CLOSED SIGNUPS WHALE FALL

[unanun]

The floor bore multiple tracks of mud, thick at the door and fading to the entrance to the councilroom. The patrol stood around the body, panting from the weight of the corpse. Adelheid's hand hovered over it. It still dribbled murky water; small spurts of brown liquid had bubbled out with every step to stain the cloth, weighing it down and forming an obvious silhouette of a foregone conclusion. Ulmar's paws kept finding new positions on the table as he licked his chops over and over, unable to keep his eyes on the antlion in the room. The captain shut her grip over its face, and the squelch of receding waterlogged cloth filled the room, as it dragged over the swollen pale skin to reveal Tora and slapped on the floor.

"Cadia …"

"Sky beyond!"

An extended silence settled in the room, voices frozen in throat, lungs, or heart; only Barca gazed keenly at the body. The patrolmen remained disciplined but were growing restless, the excitement of the confrontation at the lake shore fading away.

"We have to find the…" Adelheid searched for the right word to describe her first experience with murder, "this … butcher. With all haste, and prepare to expel them. …We can use a rememory spell. Like the ones used at the graves. It will be able to pull back her last memory, show us what she saw before-"

"We are at more than enough tension with the guilds and the Keepers, and the ones who watch the resting places. If they found out that we use past-diving…" Kolmi risked a glance at Tora, "I don't know."

"We can do it right now. Tora can not be more than a one or two score gongs dea- pa- … passed. You must have a shard on you right now."

"No." Kolmi stiffened upright. "I need this piece to heal those who are falling to summer ails." Ulmar immediately shook his head, his long ears flip-flopping off his snout. "A-and I need to keep the records properly humidified in this heat! The leather and sheets are falling to rot!"

"How could you hold back-"

"Use your piece." Ulmar snorted. "The one you keep in your crown!"

Adelheid took a half step back in shock, her hand making it halfway up to protect her forehead before she reversed and slammed it down on the table. The bickering muted to an incoherent din. Barca pushed himself away from the table and walked around to look down at the body, hands clasped behind his back.

"What can possibly be more important than finding the-

"Murder."

That one word, the beginning of an idea that would grip Cadia until her final days, twisted all of the attention to Barca.

"Someone took Tora's life, against her will. That is murder."

There were two types of patrols, but Cadia mostly knew only of one, the one that was meant to scare wayward Cadians straight: the rare ones who did not listen to their mothers or fathers, the ones who continued to slash at her flesh even in adulthood, or the ones who were too liberal with their magic. They were taken outside to experience the judders, to smell their vomit inside their mask, to feel the vertigo from the sky and from Cadia's waning presence. If they overcome that, they would take part in menial chores around Cadia, assisting the Cutters with daily shaving, collecting scrap, and all other manners of hard physical labour that created a miasma of foul, hungry breath inside their mask. If they persisted, they would run simple patrols well within umbilical distance, logging lionsign and other things for Vanaya. The struggles were often enough to turn most greenhorns back inside with their newfound appreciation.

The first of the final trials was taking those who continued to persist to the top of a bluff. Cadia was still in sight, but the connection was weak enough that the lumps of omnibone in their satchels would slosh in their hands, unable to take on any definitive shape like tent poles, arrows, spears, or lantern-staffs. The arbiters peered closely at the greenhorns, and where their eyes went, that was where they were taken. The ones transfixed by the blooms, the medusa flowers, and the canopies were given theLong Range Manual. One section of it read:

You do not know the meaning of hunger. Cadia has always provided in equal, if not greater, measure of our mothers. We have never wanted for anything.

You will learn the meaning of hunger.

You will only be able to think about food. It will consume all of your thoughts. It will override everything you will learn from this manual and everything you learned in basic training. You will be tempted to eat dirt.

You will turn on your comrades. Patrolmen have tried to eat each other, and that has only resulted in two dead comrades. There is nothing but death outside your mask.

You can overcome hunger.

Your dependence on Cadia is near absolute. You have always been surrounded by Cadia. You have even carried her pulse into the wild. You have never been without Cadia.

There is a stamped image under the above paragraph. It depicts an ancient Cadian—maybe a Faceless, who is leaning against an arterial wall, hands reaching high. The vasculature of Cadian and Cadia have merged, and the body is barely recognizable. Here, to decay is to become one with our true mother. The Cadian is 'dead', but echoes from its body continue to call on Cadia. The caption reads: "Our unity with Cadia is a fundamental instinct that even lingers past death. Some tailward tribes still practice this method of burial. Recently, some from Atrium prefer a burial in an impermeable casket."

You will not be able to survive if you cannot let go of Cadia. Making it this far in the trials means nothing. Most Patrolmen who lose their transfusions go insane. The void is indescribable, the despair is absolute. It robs you of all agency, seeing the world no longer able to accommodate your will. It is unimaginably worse than any shudder.

Your only hope of survival is to find the way back to the trail. You will be tempted by all manner of delusions, and none of them will work. The only Patrolmen who have survived a long range patrol are the ones who found their way back to the trail. That is the only visualization that avoids death.

"I have seen this before."

"Now is not the time for theatrics, Barca!"

"I am being straightforward." He turned to face Kolmi, running a finger over the slit of a stab wound on Tora's body. "This is the first case of the disease that is soon going to spread in Cadia."

"If you are suggesting that an illness is spreading among those in Atrium… that the antlion hole is still festering…"

"Have you ever thought about killing someone, Ulmar? Like we would an antlion, or a sheep."

"Wha- no- what kind of question is that?"

"Have you ever been hungry?"

"Sometimes, before breakfast- Barca, Cadia's sake, what are you getting at-"

"Do you think you would ever kill someone for a scrap of meat?"

"Are you saying that you-"

"One of you three is going to have to give up your shard of ambergris. As you can see, I have none. I agree with the Captain: we need to find the murderer, expel them, and come up with a lie as to how Tori died."

The outrage of Ulmar and Kolmi could barely keep up with Barca's revolution. He cut them off:

"What would you do to stop me from taking your shard?"

"You can't. You wouldn't-"

"I can. I would. Murder is an idea, Ulmar. It is the idea that I can remove your objection that is standing in the way of what I want. It gets around law, precedence, tradition, culture, and ritual. The idea lets me look at you the same way I look at an antlion or a particularly warm nodule in Cadia. The idea lets me realize that there is something more important than a fellow Cadian. It is a thought that takes extraordinary circumstances to germinate, and once it does it makes them superior to any other man nearby."

"This person will strike again as soon as they realize they can harvest us as easily as Minnow's sheep. They will see the power that it gives them over their fellow Cadians. But that is not the worst part of it, everyone, no. The worst part…" Barca squeezed a fist. "Is how easily this idea spreads."

"So, who of you will be the one that will save Cadia? The horn is filling, the gong approaches. Every drip we wait the disease continues to take hold. It may be too late."

 

[Oxymoron]

Pendulum 1​

---

It had been a while now since Lillia had escaped the pen. Even so, something that had happened that day still stuck out in her mind. The little lamb, as it turned out, couldn't stomach running too far home. In that, she and her Shepard were like-minded. Minnow found her stomping around her home, hopping all over the furniture and knocking over all the figurines she had been so careful to organize. Yet she could not bring herself to be mad at the little creature. Even after all the chaos that her routine had suffered seeing just a bit of controlled rebellion from the smaller creature was a welcome sight after she feared the worst. The thing that had stuck with her from that night came when she had chased the lamb all around her home, Lillia prancing without a care in the world and Minnow giggling as she chased after her. It would stop suddenly, hooves sliding across the floor with its head raised, and turn to look at something specific. As Minnow slid in behind her to put her arms around the creature she realized what it was that had distracted the lamb. There before them was that old wooden door, its once bright and sanded surface grown faded and rough. Its ivory lock, however, remained pristine. Its shine had caught the lamb's eye.

No, the lamb could sense the discomfort that door brought to her shepherd.

This door had stayed locked for as long as she could remember. It was the one constant uncertainty in her otherwise familiar life. The key to it once hung around her father's neck, swinging back and forth as he went about his day like the bronze pendulum of a grandfather clock. Now it hung around hers and she could practically hear its ticking. The incident with the lamb happened several nights ago now. It was like Lillia could hear it too. Change was upon them. The rising temperatures were a dead giveaway. Here she found herself standing once again, her once abundant hair and wool cut short to combat the heat. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Her thoughts had been in such disarray that she hadn't bothered to clean up the mess of statuettes from Lillia's day out. Beads of sweat ran down her face yet the bronze key felt cold in her palms. It left her hands trembling as she held it in front of her.

Maybe it was the heat messing with her head. Maybe that swollen, disease-ridden flower was a sign of things to come. Maybe that bug in the theater was just the beginning of the end. Maybe cabin fever finally got the better of her after so long. Things were changing all around her and she was falling behind. Her crops were suffering from the drought. She needed help from the other Cadians. As much as it made her heart race there was no denying it anymore. She had to keep up, and she knew exactly where to start.

This door of hers. There was no guarantee it held any solutions to any of her problems but it would definitely get some weight off her shoulders and ease her into the idea of leaving her comfort zone. Besides, it's plagued her space of comfort long enough. She sucked in one breath, her knuckles white with tension as she gripped the key with as much strength as she could muster. With nothing more than a loud click and a creak that pierced the silence of her home, she'd push the door open.

---

 

[Kuno]

A SHADOW OF DOUBT​

Councilwoman Tora had grown larger than life in the throes of death. In grim repose, the older woman lay drained of all color across the table. Hers was a small body, and yet her presence filled the room with ease, stifling all others there. One could hardly look away.

The council had not been able to stand it. They were long gone, and so were the other Patrolmen who had recovered the body. Someone, naturally, had to notify the woman's husband and family, and there were mouths to hush still down at the lake, Machak being the least of their concerns. Barca had suggested they reconvene after a short intermission to "cool their tempers." The muddied water pooling under Tora's body dripped onto the floor in tandem with their receding footsteps.

In the interim, only Adelheid and her shadow remained.

Valhoss was used to bleeding into one's peripheral vision. He was an unremarkable man at first glance, made even less impressive by the far more extravagant figure of Adelheid constantly before him. The woman's second in command even took a small sense of pride in his relative obscurity; he did not desire prominence, even if some authority had been thrust upon him. He certainly did not enjoy his position now. He had only just arrived, this tall shadow of hers, and the man stood just to her right, peering down at the waterlogged skin with a slightly green face.

He clasped his hands behind him. "I heard there was…an incident. I came as soon as I could."

Tora's clouded eyes still stared towards the ceiling. Valhoss' gaze went there, then darted quickly away to his commander.

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

Adelheid advanced on Tora, but quickly retreated again when her foot touched the growing pool of water. With the rest of the council gone, her shoulders slumped inward and she hugged herself.

"She helped me so much when I was just a [greenhorn]. Gave me a brew for my shudders. More than Barca ever did for me."

She would not cry, but her eyes were bloodshot and puffy regardless. Trembling, she reached forward and peeled the sheet off of Tora. The skin was gray and blue about the neck and shoulders, the mottled colors growing a cool white the further south the eyes traveled. Tora was a sophisticated, refined woman in life; death was decidedly unbecoming on her.

It was hard for Valhoss to look for too long. He picked a more palatable subject – his commander. He reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched in response.

"Tora was a great woman to many. I just can't understand….how this could happen."

He paused.

"Surely she didn't drown?"

"No," Barca called from the doorway, stepping in and brushing his hands of the hissed drama from the outside. "She did not know how to swim; all the reason to have never wandered near any place of water, especially the lake. We'll have to check the body."

Adelheid rolled Valhoss' hand off her shoulder. The captain unfastened the starmetal sword from her hip, tied her tunic tight and her hair up, and hovered over Tora with a chitin dagger, the translucent blade catching the light from the glow lamps.

"Come on."

She frowned, grimaced, and cut. The wet cloth ripped lengthwise as she peeled it apart like a baked sweet tuber.

"Bruises." Barca pointed at her chest. "As if she has been beaten."

"Beaten by what? I've seen the same bruises from patrolmen who've gotten caught in the mire pits outside Cadia." Valhoss had come to stand opposite Barca, his eyes trailing the length of exposed skin. He caught the edge of Tora's ruined gown and let it sit over her hands.

"That is true. We shouldn't jump to suspicions." Barca pointed at the neck. "However, there is also the same coloration around the neck. There are no strangling vines around Cadia. The Cutters are meticulous."

Valhoss blinked slowly. "Yes, I'd…noticed that. It's strange. She was certainly battered by something about the body, but a part of me wonders–" A finger lifted, hovering and circling above the clouding of bruised colors about her neck. Valhoss' gaze lingered before darting away. "I wonder how much damage came from simply being left to die in the lake. The question is: did she die before or after she entered the waters?"

"In that case, we have to build a history of where she was in the gongs before her death. A properly constructed story will give us insight into the mind of the killer." Barca nodded along with Valhoss and paced around the body, stopping at the folded hands. "What's this?" He held her hand up, as if giving a greeting at the nightly dances of the festival of ambergris. The nails were chipped, peeling away from the finger beds, and crusted with blood. Adelheid was about to add a thought, but it stuck in her throat when she caught Barca's expression. The room fell silent enough for the final drops of water to fall from the wet, but now not soaked, clothing.

"So." They all looked at each other. "Who will we interview first?"

‐-------------------

Collab with @unanun

 

[strangeatlas]

Tavolt Arou

Not surprised to see me? I suppose it has always been a talent of mine, finding a way into your bedroom. But don't get excited; I'm not here for a roll in the sheets. I'm not here for an apology or even something so pitiful as revenge.

In fact, if anything, I should thank you. Yes, you took my beloved Specter from me, and yes, I know it was you who spoke to Tora. I know you convinced her to take my child from me, my first born child, the Seray. But no, I thank you, Madam, for now my mind is freed from its shackles. Look outisde, to the Atrium, to the very heart of our precious Cadia. It's thrumming with an energy none of us have never felt before. Look what we have seen! A monster den breeding under our very feet! And Cadia burns with a vicious fever, when the only one who had a hope to cure it is now dead, and under quite mysterious circumstances! My, my how will this end?

What high drama that is! A finer stage has never been set. I once used to prize myself as a playwright, but, locked up in my silly theaters, I contained my aspirations to the stage. A tiny space, really, and we may put on a wild show, but then the show ends, and we all go home. And then, well, then I was simply reading the lines that someone else had written for me. Well, I'm done reading lines. I'm going to be the one writing the lines that all of Cadia will read on the beautiful stage: the stage out there.

But Madam, I'm not here just to chat. I've got something to ask of you. I spent an evening with that old git, Abraham, a few nights ago. He's half mad, that one; he tried to convince me to stop picking fights I can't win. But, he also mentioned he's been missing a certain medallion, and he's convinced he's lost it. Well, I've seen a medallion being passed around with a healthy price on it, and word is, sold by a patrolman. Now Abraham is a bit off the fluke, but I think he'd remember if he sold his beloved metal, and I think this means some other patrolman has got sticky fingers. Why do I care? Well, something else got snagged that I actually give two ganders about: a pair of eyes, biomechanical, finely made and preserved in a beautiful silver and vellum container. They happen to belong to my niece, who I hold near and dear to my quaking heart.

So here's the deal. I want that patrolman's name. I know you've got your hands in everyone's drama, so I know you know it. Why help me? Well if the memory of our burning love isn't enough, I'll just say this: a desperate man may be capable of astounding things, but you know that when I am desperate, there is nothing that is beyond comprehension.

 

[Itari]

Sekani pounded on the door with their small fists until Abraham finally opened the door. As soon as he did, a series of images was made in quick succession above their head: A person, a misshapen circle, a knife, eyes, a question mark. When Abraham did not immediately respond to their inquiry again, they cycled through the images again until they became nothing but a jumbled mess of red above their head.

"Grandpa? Who's that?" Iman peeked out from behind the door frame. "Why does she have a mask over her face?"

"This one is a Faceless." Abraham stepped aside to give him a better view. "They follow the Patrol when they range outside."

"A patrolman! Hey, can you tell me a story about fighting an antlion?"

Abe laughed and nudged his grandson away. "You can ask your questions later! Sekani has come to ask me a question."

"But you aren't on the patrol anymore! And how do you know her name-"

He gently pulled the door shut behind him and squatted so they were on eye level, showing a face not meant for Iman.

"So… what's this about a murder?"

There was the crunch of gravel behind Sekani, then another. Xola joined them in a slow, dragging fashion. A new precedent– she had never arrived later than any of her fellow patrolmen to any designated spot before.

"There was a body found in the lake," Xola answered. "We're going around to see if perhaps anyone saw anything. And…"

She paused, inclining both head and horns.

"The children were playing by the lake earlier, yes?"

"No." Abraham forced himself upright with a great apparent effort, straining against knees that would not open. "I left the patrol. And I told Barca," his voice raising, "to keep them away from my family!"

"This isn't patrol business. It's a matter of public safety."

Abraham's ire had not gone unnoticed. Xola, while sympathetic, bore a flat expression, her lips forming a thin line. She would not be turned away.

"The children," She continued, as if it hadn't been said before. "We just want to know if they saw anything…out of the ordinary. Please. It's important that we gather any information that we can. Sekani can even talk to them over me, if you'd like."

It was for the better, she thought. Children were often strange in their behavior with her. They were either terrified by the horns protruding from her skull or utterly entranced–excluding the more deviant ones who would try to throw rings on them.

Sekani peeked around Abraham to where Iman was hiding and gave him a small wave. Their rope morphed into various animal shapes which ran and swam through the air, searching for his reaction of which ones he seemed to enjoy the most.

"Public safety," Abraham gasped. "Are those the words that Barca is pulling over your eyes now?" He jerked in surprise as Iman brushed past him, reaching out but helplessly grasping empty air as his grandson came face to face with Sekani, the door having swung wide open from the crack that he was peeping out from.

Xola gave Abraham a strange look. His words evidently did not agree with her, but instead of arguing, she stepped behind Sekani, ready to assist. Sekani's rope made the shape of a frog leaping down from their head to in front of his face. Iman clapped his hands in excitement, "Look Grandpa! A frog!" Sekani clapped their tiny hands, mirroring his excitement, making the animal hop in circles around the boy.

"Don't tempt him!" Abraham pulled Iman back with a palm over his chest. "Have some shame!"

"Please, Abraham. Just bring him around to the city hall tomorrow morning. I promise it won't take long, and you can stay in the room with him the entire time. You can choose to end it anytime you want." The two departed, Sekani giving Iman a final friendly wave both with their hands and their rope. Iman waved enthusiastically back.

As they walked away Sekani handed Xola a list. "Looks like Machak's granddaughter Mella is next. Come on, Sekani. It's just this way.

---

He was late. Nathan had spent too long at the office sorting mail and found he had accidentally missed curfew. He pressed himself against the walls of the nearby houses, head swiveling to watch for patrol. Luckily the post office wasn't far from his home. All he had to do was cross in the alley next to old man Machak's home, run one more block to the right, through another alley and he would be home. He waited for a pair of patrolmen to pass his hiding place, then sprinted across the street and into the alley. In the darkness, he didn't notice the small shape on the ground, causing him to fall. His palms slapped into something cold and wet. The unmistakable smell of iron filled his nose. Hands trembling, Nathan turned to the lump behind and blindly reached out. His fingers brushed cloth.

Light seeped into the alley as two patrolmen walked past, giving him a clear view of what he was touching. Machak's granddaughter, Mella, lay on the ground, her chest open and bloody. Nathan screamed and drew his hand back. He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up to see the patrolmen, "No, I, I didn't- I wasn't-"

"Nathan, calm down." They took a step forward.

Nathan scrambled to his feet and sprinted out of the alleyway. "Nathan! Come back!"

"Go get Barca! Call the council!"

He ran as fast as they could carry him, almost stopping at his home but deciding against it; it would be the first place they looked for him. He ran on and on without thinking until he was halfway up the hill to Minnow's farm. Behind him was silent. Either he had lost them, or they had gone to gather their forces first. Using the last of his adrenaline, Nathan pushed himself up the crest of the hill and banged on the door. "Minnow! Minnow! Please help!"

 

[unanun]

Far from the center of Atrium, where the bones and metal faded to flesh, Meneshi flipped the page, sparing a glance to his siblings as he did so. The little ones jumped between the soft lumps that formed a curve at the edge of the structure. Luani sulked by the slide ventricle right in front of Meneshi, her mood further fueled by the twins' thrilled cries stemming from the rarity of having the little park all to themselves.

"Iman, why you wear dat?"

"Grandpa said it would keep me safe. I thought it was for a prank, though … come on, let's take the slide again!"

The gaggle resumed, squelching and slipping and sliding around. When the thrill of sliding down the tongue dulled, they turned to mock play, chasing each other around in a game of tag, letting the excitement of the contest drive their play.

A scream yanked Meneshi from his pages. In front of him the twins were digging into the soil under a pile of bones, while Luani hissed from the tippy top of a pulsing tower. They were all avoiding a small thing, and Meneshi instantly recognized it from the biological illustrations in the archives, a shiver running up his spine. In front of him ran a dugong calf, chasing his little twin siblings as they screamed and dove under the structures of the playground, their tails puffed up in play. The calf whooped as best as it could with its tiny lungs, waving its flippers as it snuffled along the soft seagrass that coated the playground. The kittens hissed between crippling laughter, mock terror driving them further into the safety of the crawl spaces around the bones, their retro-reflective eyes fading away as they backed into the darkness.

"I-Iman?" Meneshi trilled. The dugong calf turned to the source of the call. "Come over here. Come to Meneshi."

It came up to him. Iman's eyes shone underneath the eye sockets of its face. Meneshi reached out and cupped the face, turning it left and right with trembling fingers. What he thought was the calf's face was leather, carefully stripped from the skull - rough, wrinkled, hairy, tanned and well oiled. Rigid vellum lenses were stitched to each eye socket, sealed with glue and a ring of foamy material, and the forehead had been pinched to bring the eyes in line with a human's. The floppy, overgrown muzzle was stuffed with dried alveoli, and the lips of the calf were sealed shut. The whole thing was stretched like an elastic sack around Iman's head and gripped his neck, the filter sack breathing as Iman panted from playtime.

"This … this is …"

"Grandpa said I couldn't take it off."

"Why? Why not?"

"I don't know. It's stuffy. But he said he'd give me a treat if I could wear it for the whole day. I'm thirsty though."

Iman pulled at the base of the mask, peeling it off his head. It caught and plucked some hair as it came off, wispy brown strands that were almost lost in dugong's fibers that survived Abraham's treatment. There was a red, moist ring around his neck, but otherwise he looked no worse for the wear.

"Do you have any water, Meneshi?"

 

[strangeatlas]

"I still can't believe they asked you to come out and get him after what happened the other night, captain."

The older man grunted, "I'm glad they did. I want to be the one to tell that slimy bastard that we're bringing him in."

His subordinate knocked on Tavolt's door three times, "Open up! Patrol!"

Muffled behind the door, they heard, "Coiran, go wake up Gemmi. Abraham, Abe! Old Abe! Get up, it's time!" They heard footsteps, then, much closer, "Hello officers, I'll be only a minute!"

"Make it a second!" the captain said.

"Captain, be reasonable, a second is already up, and I'm still in my undergarments."

Finally, the door creaked open, and Tavolt appeared dressed in the sorriest rags they'd ever seen. His face appeared to have bruising on it, and we walked with a cane and an unmistakable limp. Behind, Coiran and Gemmi were dressed not much better, while Aberaham was dressed in the traditional green and brown of a Patrol captain well decorated except for a single patch, which was conspicuously sporting a medal-shaped empty patch.

"They're not in trouble, just you," the captain sneered.

"Sure, but they're coming the same way, to the market," Tavolt replied, "I do presume we'll be taking the route past the main square?"

The captain grunted. "Don't see a point in that, real crowded this time a' day."

Tavolt flashed a nervous look. "Uhh, but I think the side path is blocked. It's having repairs."

"Ugh, of course it is. Fine, let's go, maybe the market hasn't picked up yet."

But the market was well under way. The main square was packed with sweaty people, selling, bartering, and generally gossiping about the wild events that had been occurring. The captain hated crowds and began to shove through the throngs of people. Already, Tavolt's fame and current destitute state was driving a wave of interested stares.

Then, when they'd reached the center of the market, Tavolt broke away, dragging Abraham, Coiran, and Gemmi along, and leaping atop a stacked crates, rose up into full view of every single peddler and shopper in the market.

And there, on the makeshift stage, he began to speak with the flourish and gusto that made both The Red Specter and The Seray Manor into household names.

Hear me! Hear me! Fine people of Cadia! Listen! For this may be the very last chance you have to hear the truth about what is happening to our home! Cadia is sick, but it is a sickness not in her blood nor her bones, no, it is a sickness in her people! The wound that occupies the site that was once our beloved Red Specter is festering! I tell you it is a self-inflicted wound! The patrol! They burned our beloved Cadia, and why? To remind each and every one of us to be afraid!

But why? Why would they want us afraid? I will show you. Here, by beloved niece, was born without sight, so her father crafted her a set of eyes so that she might see the world as you and I do. The patrol stole them from her! They stole her sight! Seek out the one called Sekani, search their belongings, and you'll find my words to be true. They want to take what they want from us and to keep us too afraid to fight back. And here, Abraham, poor Abe, an honored, retired one of their own. He wants a return to the old ways, when the patrol kept to their traditional palace, and look what they have done! They stripped him of his medal, a helpless and honorable man.

What lengths will they go, to keep us afraid, I ask? Would they release a monster into our very midst? Seems impossible, but see how since the Antlion appeared, now they have a reason to carry weapons among us to "keep us safe!" Do you feel safe, dear Cadians? I say these weapons are only intended to be used on us! Look what happened to the one woman who could dare stand against them, who fought to uphold our blessed traditions that have kept the peace for so many years? Coucilwoman Tora! She is dead! And now, they seek to pin the blame on me, the one man, the one ally, the one friend you have, who has seen the inside of the Specter on that day, who has seen the patrol for what it really is. I know the truth and for that they will silence me, banish me, or who knows, perhaps even kill me!

Rise up! People of Cadia, rise up! Take our home back from these crazed blood-seeking ruffians, these bullies, these worshipers of destruction, and we can allow Cadia, finally, to heal!

Even the captain was enraptured by the theatrics, but when he eventually snapped out of it, he crawled up the crate, and grabbing hold of Tavolt's feet, viciously ripped him down and onto the street.

A man in the crowd cried out and threw the pit of a fruit, which clanged off the captain's helmet. The captain turned and drew his sword, and that was all it took. What little space the captain had to maneuver was gone. The sword was yanked from his hand, and he was thrown down, the flesh of his face into the flesh of the ground. He struggled, but many hands laid on his hands and feet, so he was pinned. Then he was hogtied, along with his deputy. They were forced to stand, then they were tied with their hands together on a post, and rotten produce and feces poured down over their heads.

Anyone who didn't join the riot had already fled back to their homes. The ones who had remained then rallied and shouted, then drifted away like a departing storm, in theory, to find a member of the patrol named "Sekani". The deputy and the captains surveyed the empty square. The riot had transformed the peaceful market into a swamp of crushed food and broken things, and Tavolt was nowhere to be seen.