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Draft Update 16/04/25
🕑 Added 2025-04-16 17:15:32 +0000 UTC(Felt very sleepy today, so pardon if there are more typos than usual. I was expecting this chapter to be one of the boring ones of the train sequence, but it actually came out okay - hopefully you all enjoy it.)
Inner Sanctum Underground | 9:33 AM | ∞ Day
I was being forced to re-evaluate my opinion on Tuthal. Not in the sense that he wasn't supposed to be an asshole - that point was being driven into the ground harder than a missile - but that he was just going to be a nuisance until he was inevitably killed off. In fact, he was turning out to be predictable in a way that was rather useful. Steering him between different topics was easy, and he knew a lot. His negative traits, while annoying, were never meaningfully obstructive.
But if something seemed too good to be true, there was always a chance it was, and this same pleasant surprise gave birth to a suspicion that maybe I was being led around by the nose, and there was more to his character than I'd assumed. I'd have to remember to verify any details of this information that seemed conspicuous with one of the others.
"The Fellows of Hinshelwood Hall? It's not half as enigmatic as it sounds, I assure you. Again, I can't believe Mariya never talked about it." His beer was still in hand, but almost finished now, the glass drained to its last few inches. "It was just a little club we had together in university. 'Hinshelwood Hall' was our meeting space, a cabin a half-mile or so up from the campus that Barham inherited from one of his grandparents. It was rather cramped, so the 'hall' in the name is, suffice it to say, somewhat facetious." He chuckled. "At the start, it was just a place to drink in the evenings where the dean and his creatures wouldn't find us. God, I miss being young. You don't know how lucky you are."
"My mother did tell me that much," I decided, ignoring that final remark. "But people always talk about it like it was some kind of... well, not secret organization, but that it at least had an ideology. I mean, at a certain point, didn't you all start calling yourselves that in a public capacity?"
"It's complicated. Long before Rastag's moment in the sun but when we'd all started making names for ourselves, he wanted to set up a little shell company for our mutual use. We were often lending one another bits of money at the time and had some shared investments, so it made a great deal of sense, at least for a while." He cringed. "At the time, we weren't expecting a lot of press scrutiny, so the name got brought back as a bit of a joke. Should have known there's nothing under the sun that the plebs won't turn into a conspiracy theory."
"So there wasn't anything deeper to it than that?"
"Eh, there was and there wasn't." He took a small sip from the glass - he'd slowed down notably, so maybe he'd noticed he was teetering on the edge of sobriety. "We did make a bunch of plans about how we were going to change the world back in the day, but it was just the usual dogshit kids come up with. How we were going to fix the kingdom so only competent people could be in charge, abolish the arcanist seats in parliament, that sort of thing. I never fully bought into it, honestly, but I wanted to fit in, so I went with the flow."
"Interesting," I remarked. "Most people assume the philosophy of the Lifeblood Foundation was conceived back then, but it sounds like you're saying the two had no connection whatsoever."
"Well, I don't know what lay in the recesses of Rastag's heart. Maybe he saw his lunatic project of uplifting people using numerology as a continuation of that same meritocratic sentiment-- Maybe some of the others did, too. I certainly didn't." He shook his head. "Anyway, the lion's share of what we talked about back in those days wasn't even political at all. Like I said, we mostly just got wasted, high, or fucked around with one another, sometimes literally. This wasn't long after the Strife, so times were still lean-- Not a lot to do in a little college town in the mountains. Usually Hildris and I would head up first after classes, then Rastag would show up with the food and drink and start cracking jokes - he was a lot funnier back then - then Leo would turn up with whatever entertainment artifice he could sneak out of the school vault, we'd get started in earnest, your mother and Nikkala would show up later..." He trailed off, his eyes growing a little distant.
I frowned curiously. "Nikkala? Leo?"
He licked his lips, taking another small sip. "Old members who are no longer with us, sadly. Leo was our only arcanist - good man, very level-headed, but the reliable type, not precious like Bahram is lately or with a stick up his ass. He ended up at the Locked Tower about a century ago, though, so we fell out of touch. Nikkala..." He hesitated. "She passed away a long time ago, unfortunately. Grim business."
That was suspicious. Neither of those names had been included in my guide at all, and any character who was dead before the plot even started would definitely factor in some significant way into the plot, maybe even the killer's motive. And gods, those pregnant pauses after he'd said the girl's name! It was like it was hanging a 'look at me' sign over the entire conversational beat.
But I got the sense that pushing for details on her specifically at this stage could backfire, so I decided to instead focus on an almost equally-telling omission.
"Bahram didn't usually come to these meetups? You said it was his cabin."
"Well, he wasn't quite part of the group back then. Or-- I suppose I should say he was actually just my friend originally." He wrinkled his nose as if embarrassed, or at least conflicted, by the idea. "You're not blind, so I assume you've noticed he's a little older than the rest of us?"
I nodded... though honestly, I hadn't actually been thinking about that much. Like, he was more visibly grey-haired and physically worn down, but I didn't know off the top of my head how much the symptoms of aging had varied during this time period.
"He wasn't actually a student, back then, but was working as a professor's assistant. But his father was something of a family friend of ours, and he'd become a bit of a mentor to me when I was in school, and... look, the point is, he'd been living out of the place, but barely using it except for a bedroom at the back. So when I mentioned I had some friends who were looking for a place to fuck about, he offered it up." He tilted his glass forward, his eyes wandering to the man himself, who had seemingly returned at some point. Hildris and Phaidime's private conversation had ended at some stage too, so now the three of them were all chatting together again, occasionally attended by the cook. "So he was more just around sometimes then really one of us at first. But the age gap wasn't that big, so, you know... One thing led to another, eventually."
Now that it had been spelled out to me, this all actually made a lot of sense. I hadn't quite understood why Tuthal and Bahram seemed to be on such friendly terms despite the fact that they clearly disagreed violently about what had happened with the former's money, but if their friendship was older and more specific than anything to do with Rastag, then maybe that took precedence. Bahram also came across as occupying a bit of an 'elder brother' role, trying to keep everyone from fighting even posthumously.
Still... I wondered if there was more to it than that. How did he become so close to Rastag specifically, to the point of being closest to a true believer?
The dynamic, if I was being honest, vaguely reminded me of how my grandfather had joined the Order and effectively hijacked it, even capturing the loyalty of the current leader, which I suppose would make Tuthal Hamilcar in this analogy, being the one with all the money who controlled the meeting place. And Bahram would be... Anna? No, that didn't quite work; even if everything Vijana had told me while pretending to be her was complete bullshit, she'd hardly seemed infatuated with him.
Still, though, I was increasingly starting to wonder if the elements of all this that reminded me of the conclave were more than just a vibe. It was the reference to the umbilical cord that really set my suspicions - it reminded me of how Apsu's bioenclosures all seemed to have alternative names, perhaps even original names, that evoked reproductive biology. Five carriages, one which was sealed and mysterious, based on body parts. A group of attendees split between an in-group who'd been involved in an organization together for their whole lives, and an out-group who wasn't. Some of it fit better than others, but there was definitely something there.
But how could they know? It couldn't be the Manse; it stripped bare all identity from the characters and setting it described. Well, I guess if they'd been taking all this seriously for a long time, they'd probably have realized it was about the conclave a long time ago. Though Bardiya said a lot of people thought it wasn't that simple, whatever that meant.
Or, my more conspiratorial side suggested, maybe when Neferuaten said one of your classmates would be here, she didn't mean as a player.
After all, someone has to be running all this behind the scenes.
I glanced towards the ceiling. I don't know why I did this. Tuthal raised an eyebrow.
"Now Kasua," he began, and suddenly finished his glass all at once, tipping the whole thing backwards before thrusting it firmly to the table. "Now that you've grilled me on all this ancient history, I want to ask you something."
I stiffened slightly, suddenly feeling insecure about my ability to maintain character if I were forced to take the lead in a serious one-on-one conversation. "...what about?"
"Well, more specifically, I want to make you an offer." He leaned forward from his relaxed posture, bringing his shoulders up to occupy the most space possible in my field of vision. Oh, fuck. He's not going to try and hit on me, is he? I bet people totally have sex in these games; everything about the culture here is depraved. I shouldn't have said I was on the rocks with my fiancé. That was so naive.
He held up a hand, displaying three fingers. "30,000 arda."
My brain struggled to process this divergence between my expectations and what had actually happened. I blinked. "What?"
"You said that you were here to get a return on your mother's investment. Well, I'm offering you just that, nice and simple." He thrust the hand forward again, probably for emphasis, but in a way that somehow reminded me of an idiot operating a machine that confronts any complication with mashing the same button over and over. "30,000 arda-- That's well more than you'll get for any other item in the collection, save for maybe the Bakare. I won't even make you give up your share, just have you exempt yourself in the running for the Last Winter. It's a good deal; we don't even know how this is going to work, and considering that you're only here because of your mother, you won't even have been considered, most like."
I struggled to maintain Kasua's focused, disaffected demeanor. My mouth opened and closed. "...I'm sorry, I'm not sure that I quite understand," I eventually said. "You're asking me to take a bribe in return for... not taking a certain item from Rastag's art collection?"
Tuthal scoffed, obviously considering my response obtuse. "Not just any item. The item. The only thing in this whole blighted affair worth the fucking trip."
I squinted, my eyes unfocusing slightly as my mind probed deep into its rarely-accessed backrooms of memory. "What did you say it was called?"
"The Last Winter? As in, the Last Winter on Mene?"
I blinked again as recognition finally struck me; Tuthal was talking, not of some element of the fiction, but about a real life painting. It was one of those really old and famous ones that everyone on the planet was vaguely aware of if only because replicas of it constantly featured in the background of dramas, that are by reputation supposedly one of the greatest pieces art ever made but are so culturally prominent they've been rendered impossible to look at without a million preconceptions.
The Last Winter on Mene (Or, in dubiously-translated full, The Last Winter on Mene, Daughter of Radiance, Embraced by the Children Who Once Gazed Up At Her with Innocent Eyes) was the most famous painting of the already-quite-famous Inotian artist Hero of Eukaryos, who was active during the early Mourning Period. A genre work, it depicted an event from prior to the collapse that had at the time still been fresh in the minds of the survivors: The orbital bombardment of the Moon, where many people who had been selected to evacuate as part of the eight Parties had been left behind after some element of the unfolding factional conflict in the solar system worsened.
Specifically, it depicted a ground-level view of a street in one of the underground arcologies as the roof was shattered by a massive explosion. While the top of the painting was the most visually striking - showing the fires and bitter cold of outer space competing to force their way in as Earth burned spectacularly in the background - the most prominent element was the various unlucky figures in the foreground, looking up at this development and responding with all sorts of piquant reactions. It was one of those sorts of things people picked apart endlessly; was the woman pointing upwards with her hand in a weird position actually making an obscure theo-literary allusion? Was the baby with the weirdly adult face wrapped in the bearded man's arms to resemble the original body of Ynezzar, one of the most prolific Iron Princes, as commentary on the self-defeating nature of the conflict, or was it based on Hero's distress at his son (one of the first generation born from Seeds) resembling someone he already knew, as recounted in an obscure journal entry? Was the dying old man with three legs a reference to Marduk-Balaal, the founder of the League of Empires - famously born with a parasitic twin before it was removed at birth - or was the artist just incompetent?
What was not a matter of academic debate was that the painting was worth a fucking assload, and had been since 98 COVENANT, when it had first been chosen for display in the office of the nomarch of Tem-Aphat. Its very inclusion in this fictional scenario bordered on immersion-breaking, and yet I couldn't recall it being mentioned in the guide at all. A section in the footnotes had briefly noted that 'some items in the collection were known to be far more valuable than others', but offered no details. Had I missed it, or had they deliberately deprived me of information to try and simulate Kasua not knowing shit about art?
Regardless of the intent, my reaction had definitely sold ignorance. "Oh my god," Tuthal said, taken aback. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"I must admit that I don't," I told him bluntly. "I'm not aware of the specifics of what Rastag held in his collection."
"I-I..." he was briefly speechless, but then quickly attempted to compose himself, clearing his throat sharply. "In that case, all the more reason to agree to my terms. You're not here for anything specific, so you won't be losing out, and you'll walk away with enough capital to make a notable expansion to your business." He reached inside his antiquated robe. "I have a contract drawn up--"
"Mister Tuthaliyasun, I'm not a fool," I told him bluntly. "You can't respond like that and then expect me to not perceive that something tremendously valuable is on the line. Even if you weren't offering me a significant amount of money to negate what you just assured me is a marginal possibility, it would be stupid to blindly sign something without at least understanding the situation."
There. That sounds about mercenary enough. Good job, me.
Tuthal's body tensed, and for a moment his eyes flared with genuine anger - though it was too raw to say if it was directed at me specifically or just at the situation himself. After a moment, though, it gave way to a more deliberate frustration. "It's a famous painting, girl! The Last Winter on Mene. It's worth--" He stopped, seeming to consider his words. "It's worth a lot of money."
"How much money?"
"I-- A lot," he failed to clarify. "It's the jewel of Rastag's collection! You really never heard about this? Him acquiring it was all he talked about 20-odd years ago. All everyone was talking about."
"I would have been fifteen years old then," I stated flatly. "I don't think I was paying particularly close attention to what my mother's friends were up to, let alone the news."
He rubbed his brow, once again at a loss for words.
"So..." I went on. "Based on how you framed your offer a minute ago, am I to infer this is the only valuable item in the entire collection? That everything else is worthless."
"Not worthless," he told me. "Rastag might have been delusional, but he didn't collect crap. Even the cheapest piece of tat in there could probably buy a small house." He lowered his brow. "But that's talking in hoi polloi terms-- Not relevant to anyone here except the sister and perhaps Bahram, though even he's built up a sizeable nest egg over the years. The Last Winter is the only item in there worth an actually serious amount of money."
"Won't it have to be sold to ensure equitable distribution of the inheritance, then? If it's that asymmetrical."
He shook his head. "You don't know Rastag. Or, well. You should know him, if only by the fact he arranged this business so bizarrely to begin with. He was never the type of man to do things remotely practically. There's no way to know exactly how he's going to divvy things up - whether everyone will be left items directly based on some byzantine criteria, or whether he'll make us run a chess tournament or something - but I guarantee you he won't have the thing sold off; it's too sane."
I nodded as I considered the information. This was turning into a very traditional scenario: Now the inheritance had stakes, a specific thing people wanted and would potentially kill for. Tuthal, of course, already had the backstory about having run into financial trouble, which explained the reason he was acting like this.
Though would that mesh with Phaidime as the culprit? Hmm.
"But never mind that," he continued. "If you don't know the first thing about the collection, what are you even doing here, Kasua?" He glanced toward the other group for a moment. "Your position might be... unorthodox, compared to mine, plus of course the difference in scale, but still - you're the only other person here who actually runs a fucking business. You know the cost of leaving it all in some other fool's hands while you venture into the middle of nowhere for a week or two. Why make the effort?"
After being slightly distracted trying to discern whether or not he'd been that 'unorthodox' remark was meant to be sexist, I quickly retorted: "Rastag was a wealthy man-- I know that much. I'm not so successful that I'd turn down an inheritance from him just because it's a bit of a distraction."
Tuthal looked skeptical, sitting back and crossing his arms. "...no, I don't buy it. If you'd cared about the money at all, you would have at least done some cursory reading about what was on the table. You're here for something different." He jabbed a finger at me. "Come to think of it, why were you so curious about Rastag and our pasts? What's your game, girl?"
I have to admit, I was a little annoyed by this development, and not even in a particularly immersive way. If I'd been explicitly told that Kasua hadn't looked into the collection - meaning it would be potentially relevant - I could have accounted for that, but as it was I just felt like I got screwed over by meta knowledge that allowed me to be taken by surprise in an unrealistic way.
I didn't really want to blab about Kasua's true motives; I still didn't think there was much chance of Tuthal being the culprit on balance, but he could hardly be described as discreet. But I couldn't think of a convincing lie.
Oh, to hell with it. It's not like this is even real. Maybe it'll even end up being useful to open up to him a bit, I don't know.
"...I am still here for my stake in the inheritance, but you're right that it's not my only motive," I said, attempting to look enigmatic as I looked out the window. If I'm going to start parceling out pieces of my backstory, I might as well lean into it and try to come across as a femme fatale or something. "I felt like this was the last chance to learn about Rastag's relationship with my mother."
He squinted. "With Mariya? What do you mean?"
I wish I had a cigarette to smoke now, actually. That could look cool. (Oh god, what am I saying? This is so embarrassing.) "I mentioned that something seemed to have happened between them before she died, didn't I? And that I never learned the details. So..."
I let the unresolved point hang in the air, letting him reach the implication under his own power. His eyebrows shot up stupidly. "Wait. You think he-- That he killed her?"
"I don't think anything. But if you buy the idea that she died in an accident, then you're an idiot." I glanced to him. "My mother hated going out to the countryside. And the idea that she'd have tripped and ended up in the perfect position for her body to be hidden until it was too late for a meaningful investigation is unlikely, to say the least."
Tuthal's mouth hung open for a few moments as he processed this. "Bloody hell," he eventually said. "I mean. It's not impossible, I suppose. God only knows, I of all people have certainly been at the pointy end of the man's ruthless streak." He raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit of a stab in the dark, though, don't you think? I mean, unless you have other evidence."
Slightly suspicious way of asking that. "I think I remember her saying they were planning to meet at some point the last time I saw her, but that was almost a month before it actually happened, so not really. ...like I said, I haven't drawn any conclusions. I'm just filling in gaps in my knowledge."
He was silent for a few moments, considering, then shook his head. "Well, for what it's worth, I can't think of any reasons he'd have to kill her in particular. But then again, I was hardly in the loop by that point. Though would it even matter if he did? Not to piss on your parade, but the man's, well, dead."
"Is he?"
He looked wary. "What do you mean?"
"...the cause of death was never reported in the press," I stated. "Do you know what happened?"
His brow slowly lowered. "I don't. I just heard it was an accident while he was doing hands-on work with one of the trains. He always liked to do that sort of thing, even though it was beneath his station."
"You said you were at the funeral earlier. Did they let you see the body?"
"...no. There was an urn prepared before I arrived."
Oh yeah. It's Phaidime. 99%.
I attempted to make a suggestive expression. I don't know if it came through properly.
"Bahram would know," he said after another pause. "He was the one who organized the funeral. His understudy too, maybe; he was still dragging her around even after they rejected her. Now that you've said it, it is strange that-- Hang on. Is it just me, or is this thing slowing down?"
I frowned. It was, in fact, slowing down. The scenery beyond the window was so uniform that I hadn't immediately noticed, but now that I was paying attention I could hear the slowing of the wheels and feel the shift in motion. I looked to him in concerned agreement.
The other group seemed to have noticed something was amiss too, as they were rising to their feet. "What's going on?" Tuthal called out to them.
"Not sure," Bahram yelled back, sounding concerned. "This certainly wasn't supposed to happen. Something might be blocking the line."
"Maybe the weird engine's blown out and we're stranded out here," Phaidime speculated, amused. "How many days until we're eating each other's bones, eh?"
"Don't be melodramatic, darling," Hildris said. "We haven't gone that far yet. Even if something's gone wrong with the train, we're still close enough that they'd see us if we sent a flare up." She glanced at Bahram. "Though I fear it would spoil whatever Ras might have been cooked up for this little odyssey."
"Yes, well-- We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Bahram replied.
"You alright over there, Kassie sweetie? You look a little shaken up."
Oh god, do I? This body is so awkward. "I'm fine," I told her. "Just confused."
"Well, I for one don't particularly care for being confused," Tuthal stated. "I say we go up to the belly of the beast and see what the hell is going on."
"Not a bad idea by your standards," Hildris teased.
Tuthal grimaced. "Hildris--"
"Now now, let's all keep our cool," Bahram said, gesturing soothingly. "I-- I agree with Tuth. We'll just take a quick jaunt up there and get some answers."
"Got to be swarming with wyrmkin and paradox beasts," Phaidime joked. Was she drunk? She might have been drunk. "The others are probably dead already. Better get out while we still can, if you ask me."
Ignoring this, the others moved to depart, and I went with the flow, relieved to no longer be the focus of anyone's attention. Without any notable event, we left the observation car, crossed through the rest car, and arrived at the weird engine area. Immediately, the course of the problem became obvious.
With a better view towards the front of the train, I could now see what was clearly a crowd of people amassing and crossing the area where the tracks must have been. Though probably Rhunbardic (not a lot of people with hair that ginger in other Parties) they were dressed rather simplistically in heavy cloth and leather garments, with some of them wielding basic weaponry like spears. Animals accompanied them - horses, primarily, but also cattle and goats. Some of them were breaking away from the group at large to get a better look at us.
"Oh fuck!" Tuthal moaned, sounding like the very presence of visibly poor people had aged him 50 years. "What the hell is this?"
Bahram leaned over the railing, using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "Looks like it's the Wasyar, based on their colors. One of the smaller Zythic tribes, if I recall."
"I thought those cunts were extinct! That we built them all wells and gave the ones who didn't get dysentery jobs!"
"Darling, it really does rather out yourself to display such ignorance of a key element of the region in which you invested so much money," Hildris remarked snidely.
Tuthal again looked at her with barely restrained rancor.
As amusing as his naked jingosim was, I had to admit that I'd also sort of forgotten about this particular detail of the time period, and not even just in-character. Very early in the history of the Mimikos, a lot of primitivist groups had arisen in the distant regions of the continent. The traditional narrative was that this had happened in response to the trauma of the collapse, though historians often questioned this idea, thinking they could have instead simply been criminals or persecuted individuals who in their remoteness from civilization lost their technological knowledge before it could be adapted usefully to the Remaining World. One of these were the steppe nomads in the far south of the continent, replicating a lifestyle akin to their distant ancestors, who were further divided into several tribes.
Unlike the steppe people on Earth, though, the limitations the Remaining World placed on reproduction to those who didn't have access to an arcanist throttled their numbers, so they never really became numerous enough to have any impact in history, and they'd disappeared in all but name long before I was born. Including them in this scenario felt like a bit of a deep cut, though admittedly I didn't know the history well enough to make a definitive judgement.
Anyway, before Tuthal could lash out, he was again interrupted as the doors to the engine room flew open, two figures stepping forth. The first, Gaizarik, I'd expected. The latter, Noah - his hands in his pockets and his face averted, trying to look inconspicuous as he all but sneaked out behind him - I hadn't.
What was he doing in there? I wondered. Come to think of it, where has he been for the last, like, hour?
"Hello everyone," Gaizarik began stoically, his hands held behind his back. "My apologies for the disruption to your afternoons. I'm sure you're all concerned as to why the train has made a temporary stop, but there is no reason to panic. Our passage has merely been temporarily impeded by a group of regional natives crossing the track. There's no reason to panic, so please feel free to return to your business."
"They're getting closer to the front carriages!" Tuthal yelled, pointing urgently. "They're going to try and get into the train!"
"They're not going to try to get into the train, Tuthal," Hildris told him, voice dripping with fatigued condescension. "The line runs through their land. I'm sure this happens all the time."
"Uh-oh, looks like they've got archers out there," Phaidime intoned, smiling widely. "Hope we've got some guns on board, or we might be screwed."
"Oh, Noah!" Bahram spoke up with a smile, approaching the detective. "Good to see you! I was worried you weren't on board."
The man appeared uncomfortable. "Yeah, sorry," he said. "I was just having a word with the driver here, since he didn't seem to mind the company. Felt a bit awkward walking in on your party."
"Nonsense! Rastag invited you; I'm sure everyone would love to meet you."
"Wh-- Who's this fuck?" Tuthal grunted out in irritation, temporarily distracted from his cause.
Bahram looked distressed. "Tuth, have some manners. This is Noah of Tell-Rayf. He was a-- An old confidant of Rastag's."
"I've never heard of him," the other man said skeptically. "What are you, Ysaran?"
"That's right," the man confirmed uneasily. "And I wouldn't really call myself a confidant. Like I was telling the young lady earlier, I helped him with a case--"
But Tuthal's attentions had already been pulled back in the opposite direction. "What the-- They're moving in on the front car! That one over there is touching it!"
"That's just a boy, Tuthal. He's probably just curious," Hildris chided him. "You're acting hysterical right now."
"He's going for the doors!"
"We're all gonna die!" Phaidime cried out enthusiastically.
"Oh, do stop bloody encouraging him, woman," Hildris scolded.
"Now come now, Tuth, come now," Barham said predictably. "I'm sure it's fine-- Let's just listen to the conductor. Gaizarik, there isn't any threat, is there? It's fine, isn't it?"
"I assure you that there is no problem, sir. The train is well-defended."
Bahram's face grew hesitant. "W-When you say 'well-defended', do you mean to insinuate that there's a possibility--"
"Fuck this," Tuthal said suddenly. He began scaling the metal railing. "I won't let those savages make off with our inheritance right under our noses. Someone has to take a stand."
"Tuthal!" Bahram cried out.
"Sir, I must advise you to remain on the train," Gaizarik said firmly. "I cannot ensure your safety should you leave."
"Oh my goodness," Hildris muttered, retreating back towards the door and rubbing her eyes.
Tuthal climbed over the top. "Fuck this," he repeated, as he descended down to the grass below. "Fuck this."
"Only you can protect us, by lord!" Phaidime urged, adopting an old-timey accent. "Drive back the heathen menace! We entrusteth our fates to thee!"
"Sir, I urge you--"
"Tuth come back! Oh, god-- You obstinate-- Get back here...!" Bahram began climbing after him, grunting as he threw his legs over the metal.
At this point, the situation descended completely into a comedy routine, the five of them all yelling at one another in a rapid call-and-response chain of urgings and cuss words that became effectively inaudible. For my part, I felt shocked that this was even allowed to happen. Weren't they risking hitting the edge of the play area and breaking the rules? Was Tuthal's player new, too, or were they just so used to the arena they felt like they could eyeball it?
Regardless, I saw an unexpected chance, and decided in the moment to advance towards the railing myself. With Hildris and possibly multiple other people shouting after me, I hoisted myself up at the stomach onto the railing, then lowered myself carefully to the other side, taking care to keep my stola in the right position so as not to expose my undergarments. After that, it was a short hop down to the earth below.
This was it! My chance to see the 'setting twist' early; the gimmick of the train they were obviously hiding with the concealed front car, the engine overhang, and the strange liminal chambers. Was this metagaming, breaking character? I didn't think so. There were lots of ways you could explain Kasua doing this. Maybe her conversation with Tuthal had made her mildly attached to him and she was concerned. (I attempted to look concerned.) Maybe she saw this as a chance to corner Bahram with him and have him explain Rastag's death. Maybe she was just interested in indigenous cultures as a hobby; nowhere did it say she wasn't.
I advanced into the green expanse a few meters, following after the two of them while arcing my stride at an angle which allowed me to get just a little distance; enough where I'd be able to see the track as it stretched in both directions clearly. Tuthal was now yelling at what I estimated to be a 12 year old boy who was poking the side of the dining cart with a stick.
While approaching him, I stole a plausibly deniable glance the way I'd came. It was a normal train with five carriages.
