Part 22: 9:25-11:43: Dark Pinball Secrets
Chapter 22: 9:25-11:43: Dark Pinball SecretsContent warning: mentions of rape
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Time to focus up and interrogate those Hardies about this inconsist—Ooooh, what’s behind that mysterious door?
BARRED DOOR: It’s barred from the inside. You hear the bar rattle in the brackets.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know.” He makes a note in his notebook.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know. The further we get, the more this building seems to be tied to the case…”
SHIVERS: A dull thump. Somewhere inside a wind brace rattles from the imperceptible motion of the building.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] You know that attempting to force open this door will only result in you hurting yourself.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Confront the wig man again. Force him to reveal his secrets.
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “Oh, I definitely know you from *somewhere*.”
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “Yes. From another life. A different life. Maybe the life of a police officer belonging to the ranks of the…” He pauses.
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “Okay, okay!” The man sounds genuinely excited. “That’s plausible. That’s entirely plausible. Now we’re really getting somewhere…”
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “I’m sure he’s fucking *flattered*, but *Kim* is not part of this thought experiment. In this one—*we’re* partners.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m not your partner.” He says quickly. “This… this union is temporary.”
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Betrayed! By the one person we trusted above all others! Whatever, you forgive him. He’s probably just embarrassed because we’re clearly best buds.
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “A little premonition for you, lieutenant.” He turns to Kim. “Sooner or later—probably sooner—your new friend tells you he doesn’t need you. He will then suggest you should *fuck off*. When that happens I suggest you take his advice,” he adds bitterly.
ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You truly have no idea what this asshole’s problem is.
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “Oh no, NO, NO! You see, I enjoy watching other, better cops solve crimes—and let me tell you, it’s been quite a privilege seeing you work…”
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “You’re not going to believe this, but…” The man pauses for dramatic effect. “…police officers! Yes sir, solving crimes, locking up bad guys and… *AND* get this …and *not* getting their drink on at two o’clock.”
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “Not even a little bit.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s an urban myth,” the lieutenant says quietly. “About an officer who is so far undercover he can’t remember who he is. As I said—just an urban myth. *You’re* not the Son of Lung.”
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “Neither can I, partner. Neither can I…” His grey eyes suddenly flash above the glass frames. They feel sad.
MAN WITH SUNGLASSES: “God fucking shit…” He pinches the root of his nose.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] None of this is great news for him.
ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] What a weirdo. Good thing you don’t know him!
ARIST: Well, that… escalated.
SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] You’ve hit a nerve. Titus is furious—no, more than that—the loyal Titus feels *betrayed*.
ELIZABETH: “For the record…” she steps in, forcefully. “Titus Hardie did not explicitly specify the *victim* as a whore. Nor did he say anything about trusting her.”
ARIST: Fucking lawyers.
TITUS HARDIE: “Oh, shut up and stay out of this, Liz!” He turns back to you. “He raped her. He was out of his fucking mind. You have no idea!”
ALAIN: “She’s just in denial, asshole. You don’t understand the *traumatic experience*. She’s shutting down. And she doesn’t fucking trust you.”
SHANKY: “Yes, she’s crazy, you know,” The rat-faced man says carefully. “A crazy bitch—you know the type. She’s fucked up.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Lawman…” he says through clenched teeth. “…I am at the end of my *goddamn* rope with you. I fucking told you not to push her! And you went and pushed her.” Something breaks in him. He takes a step closer and says: “I am going to… fucking…”
REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] …hit you—duck!
ELIZABETH: “TITUS HARDIE!” Her voice rings through the room like a warning shot.
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] Success. Titus backs off. Fists down, everybody.
ELIZABETH: “Evrart *personally* sent me to take care of this. If this goes south we’ll all be in the shit—but you, Titus Hardie, are going to be buried. Am I understood?”
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] When she’s angry, she emphasizes the *s*. It gives her voice a strangely hypnotic quality. Her lips barely move as she speaks.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Frankly it’s a bit terrifying.
SUGGESTION: [Easy: Success] Someone has to rush in to break the tension. The second in command.
ALAIN: “Look, copper.” The tattooed man snaps his fingers to get your attention. “We know the dead fuck was a rapist and a killer. We got him confessing to it on tape. Show it to him, T.” He turns to Titus, who’s still breathing heavily. “What’s the harm, right?”
TITUS HARDIE: “Here, jerkwad!” He slams an audiotape on the table. “Listen to this shit, and then come back and tell me the *Soldier of the Apocalypse* was an innocent man.”
TITUS HARDIE: “You don’t care about *evidence*?” His eye twitches. “The fuck are you a cop for then?”
ALAIN: “Pigs, T—they don’t care about getting the truth, they care about getting convictions. They’re fucking keeping score on their bulletin boards.”
TITUS HARDIE: “I won’t be on your bulletin board. If you don’t listen to the tape we got *nothing* to talk about.”
TITUS HARDIE: “We have machines.” He nods. “We’re in logistics—how do you think a harbour works? It’s advanced stuff.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Understood—you’ve listened in on their communications.” He takes a little note. “How long?”
TITUS HARDIE: “Since way before their chief started taking swing lessons.”
FAT ANGUS: “It’s not advanced,” the heavy man wheezes. “You’re just holed up in a coop all day, writing down what they say. It gets hot as hell in there.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Don’t put yourself down, Angus. It’s important work.” The chief picks his beer back up—to offer a silent toast.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m sure we can find a tape player,” the lieutenant whispers.
SHANKY: “‘Where can I listen to this?’” he mocks you. “Why don’t you try shoving it up your ass, genius?!”
GLEN: “Yeah, play it with your ass, COCKSUCKER!” His voice echoes like thunder in the small room.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m sure we can find a tape player. It’s not a problem,” he repeats calmly in a hushed voice.
ARIST: You examine the mysterious Doorgunner Megamix.
ARIST: You make your way upstairs with Kim to your destroyed hotel room.
INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] There is no fixing this one.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Truthfully, you saw this coming.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You make to leave the Whirling, but something pulls at your attention. You’re still intrigued by the window behind the Hardie boys, the one thing you haven’t been able to properly inspect since you got here.
ARIST: Something just tells you to inspect it again, checking for something at the very limits of your senses. You stare hard, but not too hard. It’s like one of those magic eye puzzles.
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Someone hid the key in the bush and attached a yellow ribbon to make it easier to find.
SHANKY: “And *I* need the fatty to get his feet amputated ‘cause the smell is killing me—we can’t always get what we want.”
FAT ANGUS: “Goddammit, Dennis. You know I can’t help it!” His whiny voice is in deep contrast with his stature.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Shanky’s name is Dennis? Remember this! Weaponize it against him in the future!
GLEN: “Sorry, Fucko! These *guys* won’t help you. Looks like you’re gonna have to go bush-diving. The hawthorn’s got a bitch of a bite!”
SHANKY: “I’m gonna enjoy the sight of you in the bushes out there…”
GLEN: “C’mon, man. We were just having some fun! Where’s the harm in…?”
TITUS HARDIE: “Didn’t even know it was there…” The man looks at the key in your hand—then around in the room. “Boys?”
ALAIN: “No idea.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It *could* open the door in the kitchen—the blue door.” He looks at the key in your hand. “It says ‘Workshop Spare’—maybe there’s a workshop there?”
ARIST: Go check out that door, then.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Dust rises before you like mist. A tomb? Haunted by regal spirits from distant ages…
ARIST: Wait, what? Pinball?
KIM KITSURAGI: “Some kind of… He looks around, thinking. “Inane pinball theme—probably related to Messina during the Dolorian age. The *history themes* are the worst.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “No, I love it—I love pinball. Who doesn’t love pinball? Let’s move on.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “You can’t *fire* them up, they’re broken. Only that one machine in the main hall works. The Royalist Pinball.” He looks away.
ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] Oh no! Forced to do racism!
KIM KITSURAGI: “Us *guys*?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Okay.” He thinks for a moment. “I don’t like pinball because I had to learn to do it for an undercover job at a pinball ring. And it’s a lame, boring and unchallenging game—there. We can move on now.”
ARIST: Looks like you already found the key this refers to. Also, grab that sweet pinball money.
ELEVATOR: Smells of nougat and sweat. Your head brushes up against the ceiling. There is a control panel to your right—and just enough room for two people to fit in.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Look on the bright side: if it fails, we will only sustain minor injuries. I’m talking three, maybe four months in the hospital. Maximum five.”
ARIST: [Godly: Failure] As you slowly ascend, your brain is filled with a hauntingly catchy tune out of nowhere:
You got the power! (Ha ha ha ha ha ha!)
You got the might! (No way!)
Get ready for battle! (Give me your money!)
Beat the Black Knight! (Ha ha ha ha ha ha!)
It means nothing to you.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Ooh, a snazzy pinball coat!
KIM KITSURAGI: “Looks like it. I’m guessing Martinaise North 22 used to be a pinball arcade before it became a hostel. There are machines left over…” He taps his foot.
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] A creak, some dust falls off a shelf.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Downstairs in the hall—next to the main door. One of them even works. I’ve seen one of the Hardies bang away at it.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Ah yes—as the novelty dicemaker said.” He makes a note in his notebook. “This has absolutely nothing to do with the case, I’m sure. But I do like a nice little *connection*.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “If that’s true then our *cafeteria manager* is not going to like it.” He looks around. “We should tell him what we found up here—*omitting* that suspicion.”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Stupid superstition. But still—it would be *interesting* to see what the cafeteria manager thinks of this…
KIM KITSURAGI: “Three weeks maximum—from the dust coverage. It could easily have been *one* week too. You know, officer…” He looks at you.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] This is good. He likes it. That’s a little smile there—in the dark of the workshop.
FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST: Large prints, most likely made by boots. The size is hard to determine (sole could be bigger than vamp). The soles have left a pattern—uniform, horizontal lines.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] This feeling… it’s like the tangle of the world straightened out just a bit, allowing you to discern the knotted threads you’re working to unravel. You could have crossed the Whirling dozens of times and never found this without noticing that key. That’s luck, yes, but also just good instincts. You’re proud of yourself, and you deserve it.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Wait… are you next to Klaasje’s bedroom? You suppose that would make sense given the geography of this place, but still…
KIM KITSURAGI: He leans closer to inspect the peephole. “You can barely see through. Better not to jump to *sensationalist* conclusions here.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Unless we’ve veered off into a folded M dimension, I’m expecting to step out on the roof—we could ask Klaasje about this route, see how she reacts?”
ARIST: [Trivial: Success] Klaasje seems rather unsurprised that you just emerged from the mysterious doorway right in front of her.
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “I did not.” She takes a drag of her cigarette and smiles. “Mystery solved then. I kept wondering where it led.”
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “A peep hole? You mean a hole in the wall?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes. Looking into your bedroom, miss.” The lieutenant points to her window. The unmade bed is visible through the glass.
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “Okay…” There’s a pause as she processes this information.
EMPATHY: [Easy: Success] A jitter of fear and disgust moves through her body, beginning from her shoulders and ending in her hips. The cigarette tastes foul to her now.
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “Okay… do you have any way of knowing how *long* it has been there?”
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “Shit… I don’t know. Maybe it’s been there for a long time. Maybe the local kids use it or something. I don’t know…”
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “Huh. This isn’t good.”
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “Mhm…” She flicks the ash from her cigarette absent-mindedly.
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “It sounds like the boys would have preferred my saying it *did* happen.” A sigh. “I didn’t want to get caught up in this…”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] She is not at all worried the tape will contradict her statement.
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “What does that recording say?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We are in the process of listening to it. But haven’t—yet.”
ARIST: [Medium: Success] You decide to tell Garte about your discoveries next. And also about the Doomed Commercial Area, because he’s kind of a prick.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] You decide not to snitch on Klaasje nicking the phone line. It was for a good cause, after all.
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Oh? Okay. Well.” He controls his excitement well. “I did hear you make noise back there. So—good for you.”
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] He’s really, really holding himself back here.
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Hah! I knew it. I’ve always wondered where those machines by the door came from—*and* they told me there was some kind of pinball thing here too…”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “No, I was… just wondering.” He appears to be making a calculation in his head. “If you found pinball machines there…”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Capitalist *plot*.” He rolls his eyes. “The pinball we have in the corner now is broken—I want to diversify the entertainment options.”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Yeah, those numbers he’s adding up must be making good sense to him right now.
SUGGESTION: [Easy: Success] Sounds like he cares about the place. He’s not going to be overjoyed to hear that it’s part of the Doomed Commercial Area.
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “I’ll have it fixed at once. Thank you for letting me know. I assure you—the Whirling does *not* abide spying on its guests.”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Absolutely not.” He breathes in and out. “Fuck you for even implying it. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t my staff. The establishment will look at is and ascertain what it was.”
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] Well, he’s definitely not lying—he wouldn’t endanger this business like that.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Do it. Destroy his hopes and dreams.
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “What?” He looks mildly startled. “Why would you say that? We’re at a *completely* different address from that whole thing.”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Does this *look* like part of a *Doomed* Commercial Area?” He makes a sweeping gesture. “This pre-revolutionary tile work? These high ceilings? The nice rooms? Well, *most* of the rooms… For 14 years, man—that’s how long I’ve worked here. I’ve kept this place up through hail and through sleet. Fuck me, if some Doom Ghost…” he steadies his voice.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Well, now you just kind of feel bad. Sheesh.
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s *slowly* growing on me again. It’s beautiful, in its own way—especially for this neighbourhood. I’ve been trying to keep it that way…”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Well, it sure as hell wasn’t the real estate company.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It was you?”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “*Hail Holy Queen* by The Etenniers. ‘Hail holy queen of the sea,’” he quotes. “‘You’re whirling in rags—you’re vast and you’re sad.’”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “What about them?” He shrugs. “One is a basement dive frequented by chain-smoking communists. I can’t *tell* you how sick I am of Kras Mazov and Ignus Nilsen and all those old ghosts…”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Luck has got nothing to do with it.” He looks to where the hidden room is. “I need to think about where I’m gonna place those pinballs—I have a feeling they’re gonna help.”
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Against the Doom, it’s implied.
After leaving Garte to his capitalism, we decide to put another point into Empathy.
ARIST: You decide to check in on Alice’s research once more.
ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] Dammit!
ARIST: While you're out and about, though, you do have some things we can ask René.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “It’s a *Belle-Margrave*,” he says, taking the rifle. “4.46 calibre, breech-loading, Revachol-made. Good weapon, accurate and reliable.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “I’m not surprised.” He looks at the building. “There are probably lots of forgotten war-time weapons lying around here. Back in the day everyone had *something* stashed away.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “You know what…” He falls silent and the emerging smile withdraws. “No. They brought me misery, false-hope and disappointment. The *revolutionaries* sullied them.”
SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] You stirred up some bad memories there.
GASTON MARTIN: “But it wasn’t the revolutionaries that *sullied* the idea for you, was it?” He looks at the old soldier almost gently. “She gave them to me too and your jealous little heart just couldn’t accept it.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Enough,” he cuts in sharply. “I can go over these matters *in detail* with you, Gaston, but not while we have company. So officers…?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “May bells don’t blossom yet, do they?” the lieutenant quickly asks.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Yes, the Débardeurs’ Union pays me to stand vigil during the nights.” He looks down. “Not out of any *political* allegiance, mind you. I’m an old man, don’t sleep more than a few hours every night anyway and… money is tight,” he adds with a slight sigh.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “It’s a private matter,” he says with dignity. “Nothing to do with your investigation.”
GASTON MARTIN: “You see, officer, René is the kind of man who’d rather die than admit he needs medical assistance or—god forbid—seek it. A real man’s man. He’s just gonna *ride it out*.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “No one. The booth has been unmanned since last Monday.” He looks suddenly very old and tired. “There’s no other guard. It’s just me.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “No one has been guarding the container yard since last Monday?”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Yes.” He nods, before hesitantly continuing. “It’s… it’s not actually an issue. I mean…”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “The *possibility* of someone being in there is enough to discourage any ill-minded individuals…” he tries to argue.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] You’re unable to stop yourself from pitying this sad old man, just for a moment.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Ah, yes, King Filippe III on his steed—a reminder of what Revachol once was…”
GASTON MARTIN: “Oh absolutely…” He smiles as if reliving a pleasant memory. “At the mercy of a cocaine-snorting tyrant who emptied the treasury so he could sleep on a bed of gold?”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “A nation is only as strong *as* its leader. That’s why it was such madness to try to…”
GASTON MARTIN: “Don’t get started on that again. What happened, happened.” There is some weariness in his voice now—he’s heard this rant many times before.
RENÉ ARNOUX: The carabineer doesn’t reply, but his entire being communicates unbreakable resolve.
GASTON MARTIN: “Oh, old Filippe was a *big* fan of the purple nose candy the nobility loved so much. A cocaine-connoisseur of sorts.” He chuckles. “His egocentricity is borderline legendary.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “You can’t even take responsibility for yourself—how could you fathom the responsibility weighing on the shoulders of a ruler?” he asks, obviously annoyed. “That’s why the Filippian kings used cocaine—for clarity of vision, to aid in their work… Regnum Cocainum—Revachol’s finest years.” He seems to grow taller, brimming with pride about the past.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Of course,” the lieutenant marks dryly. “Clarity of vision. *Awareness*.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Filippe III was even brought into this world with the help of cocaine—the court medic administered a dose to his mother when she was in labour. And it is well known that with the help of cocaine—only the purest, of course—he was able to connect with higher realms.
ARIST: [Formidable: Fail-cess]Hmm, this cocaine stuff sounds pretty all rig—wait, no, we’re not doing this
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] ‘Higher realms’? Of course—it all makes sense…
GASTON MARTIN: “It’s really not.” He turns to René. “Please do spare us the cocaine fairy tales.”
ARIST: You realize you still haven’t really spoken with Gaston, so you do that next.
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Yes, that’s what you need Gaston. More padding on that fat ass of yours. I hope your heart gives out.”
GASTON MARTIN: “René, tsk-tsk. It’s the little pleasures. Life doesn’t need to be a… *mnjam mnjam* …a struggle.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Oh? The goal is to throw your *boule*…” He holds out the orb. “…as close to the *cochonnet* as you can.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “Well… first you draw a circle about half a metre in diameter. We made ours out of rope,” he explains. “Then the order of play is determined by a coin toss. You win it—you get to throw the *cochonnet*.”
GASTON MARTIN: “You’ll put that knowledge to good use in twenty… I mean fifty years. I’m sure of that officer.”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] It won’t be about pétanque. It’ll be about something much dumber.
GASTON MARTIN: “I’m sorry, officer, but I really don’t share food,” he says and quickly adds: “Nothing personal, it’s just a principle.”
RENÉ ARNOUX: “The only one you have.”
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] The sandwich looks like a culinary wonder, well made and abundant in components. The author sure knew their craft.
ARIST: Next, you decide to head into the bookstore to tell Plaisance about the Doomed Commercial Area.
PLAISANCE: “Yes, yes? How was it?”
PLAISANCE: “I knew it!” A tremor runs through her. “Oh, such horrors that have been thrust upon us…” She shakes her head.
PLAISANCE: She looks perplexed. “I don’t understand. If it’s not her, then where *is* the source of the Doom? How did she explain the *curse*?”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] The narrative she’s built herself—it does need tearing down.
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] She’s squeezing on the pendant too tight. A drop of blood in her palm…
SUGGESTION: [Easy: Success] Just don’t say you don’t have *any* answer yet. The uncertainty is killing her.
DRAMA: [Easy: Success] To hell with it—perchance you ought to just lie, sire?
ARIST: [Medium: Success] You *could* just tell her the truth—capitalism sucks—but that doesn’t seem like it’d satisfy her. Besides, you’ve come this far spewing bullshit, so why stop now?
PLAISANCE: “A *third order* presence, yes…” She lets go of the pendant.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] A great, dark relief washes over her.
PLAISANCE: “I’ve heard of these *tri-actors*. In certain occult literature that’s too dark to dwell on for too long—and definitely not in the presence of my daughter.” She gestures for you to be silent.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Well, this has been absolutely *educational*. If we happen on the *Third Presence* in our travels we will certainly come back to tell you.”
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Yes, the venture continues. In other waters. Darker waters.
We put another point into Encyclopedia.
ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] Fuck. Despite the best efforts of your hat, it looks like you’ll never find out just who Dick Mullen truly is.
SHELF OF PARANORMAL BOOKS: Amidst the various books you find one written by someone named Matthias W. Dundad. It’s about “Wholeness, Unity, Balance”.
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] These three things are very important to the working-class mind.
SHELF OF PARANORMAL BOOKS: It serves platitudes, while also telling everyone that traditional medicine (the kind people don’t have access to, and which costs more than this book) is garbage, and would only give you cancer anyway, without even curing your cold or anything. “Wholeness, Unity, Balance” on the other hand, can basically take care of anything. Though it is important to note…
SHELF OF PARANORMAL BOOKS: The book features chapters on topics such as: how to find magnesium (it even lists plants you can harvest magnesium from); how to continue drinking if you’re an alcoholic who has destroyed his liver; and… there’s even a chapter on the ancient Seraiese tradition of using duck gall bladder (preservatives) to treat and prevent sexually transmitted diseases. Pre- and post-factum apply. Nothing worth buying.
PLAISANCE: “Hum… sir, please, no browsing in that shelf.” She narrows her eyes. That wisdom is not for free.”
SHELF OF PARANORMAL BOOKS: The book contains descriptions of various pseudo-scientific therapies, alternative medicines, and folk remedies involving *the pale* – also known as *le territoire*.
SHELF OF PARANORMAL BOOKS: Among other benefits, it is alleged to restore a damaged liver to perfect health.
SHELF OF PARANORMAL BOOKS: For general health and well-being, readers are encouraged to take regular strolls through the pale, though a sidebar cautions readers to limit each stroll to less than an hour… These strolls promise to “cleanse the mind of worries and the body of toxins,” especially if the perambulator performs this ritual in the nude. (Nudity figures prominently in a number of these prescriptions.)
ARIST: As nice as the cost is, you decide not to buy it.
PLAISANCE: “Wonderful board games, sir. ‘The Viticulturist’ is a classic for sure, or perhaps you’d like ‘Archipelagos of Insulinde’, a very educational game for those interested in geography. ‘Raubritter’ is a fun game of economic competition, but can get quite intense after a while. We have games for the whole family. You can play with your children!”
PLAISANCE: “Don’t be so hard on yourself, sir. You just need to clean up a bit. And technically, friends are a bit like family.”
PLAISANCE: “Lousy auras there!” She shudders. “No, *role playing games* are popular among those types… you know, who’re into those kinds of things. Personally, I don’t like it. Not at all!”
MOUNTAIN OF BOARD GAMES: An endless variety of sourcebooks, lorebooks, and codices littler the table. The top-most book is titled “Welkin Compendium, Second Edition.”
ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] MORE WELKINS!!!
MOUNTAIN OF BOARD GAMES: There’s a box that says: “Wirrâl. Third Edition Mega-Setting Supplements Module”. The side panel notes: “A *fantastique* adventure board game. New maps and miniatures! A sticker on it displays—25 reál.”
ARIST: [Godly: Failure] Don’t spend all your money on that. Spend half of it on Suzerainty!
ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Oooooh, Genocide!