I clear my throat very quietly, hoping Valenae might take the hint. He obviously wasn't listening earlier, and that is not a good omen for his enjoyment of the day.

"As we are following military regulations, let us sort out this question according to the chain of command," ir'Dulinch replies, chill but impassive, and looks almost casually to Antigone, Valenae's immediate NCO superior.

You got a death wish or something as well as broken ears? I think, subtly stepping away from the corporal a little.

I catch the General's look and mood.

I pivot to the Corporal and stride right up to him until my nose is a hair's breath from his.

"Corporal!  Attention!"  I bark.

"I will say this once. While on this mission members of this mission team will observe the chain of command but military etiquette will be suspended as ordered. That means we are incognito. We will *not* address each other by rank. We will *not* salute. We will *not* attire ourselves in military insignia, uniforms or accoutrements. That means you Corporal. Do I make myself clear mister!"

I snap to attention.

"Sir, yes sir! Heard and understood!"

Glad we had this little chat, sir.

The general looks over the group of soldiers, pointedly ignoring the team's mysterious bonus member.  His eyes pause at Captain Olegov.  "Anything more?" he asks them.

Satisfied, I about-face and return to my place next to the map table.  Turning to face the General, I stand at ease.

I leave the Corporal at attention.

Nothing more, General.  Other than what are each of us so good at that you want us, and how did each us of screw up so badly that we were recommended for this one-way trip to Khyber's ass. 

The general looks over the group of soldiers, pointedly ignoring the team's mysterious bonus member.  His eyes pause at Captain Olegov.  "Anything more?" he asks them.

"On our way," I say to our company, "I suggest we review our skills together. I am confident of the wisdom behind our selection for this mission, but I know not yet one of you, and none of you yet know me. Better we are aware of each others assets for the sake of the mission and our own survival."

He seems to want something more from Olegov, so I wait, silent. Questions? I have a hundred or so, but they are probably the wrong questions, or unanswerable, or classified.

I use the time to consider the objective. The source of the Iceflow is 200 miles, if one had wings, or more from this fort. A week or more of fast travel, depending on weather and the state of the roads and trails and the possibility of meeting with enemies along the way. |Two weeks might be a more conservative and  plausible objective, as I don't yet know what kind of mounts we'll be given. Hardy ones, I hope.

We will pass Lake Dark and might resupply a little in Lakeside, perhaps spend a night indoors there before pressing on to the mountains. Hm. Lake Dark.

I clear my throat reluctantly.

"Begging your pardon, sirs, ma'ams," I say, voice careful.  "But how are we supposed to find something we don't know what is?"

"We've seen an image. Doesn't tell us what size it is though. It is a good question, Astra."

ir'Dulinch, deadpan, holds his hands about three feet apart in the universal symbol for the fish was thiiiis big.

Great, so now we know how big the blob of dirt on the page actually is.

"You said there was other names for it, m'lord?" I press.  "Ones locals might use, maybe?"

[Diplomacy: 16+2+1=19 to seem respectful/not offend anyone by harping on this!]

My mouth opens involuntarily. I snap it shut hoping the General or the shouty Sergeant haven't noticed.

Looking for a thing, yay big, somewhere in the frozen north. Sure sir, no problem. Not much of one anyway. It's fine, we've been in equally bad, and worse, situations and we're still alive. Same game plan as always; stay alive, try to keep as many of them alive for as long as possible. Safety in numbers.

[On the presumption that the text and diagram are visible and readily accessible without encroaching on the General ... Arcana check: 1d20+13: 17+13 = 30.  Perception check: 1d20+13: 15+13 = 28.  I want to glean as much information I can on the nature, identity and purpose of the object.  Palitinate would be most keenly interesting in something that would allow her to positively confirm the identity of Object 17 with as high a certainty as possible.]

[On the presumption that the text and diagram are visible and readily accessible without encroaching on the General ... Arcana check: 1d20+13: 17+13 = 30.  Perception check: 1d20+13: 15+13 = 28.  I want to glean as much information I can on the nature, identity and purpose of the object.  Palitinate would be most keenly interesting in something that would allow her to positively confirm the identity of Object 17 with as high a certainty as possible.]

You can't read the script it's written in - it looks quite alien, not a language you readily recognize.  You can see that the page has been annotated in a modern hand as well, which you also cannot read, but that just looks to be cyphered Common rather than something more otherworldly.  On the sketch, you can see a few key identifying features on the object - it appears to have the form of a scepter or staff, and the head is ringed with an inscription in the same script this page is written in.  Perhaps the most identifying feature is around the item's shaft, which looks to be - etched?  inscribed?  impressed?  - with the imprint of a skeletal hand gripping it.

Great, so now we know how big the blob of dirt on the page actually is.

"You said there was other names for it, m'lord?" I press.  "Ones locals might use, maybe?"

[Diplomacy: 16+2+1=19 to seem respectful/not offend anyone by harping on this!]

Rather than answering directly, the general indulges in a moment to monologue.  "In this nation," he says, shooting a disapproving glare at the shadowed corner near the bookcases, "Both the living and the dead serve.  Necromancy and the other undying arts are regulated and brought to serve our people as a whole.  Necromancers are respectable, skilled artisans, nothing more or less.  Artifacts like Object 17 are just relics of a bygone, outdated, selfish era.  So are the various melodramatic names by which it's been called - Scepter of Shadows, the Raven's Touch, the Skeleton Hand...absurd.  It's imperative we contain these objects as they resurface."

Ah.  This is starting to make sense now.

There's no need for further delay, I decide.  But that's not my decision to make.

"Sir."

[diplomacy 12 + 11 = 23]

Could you give us a hint as to what the object does? It would be unfortunate if one of us accidentally, mm, set it off."

"Sir."

[diplomacy 12 + 11 = 23]

Could you give us a hint as to what the object does? It would be unfortunate if one of us accidentally, mm, set it off."

"Necromancy," he answers dryly, then adds, "From all accounts, the use of the object is a rather involved procedure."

[Good enough check to not get slapped down, not a good enough check to get an in-depth answer at this time, alas]

General ir'Dulinch returns the documents and map to the map table's drawer, closing it with a decisive thunk.  He crosses the room and presses a button on his desk.  A breath later, Zecklin opens the door.  "Sir," she says. 

"Escort the team to the entrance to the caverns, and provide them directions to the appointed lookout point," he orders her.

She nods.  "Yes, sir," she says.  Given this vague command, it's clear she already knows about at least portion of this plan.  "If you'll follow me?" she says to the team, in deference to the fact that some outrank her.

"Good luck and godsspeed," the general says, fixing them with a weighty look.  "And - thank you."

I salute the general, then wait for the others to precede me as I eye the shadowed corner the mysterious voice came from earlier.

I salute smartly, turn and lead the way, following Zecklin into the stone hall. It looks like it will be some time before I hit that bed, and it likely won't be a fine pile of soft feathers wrapped in silk.

I come to attention, salute the General, "Sir!" and fall into smart march behind the Major and the Captain-Chaplain.

Creon.  My gear.  My gun.  Hells.  I did not anticipate this.  Hells.

"Good luck and godsspeed," the general says, fixing them with a weighty look.  "And - thank you."

"You're welcome!" I reply, crossing the floor to join the rest of the group as they leave. "And don't worry. I shouldn't think you'll be deprived of my company for too long."

[You see this:



OK, not really. You see a woman of about 5' 10", with long red hair and green eyes. She's wearing a heavy suit of bluish-silver armour, and has a matching shield strapped to one arm. A thin black whip is coiled at her belt.

Oh, yes, she's also quite clearly translucent, and you can't quite tell whether her feet ever actually touch the ground. But other than that, she seems perfectly normal.]

"You're welcome!" I reply, crossing the floor to join the rest of the group as they leave. "And don't worry. I shouldn't think you'll be deprived of my company for too long."

"Arsecheek," he reminds her irritably, as he returns to his desk.