. If you want a tour of Harvest, just let us know. I’d be honored to show you the wonders of the wilds, and I wouldn’t need a map to know where I was going.” The last part is a barb aimed at Whisper, who’s got a rolled-up map in hand.

“Bitch.” Whisper mutters as Miari turns and skips away.

“What was all that about?” I ask once the pair have moved out of earshot.

“If you come across anyone else with a big flower in their hair, you stay away from them.” Whisper orders, properly stepping out of the comms tent. “Don’t trust anything they say, and don’t engage with them. And that goes for anyone else trying to bat their eyes and get cute with you. Don’t give them the satisfaction, and more importantly, don’t give them the opportunity.”

“Flowers?” I repeat, confused.

“They both had flowers in their hair. Didn’t you notice?” Kwyn asks.

“No, I was hung up on the…” I make a vague motion to my face. “…facial markings. I thought they were tattoos at first. And why were they so interested in me being human?”

“Humans are a blank canvas.” The words come from the elf that had offered us the free samples earlier; she’s studying another one of her vials as she speaks. “You can turn them into so many different things. Really, you could do that with any creature, but it’s easier with humans, or at least so I hear. Rumor has it that Sunny Dee likes to try out her new ideas on humans, since their bodies are most amenable to changes.” She smirks at us, holding up the vial she’d been toying with — it’s filled with an orange liquid. “But I have a feeling you lot want to avoid that.”

Whisper doesn’t stop glaring, but she heads over to the elf. “Yeah? And what do you know about Sundew?”

The elf shrugs. “Enough to know that some people are fans of her work, and others would like to… skirt around her, where possible. I’m not one to judge either way; people have their reasons, and they are valid in both directions. But I am happy to capitalize on the polarization, and it seems like you four would like to keep her at arm’s length.” She motions to the racks of vials on the table beside her. “My name is Coccoriel, but you can call me Coco; I’m one of the best brewers the outpost has to offer. I have some products that could help with what you need, though their effectiveness will depend on how and when you deploy them. I can only sell the tools; whether you use them wisely is entirely beyond my control.”

“Uhm— what, what’s this Sunny Dee, this Sundew thing?” I ask, following up behind Whisper, with Ironfist and Kwyn moving over to join us. “And what do you mean about humans being… easy to change?”

“Oh, so this is their first time on Avvikerene?” Coco says, raising an eyebrow. “Well well well. You have your work cut out for you, Calyri’ashka.”

“We can talk about that later.” Ironfist says firmly, and even though it’s stated in the general, it feels like it’s directed towards me and Kwyn specifically. “You offered us a free sample earlier, Coccoriel. Is that offer still open?”

“Mmm, unfortunately not, my green friend.” Coco says, shaking her head. “You turned it down earlier, so I’m afraid that opportunity has come and gone. You’re paying customers now…” She grins. “…especially now that I know what you need.”

“That’s a bit sleazy.” Kwyn says, looking annoyed.

“That’s the game, sweetheart. You snooze, you lose.” Coco says, rolling the orange vial over the backs of her fingers. “Besides, a merchant is under no obligation to offer anything for free. I’m here to turn a profit, not run a charity.”

“If you’re here to turn a profit, does that mean you take credits?” Whisper asks.

“I do, though you may not like the prices.” Coco say, holding the orange vial up between two fingers. “This one will run you a hundred fifty. Some of the others can go as high as five hundred.”

“A hundred and fifty credits? For that little thing? You haven’t even told us what it does!” Kwyn protests.

“Oh, that’s right. I suppose I haven’t, have I?” Coco shakes the vial a little, the liquid within glowing brighter. “Well, let’s just say I know enough about Sunny Dee to know that she hates fire. And this produces some particularly sticky fire.” She reaches over, snagging up a similar vial with blue liquid. “I’ve even got a variation that will burn underwater, though that one will run you about four hundred.”

“You’d be charging us over six hundred credits for two vials.” I say incredulously. It’s not that we wouldn’t be able to pay it — all of us are on Peacekeeper salary and have plenty of disposable income — but even so, that many credits for two vials the size of my finger is just outrageous.

“If that’s a little uncomfortable for you, I do take other forms of payment.” Coco suggests mildly, listing them off on her fingers. “Blood, sweat, tears, milk, and… nectar.”

Whisper scowls at that. “And what do we get if we pay in blood?”

“Mmm.” Coco says, tapping her lip as she sizes us up. “I’d like a sample from each of you. Four vials of blood in exchange for four of my concoctions that can help you while you’re tromping around in Sunny Dee’s backyard. Seems about fair to me.”

“And what are you going to do with that blood?” Ironfist rumbles. “We are perfectly aware that blood has many applications in arcane matters. This would not be a harmless exchange.”

“Oh, darling, please.” Coco says, pressing a hand to her chest. “You think I’d do anything sinister with your blood? No, no no no. That’d be bad for business. I don’t take sides, my friend, and I won’t be using your blood for tailor-made poisons, possessions, impersonations, or anything like that. Blood is just another ingredient for me; it allows me to create concoctions that confer certain attributes of the person that donated the blood.” She points at Ironfist. “Take you, for example. You’ve a strapping constitution, very impressive. Your blood would work excellently in a concoction that could provide… mmm, shall we say, bedroom enhancement for male custo—”

Ironfist puts a hand up. “Stop, stop. I’ve heard enough. I don’t want to know. I get the idea, thank you.”

Coco smiles, leaning back in her chair. “As you can see, harmless enough. So, what do you say. Four samples of blood, in exchange for four concoctions?”

Whisper sighs, then looks back to us. “I’m going to make the exchange. You guys don’t have to if you don’t want to, though.”

“Whisper, we’ve got plenty of grenades.” I murmur to her. “Everything from frag to stun to plasma to incendiary; all we have to do is ask the Mediator to send a skipper down with some of them, and whatever else we’ll need in the forest.”

“Ah, young man, I’m not just selling you weapons.” Coco says, overhearing me and picking a couple more vials off the rack. “I’m selling you situation-specific tools. Sticky fire is particularly effective against sylvans and florans. A compass potion helps you figure out where you need to go if you get lost — and it’s oh-so-easy to get turned around in the Decadent Forest. A little purge potion goes a long way in clearing poisons, toxins, soporifics, aphrodisiacs, and hallucingens out of your system. Their use may be narrow, but these concoctions are tailored to the threats you’ll face in the forest. Can you say the same about your equipment?”

“So those are the four you’ll give us in return?” Whisper asks. “A couple of sticky fires, a compass potion, and a purge potion?”

“One concoction per vial of blood. If your friends don’t want to contribute a blood sample, I’ll cut down the list accordingly.” Coco says, flipping open a bag beside her table and pulling out what looks like an autoinjector, but probably works in reverse to extract blood.

Whisper starts rolling up her jacket sleeve. “Like I said, you guys don’t have to if you don’t want to.” she says, taking the autoinjector. “If you don’t want to, I understand. Not everyone’s comfortable with having their blood used for… other things.”

I puff out a breath. “I’m a little conflicted about my blood being used as a performance-enhancing drug, but so long as it’s not used for anything… harmful, I guess it’s okay.” I say, slipping my arm out of my jacket.

“Your blood? Oh no, I’d be using yours for a reset concoction. Human blood’s good for those sorts of things.” Coco says to me as Whisper locates the largest vein in her arm, presses the autoinjector to it, and pulls the trigger. “Different types of blood are good for different types of things. I don’t plan on making virility concoctions with everyone’s blood.” She gives a coy smile at Ironfist. “Just his.”

“I’m flattered.” Ironfist says drily. “If it provides my coworkers with the tools they will need, I will donate a vial.”

“How very honorable of you. I’m sure they appreciate your noble sacrifice.” Coco says, taking the autoinjector back once Whisper has filled it. Ejecting the vial of blood from it, she inserts an empty one back into it, wipes down the needle with an disinfectant cloth, then holds the autoinjector back out to us. “Who’s next?”

I take a breath, then reach out and snag the autoinjector from her. “Let’s get this over with.” I mutter, locating the largest vein on my left arm and lining the needle up with it. “Lesson learned, I’ll take the free sample next time…”

“Handsome and a fast learner? You struck gold with this one, Calyri’ashka.”

“Stuff it and fork over the potions, knife-ears.”

The Revelations of the Ironfist (Journal)

Epistle to Whisper (as inspired by Phoenix)

To say that people fear and despise Avvikerene for its sexual freedom is to fundamentally misunderstand what makes it so unsettling.

On the surface, that is what it looks like: a world renowned for its licentiousness and wholehearted embrace of sexuality, and happily reviled by the traditionalists as a den of sin and debauchery. It is the archetypal Babylon, a place that represents all the major vices bound up in a single world, and left completely uninhibited; an exercise in what happens when society forgoes all taboos and lets desire run unchecked. It is a place that has become mythical in its stature, to the point that priests and clergy will speak of it with dread and foreboding, despite never having been there and knowing almost nothing about it. And it is portrayed as so cartoonishly depraved that you would assume it was a rhetorical device, or a metaphor for sin in the general sense, and not an actual physical location.

And yet the reputation does not match the reality of Avvikerene. That is not to say that the reality of Avvikerene is milder than its reputation, because it is not. This lush world is home to delights and depravities beyond number, and very often beyond imagination. It is here that fantasies that would be impossible elsewhere can become realities; it is here that one can experience awakening upon awakening upon awakening. It is here that one discovers things about themselves that they never knew; or things that they knew, but never had the chance to investigate. It gives everyone, residents and visitors alike, the opportunity to explore the taboo, the forbidden, the unspoken; and this is why the fundamental truth of Avvikerene is so unsettling, and so frequently left unacknowledged.

Because for all the freedom it gives you, it doesn’t provide anything more than that. All the promiscuity and perversity this planet is so reviled for is not a product of Avvikerene, and this world doesn’t corrupt people, because it doesn’t need to. People are corrupt long before they ever come to this world.

Avvikerene just gives them the freedom to prove it.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

Avvikerene: Decadent Harvest (Outpost)

6:31pm SGT

It’s unnervingly quiet and still in the church.

For me, the big surprise was the fact that there was a church here in the first place; I’ve gotten a better feel for the outpost over the course of the day, and a church was one of the last things I’d expected to find here. But here we were, and here it was: a spot of piety within a settlement that seemed like it’d be largely indifferent to such things. And given that the chapel is completely empty aside from myself, Kwyn, and Whisper, it seems like the assumption of the outpost’s indifference is well-founded.

We’d come here on Ironfist’s insistence; there was something here that he wanted to do, and while he hadn’t specified what that was, the implication was that it may help us on our mission. At the present, he was in one of the small, side chapels that branched off from the main chapel; this building had been designed to accommodate a broad range of faiths and religions. The main chapel itself was general-purpose and could be used for congregations of any persuasion, but along the sides of the chapel were smaller chapel rooms, many of them no larger than a hundred square feet, dedicated to specific faiths or deities.

Kwyn and I are sitting in the pews, waiting while Ironfist does… whatever it is he’s doing in the Phoenix chapel, whether that’s meditating or praying or communing with his goddess. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask him, and I’m not a particularly pious fellow myself. I was raised in a Christling household, but I’d never really delved into my religion in a meaningful way, and its effect on my life was far from what it was for Ironfist, or Prophet. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d prayed.

I don’t know if Whisper is in the same category; rather than waiting with us, she’s posted up in front of one of the mini-chapels on the other side of the church, arms folded as she glares up at a statue of a woman with short hair and a long scarf. I don’t recognize the personage, so I can only imagine it’s a mythological figure that might tie into the religion Whisper was raised with, if she was raised with one at all.

“Dare?”

I glance to the side. Kwyn’s looking at me, and she’s kept her voice low. I don’t know about her, but I feel pretty awkward just sitting here while Whisper glares at her goddess and Ironfist prays to his. “Yeah?” I reply quietly.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” she asks, her eyes flicking towards Whisper and then towards the mini-chapel that Ironfist disappeared into. “There’s stuff they’re not telling us about this world.”

I press my lips together, nodding. “Yeah.” I say, keeping my voice down. “A lot of dodged questions. Stuff that they’re sidestepping. Even so, we’ve spent a day in the outpost, and I don’t know about you, but…”

“So you noticed it too?” Kwyn says, leaning in a little so she can put more emotion into her words without getting any louder. “All the people here are really…”

“Touchy?” I guess.

“I was gonna say horny, but yeah, touchy is part of that.” she mutters. “Something just feels… off about the whole place. Like an inside joke that we’re not part of. And I don’t want to be paranoid or anything, but… does it feel like Whisper and Ironfist are in on it too?”

“If they’re in on it, they don’t think it’s funny.” I murmur, turning towards Kwyn so my voice doesn’t drift as much. “Whisper’s been in a foul mood ever since we arrived in orbit; I’ve only seen her like this a couple times before. I thought she was gonna snap that cheetah girl in half this morning.”

“Yeah, she got real heated.” Kwyn agrees. “What happened with that? I only caught the tail end of it.”

“Cheetah girl and her cousin took an interest in me because I was human, apparently. And she was touchy, like I mentioned earlier.” I explain. “Honestly there wasn’t much beyond that; Whisper showed up and shut her down before she could get very far. It was weird, although now that I’m thinking about it… I’ve been watching everyone in the outpost, and… is this just me being shallow, or is…?”

Kwyn’s eyes widen. “Everyone here is pretty, right?” she whispers.

“Exactly!”

“Oh, thank god, I thought I’d sound like a bitch for saying it out loud.” Kwyn says, sounding relieved. “I haven’t seen a single ugly person in this outpost!”

I snort at that, covering my mouth. I know we’re discussing serious stuff, and I know I shouldn’t be laughing at it, but the way she said it, with such innocent disbelief and incredulity, is just adorable.

“I shouldn’t have said that. It sounds really mean, now that I hear it out loud.” she says, already regretful. “But you get what I’m saying, right? Everyone I’ve seen just looks… really attractive. But it’s like a variety of different types of attractive, you know? Like, I’ve seen some shirtless hunks wandering around, but I’ve also seen some pretty cute femboys here and there, and don’t even get me started on the girls…” She seems to realize she’s rambling, and gives a little cough, looking away. “But I, uh. You get the point.”

“Oh no, please, go on. Don’t let me stop you.” I say, still quite amused.

“Should’ve kept my mouth shut.” she mumbles. “But my point is that something here isn’t right. Something’s off. Everybody’s just too… just too…”

“Relaxed?”

Kwyn and I both turn to the voice interrupting our conversation, and find that it’s Coco sitting down in the pew behind us. She takes a puff of her vape as she crosses one leg over the other, giving both of us a languid stare. “That’s what you were going to say, right? Everyone’s too relaxed, they’re too comfortable, they’re too easygoing, they’re having too much fun. Most people here are happy, and you’re not used to seeing that.”

I scowl at her. “I don’t remember inviting you to this conversation.”

She shrugs. “Maybe you shouldn’t be having it in public, then.” She takes another draw from her vape, smoke drifting from her mouth as she goes on. “Your bodyguards haven’t told you two the truth, so I figured somebody should. Avvikerene is a place where you can come and live out your desires, your depravities, and explore parts of yourself you could never explore on other worlds. It’s a place where you don’t have to hide what you are, and what you want. That’s why it feels strange to you, why it feels off. Because everyone that lives here knows what they are, and what they want, and that they are free to pursue it. They’ve accepted what they are, they feel no shame, and that is something that you two are not used to.”

Kwyn glances at me, and I can tell she doesn’t know what to make of this either. “When you say that people can live out their desires here, do you—”

Coco lowers her vape, giving Kwyn a flat look. “Don’t make me explain it to you. You know what I’m talking about. Sex, kinks, fetishes, mild to extreme and everything in between. Don’t make me go into specifics. I don’t want to do that, and you don’t want me to do that either. Use your imagination, kiddo.”

Kwyn colors at that, flustered into silence. “Okay.” is all she says. And I honestly don’t know what to say to something like that, and if I try to say something, I feel like it’s going to come out awkward. So I don’t say anything.

In the ensuing silence, Coco’s gaze flits between me and Kwyn, as if expecting us to say something. When we don’t, Coco sighs a rush of vapor through her nose. “You two should not be on this world. You are not cut out to be here. And I can tell your bodyguards don’t want you here either, but they haven’t taken you back to orbit, which must mean that your group is here because they don’t have a choice.” She lifts her vape, taking another draw from it. “Has anyone told you what’s in the forest?”

I don’t quite know how to respond to that. I assume she’s asking in the general context, since I find it unlikely that she knows about the Dragine artifact, but you could never be too sure. “Like, in terms of the creatures that live in there, or…?” I ask.

“Of course they haven’t. They haven’t told you anything else; why would they tell you what’s in the forest.” Coco mutters, almost to herself. “There are many things in the forest; I don’t have the time or patience to tell you what all of them are, so you’ll get the short version. What you should know is that there are people that live and hunt outside the outpost, and are not bound by its rules or courtesies. There are also a vast abundance of plants and creatures in the forest that produce a wide array of substances, from toxins to aphrodisiacs, hallucinogens to soporifics. The people that live here harvest these plants and creatures, and process them into materials that can be exported across the galaxy. To visitors, we tell them to be careful about what they touch and interact with in the forest, because some of the flora produces these unique substances by preying on living creatures.”

Kwyn’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “When you say prey, do—”

“The plants will try to seduce you, and then eat you, yes.” Coco says impatiently. “Don’t stop to smell the roses, or anything at all, while you’re in the forest. It may seem absurd, but the plants have evolved to be very good at luring in their prey. And that brings us to the one plant that you should avoid at all costs: Sundew Weaver, though the locals usually refer to her as Sunny Dee. She’s a siren sylvan that lays claim to the entirety of the Decadent Forest. It is her playground, and those within it are her toys. She has many dedicated thralls, both in the forest and in the outpost. You will know them by the flowers in their hair; they are her eyes and her ears.”

Kwyn looks to me. “The two vashies we met this morning.”

“Miari and Mosha, yes.” Coco says, tipping her vape towards Kwyn. “They have been Sunny Dee’s favorites recently. They, and a few others, scout out new visitors to the outpost, and lure them into the forest. Fresh new toys for Sunny Dee to play with. Although you two, being human, probably would’ve been reserved for Sunny Dee’s projects after she had broken the two of you in. Like I told you earlier, humans are uniquely malleable, and Sunny Dee likes having a blank slate for some of her more ambitious projects.”

“What do you mean by projects?” I ask, feeling not at all comforted by some of the words being thrown around here.

“Sunny Dee doesn’t just take her toys as they are. She likes to play with them. Modify them. Help them realize their true identity and potential. She is, after all, one of the Kotetsidokoro.” Coco says, leaning back in her pew. “If you let her, she’ll take you, map your body ever so intimately, find out what you want to become, and help shape you so you can get there. That’s where the Weaver part comes from. Your body is a canvas, and she can help you explore it. Turn it into a masterpiece.” She snorts a rush of vapor through her nose. “Or at least, that’s what her thralls will say if you ask them. Isn’t that right, Calyri’ashka?”

The question is directed past us; both Kwyn and I turn to see Whisper standing in the pew just ahead of us, her arms folded as she glares at Coco.

“You say that like you aren’t one of her minions.” Whisper growls.

“I told you this morning, dear, I don’t take sides.” Coco says, resting her arms along the back of her pew. “I’m a businesslady. I like to keep my customer base as large as possible. I’m not here to speed along the conveyor belt of hapless tourists and adventurers traipsing into the forest… but I’ll happily sell them a few concoctions on their way out the gates.”

“Do you warn them about what’s in the forest only after you’ve sold them the potions?” Whisper says. “Or do you wait until they refuse, and then use it to bolster your second pitch?”

“At least I told them.” Coco says, taking another pull of her vape and blowing a ring of smoke soon after. “You and your green friend seem mighty invested in preserving their innocence.”

“That’s no business of yours.” Whisper says coldly.

“Whisper! Axiom! Little Wolf!” Ironfist’s voice echoes across the chapel from where he’s stepped out of the mini-chapel he was in. “I have finished communing, and have received permission to give you Arcadia’s blessing. The chapel is ready for the ordination, if you’ll join me.”

“I suppose I’ll let you three to it. You’re going to need all the help you can get out there.” Coco says, standing up and reaching into her mantle. “Speaking of which, I didn’t just come by to shoot the breeze. I wanted to give you this.” She holds out a vial to us, one that’s filled with black liquid.

“Another purge potion?” Whisper says, not moving to take it. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. Your snow-haired sweetheart here has potent blood; there’s traces of the Dreaming in it.” Coco says, nodding to Kwyn. “That’s very valuable in the creation of concoctions, and it seemed only right that you should be compensated accordingly.”

“So her blood is more valuable than ours?” I ask, reaching up and taking the vial.

“By a far margin. And along with that, I will also give you a warning.” Coco says as she puts away her vape. “I’m not the only one that finds value in such a heritage. The Dreaming is powerful and infinitely mutable; those that carry it in their veins are immensely desirable to the Kotetsidokoro, because they can be changed over and over and over again, with very little difficulty. If Sundew realizes there are traces of it in your friend, she will not stop chasing you until she has captured her.”

“If Sundew so much as lays a hand on any of them, I’ll snap her neck.” Whisper replies.

Coco smiles. “What I’d give to see that, even though I know it wouldn’t kill her.” With that she turns and starts walking down the length of her pew, giving us a little finger wave as she goes. “Good luck in the forest, darlings. I’d hate to see any of you come back with a flower in your hair, but you can’t say you weren’t warned.”

“C’mon.” Whisper orders to Kwyn and myself. “Let’s not keep Ironfist waiting. I’m not sure how patient his goddess is.”

She heads down her pew with that, while Kwyn and I stand up and give each other silent looks. We’d gotten some of the answers that had been evading us, but the more we find out, the more I’m starting to wonder what exactly we’re getting ourselves into.

The Revelations of the Ironfist (Journal)

Epistle to Whisper (as inspired by Phoenix)

It is all too easy to pass judgement on those that come to this world. Many often do, despite knowing almost nothing about Avvikerene, and never having visited it themselves. With the reputation of this world, the assumptions about intention are easy to make. And sometimes, those assumptions do have some foundation in truth. There are those that come for a quick thrill, a walk on the wild side, an exotic sex tour, and nothing more.

But Avvikerene is not for these alone.

There are many that come here for work, and they are paid for the challenge of resisting Avvikerene’s enticements. There are those that come here looking to grow or mature in some way, and they think they will find it here. Others come here to indulge — to scratch certain itches that can be scratched nowhere else, perhaps because it is not legal to do so, or because no other world has the particular delights that Avvikerene can offer. And there are some that come here to forget. To lose themselves, to let Avvikerene consume them body and soul, and remake them as something else altogether.

There are many reasons to come to Avvikerene. But no matter the reason, you never return from it the same that you were before.

And sometimes you don’t return at all.

Event Log: Ilyana Kemaim

Avvikerene: Decadent Harvest (Outpost)

9:34pm SGT

“So, when were you gonna tell us?”

I look up from my drink to see Dare sitting down on the other side of the booth I’m in. Inhaling a deep breath, I lean back on my side of the booth. “You pissed?”

“I’m a little annoyed, yeah.” he says, setting his drink down. “Seems like you and Ironfist have been withholding information that’s pretty important to the mission.”

“There are some things you’re better off not knowing about this place.” I say, thumbing away some condensation from the side of my drink. “On this world, ignorance is more than just bliss. It helps preserve your sanity.”

“Oh, so you’re protecting our innocence?” Dare says, raising an eyebrow. “Kwyn and I aren’t kids, Whisper. We know what sex is. We know people can be pretty freaky. You wouldn’t have offended our sensibilities by looping us in on what the culture is like on this planet. Granted, I do have a lot of questions about why the Dragine hid one of their artifacts on a planet like this, but that’s neither here nor there.”

I shake my head. “Dare, what happens on this world is well beyond freaky. This isn’t some specialty sex club in the Marshy Republic, or a lepi rave that turned into an orgy in one of the Ranter colonies. There are no rules here. You can walk away from the sex club; you can leave the orgy. But Avvikerene will do everything in its power to keep you here if it can, and if you escape, you will not leave as the same person you were when you came here.”

He folds his arms. “So maybe you should’ve told us that, instead of dodging our questions about this planet?”

“And if I’d told you, would you have still come?” I counter.

“Of course I would. The Administrator gave us an assignment, and…” It sounds like he was about to mention the Dragine artifact, but he glances at the rest of the tavern we’re in at the moment, and I can see him editing his sentence. “…and you know why that assignment is important.”

“See, that’s the problem. You don’t really understand Avvikerene, because if you did, you wouldn’t be nearly so eager to complete this assignment they’ve sent us on.” I say. “What we are risking here is not worth what we’ve been asked to do.”

“If you feel that way, why did you come on this assignment, then?” he demands.

“I came to keep you and Kwyn safe, you dingus!” I snap at him.

It comes out a bit louder than I was expecting, and it turns some heads out on the tavern floor. Both of us go quiet for a spell, toying with our drinks and sipping from them while we wait for the rhythms of the tavern to go back to normal. Only when they have do I speak again, picking up where I left off.

“I told Tenji, to her face, in no uncertain terms, that the artifact on this planet was not worth the risk we’d have to take to obtain it.” I mutter, low but forceful. “But she doesn’t understand this planet any more than you or Kwyn do. She insisted on the assignment, despite everything that I told her. She was going to send Peacekeepers regardless of my counsel. So I agreed to come, because I thought it would be better to have someone on the assignment that understood the dangers of this world.”

“Yeah, about that.” Dare says, fixing his grey eyes on me. “You behave like you’ve been here before.”

I glare back at him. “That’s none of your business, Dare.”

“It’s my business when you’re withholding information about the dangers we’re gonna face here.” he says. “Is there anything else about this planet we should know about? Or am I going to find it out when a shrubbery tries to seduce me and eat me?”

“I’ll explain to you and Kwyn what you need to know as we go.” I say, sipping from my drink. “When I give orders, you follow them, quickly and precisely, no matter how strange they might seem. Every order I give you will be for a reason, and most of that reason will be to keep us safe and maximize our chances of survival. Is that clear?”

“Only because it’s you.” Dare says, wiping at one of the condensation rings his drink has left on the table. “I’ve known you for years, and even I’m having trouble understanding your behavior recently. I can’t imagine how it is for Kwyn.”

“She’ll just have to suck it up and fall in line.” I say, polishing off my drink. “I’m about to turn in for the night. You should do the same. It might be the last bit of decent sleep you get for the next week or so.”

“I’ll consider it. I’ve got a lot to think about after today.” he says, glancing out towards the tavern floor.

“Don’t try to talk to the locals, Dare.” I say as I stand up. “You’ll go out there thinking you’re fishin’ for information and you’ll end up waking up in someone else’s bed. Finish your drink, go back to your room, lock the door, and go to sleep. If you don’t trust me on anything else, at least trust me on that much.”

He glances at me, then takes another sip of his drink. “Fine.” he mutters.

I purse my lips, but leave it and head for the stairs. His tone worries me; he’s clearly chafing at the absence of intel and the way he’s been deployed on this assignment. In retrospect, I should’ve been up front with him and Kwyn from the start. I’d been telling myself that I was withholding information to keep them safe, but I was starting to realize that was just an excuse. The real reason I’d been withholding the true nature of Avvikerene from them is because I was afraid they’d figure out I’d been here before, and they’d look at me differently because of it.

And while I typically don’t give a damn about what other people think about me, the way my friends perceive me matters to me, more than I’d like to admit.

The Revelations of the Ironfist (Journal)

Epistle to Whisper (as inspired by Phoenix)

And so here you stand, upon the precipice.

I do not envy you the task that is ahead of you. Most come to Avvikerene out of a desire to do so; but we come out of a need. We have no interest in the ocean of sin before us, and yet you must wade into it all the same, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that you will be able to keep your heads above the water. It is a terrible thing that the administration has asked of you, to return to a place that you nearly lost yourself to. That you did lose yourself to, until someone came and pulled you from the waves, and saved you from the siren’s call.

And your friends, who have been tasked to this alongside you — they know the risks now, but they do not fully understand them. We have done what we can for them — I have given all of you Phoenix’s blessing, and you will be there to guide them through Avvikerene’s dangers. But until they have experienced Avvikerene’s allure for themselves, they will not truly appreciate how dangerous it is, and the potency of its madness. I hope it is a lesson they will not have to learn, yet I know it is all too likely that they will have to.

This is the point at which one should offer counsel or wisdom in parting, but there is no caution I can give you that you do not already know yourself. You know this world and its manifold temptations better than the rest of us do; there is no experience I have to offer that would supersede your own expertise on the matter. With no counsel that could be of any use, all I have left to give are my condolences, and my exhortation not to answer the call of Avvikerene.

For surely it will call, and it will not stop calling until it receives your answer.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

Avvikerene: Decadent Harvest (Outpost)

12/3/12764 10:03am SGT

“Filtration on your suit is good?” I ask as I finish parsing through the system check on my visor HUD.

“Filtration’s good, so is everything else. Clean and green across the board. Power levels are steady; they’re lower than I’m used to, but the passive recharge is making up for the drain on cruise mode.” Kwyn replies, her voice coming over local comms in our suits. We’re currently at the gates of the outpost, doing our final equipment checks before we head out into the Decadent Forest.

“Closed-loop Crystallizer cells are good for that, yeah.” I say, checking the power levels for my own suit. “They’re expensive, though. Manufactured by Viralis Industries, so they must’ve cost CURSE a fortune.”

“Won’t catch me complaining.” Whisper says, checking the additional modules on the back of her light power armor. The usual loadout has been adjusted so that she and Whisper now have more advanced air filtration units integrated into their suits. For myself, the Axiom suit already has filtration capabilities that are up to par for this assignment. “Better than running these things off NDBs.”

“NDBs?” Kwyn asks as she slings her plasma rifle over her shoulder by the strap.

“Nuclear decay battery.” Ironfist explains. “It’s a cheap and common power solution for suits of power armor that need to be operated for long stretches of time. It’s efficient, but a bit problematic if the cell is ever breached.”

“And I’d rather not be running around with a potential nuclear incident sitting just behind my spine.” Whisper says as she shunts her plasma pistol into her thigh holster.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you in power armor, Whisper.” Kwyn observes. “I thought you’d have a custom suit, like all the other Peacekeepers do.”

“I do have a custom suit of light power armor. It’s cloak-capable, but you can’t modify it, because additional modules will need to be made out of the cloak material as well, and you’ll have to adjust the cloak pattern to account for the changed profile.” she grunts as she belts her sword across the back of her waist. It’s a new addition I’ve never seen before, and I haven’t had the chance to ask her about it. “Since this assignment requires an additional filtration module, I had to stick with the standard operative light power armor.”

“That should be the last of the supplies, Axiom.” Ironfist says as he finishes fastening two modules on the back of my suit. “You’re carrying the shelter and food for the entire group, so be mindful of that.”

“Enough for two weeks, right?” I say, rotating in place a couple times to get a feeling for how the additional weight handles on my suit. Most of the food is dehydrated, to cut down on the weight and keep the additional load compact. Boiling water and adding it back to the rations while cooking is enough to get it back to a consumable state.

“Two weeks, yes.” Ironfist confirms, stepping back and folding his arms. “But the estimation is that you will complete the assignment well before that. Little Wolf, you have the beacon?”

“Right here.” Kwyn says, reaching back and rapping a cylindrical module clamped to her backplate.

“Good. Remember that will be the only way we can locate you for extraction, and it will only broadcast for a few minutes before Avvikerene’s magical radiation drowns it out again. Only activate it once you have completed the assignment, and once you have activated it, you must hold position at that location. A gunship with an extraction team will be descending from orbit once it activates, and it will be deploying to the coordinates that the beacon broadcast from. Its sole purpose will be to land, extract you three, and immediately get back to low orbit before the forest can launch a counterattack.” Ironfist reminds us.

“A counterattack?” Kwyn says, her brows furrowing behind her visor. “Are there anti-air capabilities in the forest?”

“Let’s just say there’s a reason we’re going on foot instead of taking a troop transport out there.” Whisper mutters, then glares at a couple of passing locals as they snicker at us on their way out the gates.

“What are they laughing at?” Kwyn say, watching them go.

“Us, probably. They’re walking into the forest in their shorts and halter tops, while we won’t go outside the walls unless we’re suited up like we’re about to step onto a planet without any atmosphere.” I guess.

“Either they’ve built up a resistance to all the residual hallucinogens and aphrodisiacs in the air, or they just like the constant, lowlevel buzz they get from walking around in it.” Whisper mutters. “Our filtration modules will screen out most of the foreign agents in the air so we can keep clear heads.”

“Each of you also has Phoenix’s blessing upon you.” Ironfist adds. “If you find yourself in a situation that you cannot escape through your own power, call her name and the redeeming flames will engulf you. Choose your moment carefully, though — you can only call her aid once each. Once you use it up, she will not answer after that.”

“What’s her name again?” I ask. Ironfist had told us earlier, but it’s already slipped my mind.

“Arcadia, the Phoenix.” Ironfist reminds me. “Simply saying her name will not be enough; you need to send up the cry as a prayer from the heart.”

“I don’t plan on begging to any gods for help, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Whisper says, motioning to a flatbed heading for the gates. “Here’s our ride. Anything else we should know before we get going?”

Ironfist reaches into his jacket, pulling out what looks like a small, thin book and holding it out to us. “I picked this up in the church. It’s a book of precepts for Avvi and the Kotetsidokoro. Studying it may help you gain a better understanding of this world and what people believe here, and that may have value when you are interacting with the locals.”

“You realize that stuff is just propaganda to convince people there’s nothing wrong with Avvikerene, right?” Whisper says, not moving to take the book.

“The difference between propaganda and doctrine is a belief sincerely held.” Ironfist says, offering the book to me. “We may not believe these precepts, but many on Avvikerene do. It is therefore worth studying, for the sake of understanding the environment you will be in, and the people you will encounter in it.”

I take the book, looking over the worn cover. “We’ll give it a look over. Thanks for all you’ve done for us, Ironfist.”

“It is nothing compared to the task you have ahead of you.” Ironfist says, stepping out of the way as the flatbed truck reaches us, and Kwyn and Whisper haul themselves onto its sides to sit alongside the harvest workers riding on it. “Go forth carefully, and come back safely, Peacekeepers.”

I nod to him, then turn towards the truck, my jump jets boosting me enough to jump up onto the middle of the flatbed, which sags under the weight of the Axiom suit. One of the workers, a burlier fellow, looks around and sizes me up. “Damn, bro! And I thought my ass was fat!”

I color a bit at that, even though he can’t see it behind my helm. “Apologies.” I say, kneeling on the bed of the truck as it starts to trundle through the gates. “My suit has more modules than usual. It is a bit heavier than it typically would be.”

“If you say so, boss.” he says, turning to look at Kwyn. “That a custom fit? ‘Cause it looks tight, girl.”

Kwyn’s only answer is to give him a death glare.

“Alright, alright. Goin’ O for two.” he says, his head swiveling to Whisper.

“Don’t.” she says before he can even get a word out.

“Three strikes and I’m out.” he says, shaking his head and looking to the rest of the harvest workers on the flatbed. “We got a real friendly bunch today, lads and lassies. I’d be careful with this lot if I were you. Keyed up tighter than a cello string, all three of ‘em.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” another one of the harvest workers says. “Last set of adventurers to hit the forest was the same way.”

“At least until Sunny Dee found ‘em and got ‘em to loosen up.” another worker smirks. “And they were a looooooot of fun after that.”

A round of low chuckles go through the workers sitting on the edges of the flatbed. Kwyn, Whisper, and myself know better than to dignify it with a response, and so we remain stoic and silent as the flatbed truck trundles along the dirt road leading into the forest.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I felt a little bit of unease as I watch the gates of the outpost grind closed behind us.