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7/19/2025, 8:44:58 PM
You study the pendant for what seems like a very long time, then snap the hinges closed. “I’ll take it,” you tell Cato, “Consider it payment for services rendered.”
“By all means. You’ve more than earned it, thus far,” Cato answers, “If you should happen to learn more about it, please tell us. It may shed some light on these degenerate cultists.”
“Maybe,” you reply vaguely, dropping the trinket into your pocket.
>[+1 Sovereignty Attunement, +1 Calamity Attunement]
As you’re thinking about your next move, a uniformed soldier hurries over to Cato and whispers something in his ear. Cato listens carefully, then sends the soldier away with a nod. “He’s here,” the silver-haired young man tells you, “They’ve got the suspect down in the basement now – and don’t worry, we’ve checked him for any weapons. He’s clean.”
“I certainly hope so,” you remark dryly, “Let’s just hope he hasn’t swallowed a grenade too.”
Cato’s eyes widen with alarm before he realises that you’re joking. Mostly joking.
-
Cato leads you down into the cathedral catacombs, where a heavy door awaits you. You start to wonder why a church would need such a sturdy door that locks from the outside, then realise that you really don’t want to know. You pause for a moment, glancing aside to Elle. She waits for your lead, clutching her notepad and pen tightly to her chest. Her face is calm, but her white knuckles reveal the anxiety inside her.
“Well, here goes,” Cato says to nobody in particular, opening the door and gesturing ahead. You enter with Elle, and Cato hauls the door shut behind him.
The prisoner is a tall man, with greying hair and a curiously bland face. It’s the sort of face that you forget almost as soon as you’ve looked away. Just to test the theory, you close your eyes for a moment and try to picture the man in your mind. You see the clothes he’s wearing, a creased white shirt and formal trousers, and you see the thinning hair, but his face is just… a blur.
“Sit down please,” Cato says, gesturing towards a chair.
“I’d rather stand,” the man answers, his voice almost completely flat and lifeless.
“I don’t care about your preferences. Sit, or I’ll have the soldiers outside break your legs,” Cato warns, though his bluster seems fake and forced. The prisoner seems to think so to, because what might be a smirk quickly passes across his face. Still, he sits. “That’s good,” Cato mutters, “Name?”
“It really doesn’t matter what my name is,” the prisoner replies, “I’m nothing really, in the grand scheme of things. Just a humble facilitator, nothing more than that.”
Silence, save for the quiet scratching of Elle’s pen.
[1]
“By all means. You’ve more than earned it, thus far,” Cato answers, “If you should happen to learn more about it, please tell us. It may shed some light on these degenerate cultists.”
“Maybe,” you reply vaguely, dropping the trinket into your pocket.
>[+1 Sovereignty Attunement, +1 Calamity Attunement]
As you’re thinking about your next move, a uniformed soldier hurries over to Cato and whispers something in his ear. Cato listens carefully, then sends the soldier away with a nod. “He’s here,” the silver-haired young man tells you, “They’ve got the suspect down in the basement now – and don’t worry, we’ve checked him for any weapons. He’s clean.”
“I certainly hope so,” you remark dryly, “Let’s just hope he hasn’t swallowed a grenade too.”
Cato’s eyes widen with alarm before he realises that you’re joking. Mostly joking.
-
Cato leads you down into the cathedral catacombs, where a heavy door awaits you. You start to wonder why a church would need such a sturdy door that locks from the outside, then realise that you really don’t want to know. You pause for a moment, glancing aside to Elle. She waits for your lead, clutching her notepad and pen tightly to her chest. Her face is calm, but her white knuckles reveal the anxiety inside her.
“Well, here goes,” Cato says to nobody in particular, opening the door and gesturing ahead. You enter with Elle, and Cato hauls the door shut behind him.
The prisoner is a tall man, with greying hair and a curiously bland face. It’s the sort of face that you forget almost as soon as you’ve looked away. Just to test the theory, you close your eyes for a moment and try to picture the man in your mind. You see the clothes he’s wearing, a creased white shirt and formal trousers, and you see the thinning hair, but his face is just… a blur.
“Sit down please,” Cato says, gesturing towards a chair.
“I’d rather stand,” the man answers, his voice almost completely flat and lifeless.
“I don’t care about your preferences. Sit, or I’ll have the soldiers outside break your legs,” Cato warns, though his bluster seems fake and forced. The prisoner seems to think so to, because what might be a smirk quickly passes across his face. Still, he sits. “That’s good,” Cato mutters, “Name?”
“It really doesn’t matter what my name is,” the prisoner replies, “I’m nothing really, in the grand scheme of things. Just a humble facilitator, nothing more than that.”
Silence, save for the quiet scratching of Elle’s pen.
[1]
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