Day Three The party - OrangeRKN, Jenuall, Drumstick, DarkRula, Quantum Name, Clarkman, Ironhide, mic and Hulohot - spent the night in the Great Library, learning all they can from its many books on myths and legends of the Forum continent.
"Friends, it's late, and I grow weary;
Mind is slow and eyes are bleary.
The time has come to rest my head
I urge you, travellers; off to bed!"
"What about Somebody Else's Problem?" asked Clarkman.
"Well, that's somebody else's problem, isn't it?" chuckled Quantum Name. The rest of the group was unimpressed, but all were exhausted, and soon accepted the Baron's kind offer of a warm bed and a hearty breakfast.
*
The next day, the adventurers - well-rested and well-informed - left the library and headed lakeside. They came across a red-and-yellow boat, but SEP was nowhere to be found. The group split up and spent an hour searching the shoreline and surrounding area.
"Maybe there was another boat, and he's gone ahead."
"Maybe he turned back?"
"Perhaps he's somewhere in the library and just got lost."
"Whatever he's done, we can't delay forever. We have to push west!"
They decided to leave a letter for Somebody Else's Problem at the library, explaining what had happened, and carry on with their journey. It was far from an ideal solution, they concluded, but then it was a far from ideal situation, and they departured in the hope that SEP would meet up with them somehow later. Jenuall and IronHide took the first rowing shift.
*
The land of GRcade, with its picturesque hills, lycanthropic forests and infamous bowling alleys, was but a distant memory now as the group of nine continued their journey west, to Grailtopia, in their distinct rowing boat. The lake was vast, and the heavens had opened some hours earlier; though the rain had subsided somewhat, and the group no longer had to desperately scoop up water with buckets to prevent the boat from becoming submerged, the wind was still bitterly cold.
Huddled together, those not currently rowing speculated as to what the GRail meant.
"I heard it grants immunity from bannings," said one.
"I heard it allows you to resurrect fallen mothers through the sacrificial use of PSPs," said another.
"I heard it's just a folder of Lizzy Vaid pics," a third voice whispered quietly.
After a long while, the vessel had reached the edge of the lake.
"There it is!" exclaimed Hulohot, pointing to a fallen bridge. Railway sleepers hung from its broken edge.
Hulohot showed the group the map he'd hurriedly sketched in the Great Library. It clearly indicated the major points of reference for the vast continent: the walled nation of GRcade in the east; the notorious Cohaagen Airbase in the centre-south of the landmass; the jagged coastline at its north, with its contrasting east-and-westmost points, the pirate port of Jhee-ar-Khade and the mysterious Quiet Ewe Cove, clearly marked. It was well-known that the continent of Bas-Ler awaited those that would cross at the North, and not since a particularly legendary crew had destroyed themselves from within, convinced a wolf was among them, had a sailing vessel been lost at sea. But the West was an unknown quantity, with less known about what might await beyond Cash Mountain.
"From what I could tell from the atlas, to find the inn, we follow the tracks," explained Hulohot. "Get on the trainline, and just walk. After a while, we'll get to the station we need. It'll be abandoned now, but the sign should be intact. And then it's just a little while from there to the inn."
The party followed the track for several miles, their progress only halted hours later when they came upon the decimated ruins of a train. Piled in with the debris were various gold-copper limbs, as if formerly belonging to an ancient, giant cyborg. Like many a thread, it appeared to have ultimately been derailed by a massive brass neck.
"The GRcade Express," DarkRula read aloud from the side of what was once a carriage.
"It won't be far now," Drumstick advised. "One of the books said that train was destroyed by R.E.L.I.C."
"They destroy trains?" shouted Quantum Name from atop the wreckage. "Crikey. How do they help us get to Grailtopia again? I thought we were looking for this Rogue Mod chap?"
"We are," explained Hulohot. "We need him to establish exactly where Grailtopia is. Four days ago none of us knew of its existence, and the lore isn't consistent as to its location. But not only will the Rogue tell us how to get there - if the Baron is right, he'll have the key to get us in."
No-one spoke. The group trudged on. Maybe half an hour later, mic broke the silence, pointing at a vast building site to their south.
"Hulohot, is that anything to do with where we're going?" asked mic.
"I've no idea," Hulohot confessed.
"I think I've heard of that place," IronHide chimed in. "I read somewhere that they're building a giant foundry there, but the project keeps getting delayed and the completion date gets put back. Some sort of future-tech, I think. It'll be decades before it's built, I reckon. I think they said it was all nano-"
"We're there!" shouted Hulohot. Distracted by the distant foundry, they'd not realised the station was now in sight. "Come on!"
An excited Hulohot sped up as he led the way. They wound their way through the long-forgotten train station, out of its building and into the adjacent town. An old sign informed them of their whereabouts:
WROPONT
TWINNED WITH ZWEISELBERG"I don't feel great about this place," said Jenuall. "It doesn't look like anyone's been here in years."
The party followed Hulohot down empty streets past dilapidated buildings. Foliage had begun to reclaim the land from its concrete oppressors and the whole area had an otherworldly feel, like a real jungle slowly invading an urban one. Yet the town was only small, and it wasn't long until they were at its outskirts again, at another side. A woodland was within their sight, as was an old single structure at its outset.
"Pub, then, chaps?" joked OrangeRKN.
It was indeed an inn. Its sign was faded, but clear:
ASK THE FORUMHowever, it was the wall underneath that bore the building's true sign, messily scrawled on in red spraypaint:
NOOD WAS HEREInside, amidst the cobwebs and dusty tables, was an old bar. Half-filled glasses attracted dead flies. From the pegs on the walls were hung blue hats.
"Right then," mic chuckled, "who's for a pint?" He lifted the hinge on the bar and walked round, assuming the role of innkeeper. Suddenly able to see the whole pub, his smile quickly vanished. Noticing his horrified expression, the group turned.
Laid rigid on a table at the back of the room was the cloaked figure that had killed Karl. They approached his corpse; there was no smell.
"He's not been dead long," surmised Clarkman.
"Do we think he was the Rogue Mod?" asked IronHide.
"Nah, it seems to me he came looking for him, but someone else caught up to him," reckoned Clarkman. "Besides, the Baron said he thought he was part of R.E.L.I.C."
A crashing noise startled them all. It seemed to come from further within the pub, inside a wall without a door. Wordlessly the group surveyed the scene, scanning for clues, until -
"Look! Below the dartboard!"
DarkRula was pointing at the wall; there were a number of stray darts hanging from the wall beneath the target but, surely enough, one was clearly different.
"It's a key," Drumstick realised, as OrangeRKN approached the wall. Indeed, the mismatched dart had been placed in a secret lock, and its door was slightly ajar. The nine GRail hunters moved swiftly inside. It was a relatively large room, perhaps the side of a couple of generous hotel bedrooms, with a desk, a central round table with padded chairs, and cork boards mounted on the walls. Pinned to these were countless scrawlings, sketches, photos and notes.
"The findings of the Wropont Ecclesiastic Lore Investigative Council," IronHide read. "So that's-"
"WR.E.L.I.C.?" said mic.
"This doesn't make any sense," said Hulohot. "Why-"
"Aaaaaargh!"Quantum Name stumbled backward into a Hulohot, terrified. From behind a pile of old cardboard boxes, the figure of a man had emerged. He walked towards mic, though his movement seemed somehow irregular, as if gliding hesitantly. As it approached, the dim light revealed the figure's familiar face.
"Karl?!"But as soon as it spoke, it was clear it wasn't Karl.
You fools. They told you not to come here. You know not for what you search, and you will soon wonder why also.The adventurers were dumbfounded. Sensing their terror, the figure began to emit a manic, high-pitched cackle. When it spoke again, its voice was different.
They don't get it, do they? Oh, how delightful. I like the slow ones. Their faces are just that bit more... entertaining.
"What
are you?" stammered DarkRula. The figure laughed again.
Oh, you really don't know anything, do you?
It began to sing.
Row, row, to Wropont
Blood begins to stream
Verily verily verily verily
Drown amongst the screams
The deep voice returned.
You've come all this way yet not realised what it is you've done? You've walked the path, crossed the lake and followed the tracks, and yet the connection evades you.Ooh, let me. You got the other one!
No. I shall end them. I've no sympathy for GRail hunters who can't even spot a link.The figure began to glow. As it did so, a ghostly hourglass appeared in the air beside it. The hourglass turned and the grains within began to fall.
"Look!" screeched Jenuall, pointing at a wooden mallet strewn on the floor.
One of you must try to lunge for the mallet.
One of you must try to stop the hourglass.
You must make a decision before 9pm tonight.