Doe

1.3

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Persa had become accustomed to seeing the dead around nearly everyone she saw with her Glimmer.

From the guards of the sanctum or the cooks of the hall, to the few Masked she had come across, and even the priests and priestesses that had raised and trained her into joining the Masked.

In hindsight, Sabra's comment about her being around hidden Masked she never noticed explained quite a few things.

Not all of them, however. Some were simply tragedies.

She had an incredibly vivid memory of playing with her Glimmer around some foxes in the garden, seeing them carrying the ghosts of their first prey, and hearing her name be called by a particularly beloved instructor.

Turning around had shown her to be surrounded by the choking, vomiting, gasping corpses of a family of three. A man and two boys, eyes bulging, claw marks at their necks, feet and hands turns a charred black by the touch of heat.

They were clawing at her cherished instructor. An old woman who was so frail that she got winded walking up the stairs to the library, and she had murdered three people at once.

After her wails and tears had subsided - and the guards had ensured that the instructor was not a particularly senile assassin of some sort - the High Priestess had personally interviewed Persa as to what she had seen.

It was only then that Persa learned the truth. Her instructor had been compelled by her husband's jealous lover, barred her family inside of the house while they slept, and set it aflame. The Glare that held control over the woman had ended then, so that she would hear them scream curses and pleas for their lives, and she would have to live with the deaths at her hand.

The woman had sought the counsel of a local temple and Masked had been sent in to apprehend the offending Blessed.

It was one thing for Look-Outs to take jobs as body-guards or contractors, even assisting the local authorities in matters of investigations. Deaths did occasionally happen, by the purpose of the job or by sheer accident.

To turn a Glare onto the populace for one's own gain was to spit in the eyes of the Empress's decree, and punished by immediate enucleation, possibly even death.

In her memory, she wondered if the satisfied explanation of the High Priestess about how the former Blessed was enucleated with extreme prejudice was truth, or mere blending of various temple occupants who did relish the act.

It was a surprise for her to find no dead around the governor nor the wounded, muscular, young man. From the wild gaze of the governor and the sheer physique of the director, she had expected them to have some dead by their hands.

Sir Nothar did have one dead fellow to his name.

The corpse was remarkably clean, barring the spill of red that caked his slit throat down to the front of a grey and blue vest, staining the puffy white shirt beneath it. His eyes were keen, a hand causally on a sword handle, and he leaned on Sir Nothar's shoulder with not a sign of ill-intent.

Persa may not have recognized the style of dress, but the dead man's confident posture and saber radiated a duelist's aura. It was only the pulse of blood and the occasional waver that showed how he was afflicted.

The Look-Outs had dead around them as well. Lorne - the woman - had a charred husk that sat listlessly against the wall beside her, eyes running like egg-whites down her face. What Baer had around him were more like pieces of a human body, chopped into clean sections, the head of the man he killed gnawing at his ankle.

She looked to Sabra, raising three fingers, before turning back to the men, "The Empress has received your clamor for assistance. From what we have been told, your colony of Ena has seen a population boom due to the growth of the shipyard, leading to more strain on your peace-keeping forces. Even more recently, several deaths have threatened the security of her hold on this colony, involving rogue Blessed, correct?"

Irmas nodded, "Indeed. Everyone in this room is trusted and vetted for secrecy, as listed in our plight."

"Then, before I request the packets you are obligated to submit, I would hear your tale from your own mouths."

The governor smiled a bit wider, "Testing the waters?"

"Only as is needed. For the safety of the colony and the Empress's will."

"Naturally. Chatea, some tea and butter-milk toast please. Not for me, however. I'll take the salmon and tilante. This may take some time."

The guide was quick to procure the refreshments for the table, though Persa, Sabra, and Milian abstained. It was indeed great torture to see all three men enjoying their treats, though Persa felt less bad seeing how Director Allam needed a wooden straw to slowly sip at the tea.

Bits of the drink dribbled from a corner of the ruined hole, and he was quick to clean it, not daring to look and see who noticed.

Like looking at a living corpse, Persa thought, feeling more than a twinge of sympathy.

"The organization refer to themselves as the 'True Seers'," Irmas said, cutting into his fish and dipping the piece into some red paste. After a moment of swallowing, he continued, "They don't believe the Empress intended for the rigid sort of government oversight we have today, a 'tyranny of religion' as they call it, and believe her to be puppeteered by the shadowy cast of 'fanatics'."

He waved his fork in their direction, smiling apologetically, "Again, their words."

"You would think such a group would take it up with the ambassadors of the church or travel to the major temples themselves," Persa noted sourly. "The Empress is always open to debates and advertises her visits to each temple often."

"I imagine that it would defeat the point of the group, if they were so thoroughly rebuked by the Empress herself. Best to have that plausibility of suppression after all." Sir Nothar enjoyed a sweet sip of tea. "You often see it with heretical groups that are based on more… zealous approaches to keeping their followers."

Milian said, "The Cold Eye of Heaven once sequestered themselves off from the rest of the world for fifty years before sending out scouts to various colonies and kingdoms, declaring themselves to have been chosen by the Empress to free her of the shackles of man. They also denounced all other fringe groups as heretics."

"It would not be appropriate for them to have competitors in the same space," Sir Nothar agreed. The phantom duelist smirked in response, a pulse of blood seeping down his slit throat. "Admittedly, I have not heard of the Cold Eye of Heaven."

"The Empress personally befell upon them after they burned down a temple dedicated to the hundredth year of her rule."

"Eight hundred years ago," the gentleman said with a tight smile. "That would explain it."

"Sir Nothar has aged exceptionally well, but he is not quite that old," Irmas jested.

"By a factor of twenty at the least, old sport."

Light chuckles around the table, Persa and Milian among them.

It felt so good to be among civilized society after being cooped up for weeks below deck. If she had been able to truly partake in sweets and tea, Persa would have found it truly relaxing and worth the work.

Alas, Chatea would remain uncalled for, as the work of the Empress demanded professionalism while out on a mission. Proud to carry the burden though she was, that did not make it any less of a burden, in Persa's opinion at least.

Director Allam waved politely but noticeably, getting her attention. The young man scribbled something tightly on a piece of paper, occasionally looking up at her, before turning it over to Persa.

'They shot my face. They have killed men.'

Good humor died down as the note was read, his sad eyes staring at Persa pleadingly.

"The True Seers?" Persa asked softly. Maybe too soft, since no one reacted. Sabra lightly nudged her shoulder and Persa coughed, raising her voice to ask again, "It was the True Seers?"

Allam nodded.

Irmas sighed, "We should have seen it coming, really. They grew from fifty to nearly two hundred members over weeks. We had two directors before Allam, experienced and well-known in the public eye. Trusted in social circles. Both of them died in mysterious ways."

"How mysterious?"

"One of them did part-time work with the local temple assembly, Dallan. He was more… pious than others, refusing to take to drink, use grey rock, or the spine. Have you heard of spine?"

"Hallucinogenic grass," Sabra said before Persa could answer. "Numbs the mouth and colors your vision. Some take it for pleasure purposes. Useful for wounds when used as a paste, if it's dire enough for such extreme needs."

Sir Nothar gave Sabra a new, appreciative, look.

Was it odd that Persa felt more than a bit of pride for Sabra, at that moment?

"He was found face down in the water. Mouth filled with the paste. From what we gathered, he was last seen at eleven at night, staring out at the docks. The eyewitness went back inside, talked to some friends, and when he came out the man was gone."

"You investigated this witness?"

"Yes. And his fellows. All had alibis and means of proving they were there but had nothing to do with the man's death. Lorne can see through deceptions."

Persa glanced at Milian, who nodded, "That is correct. She can perceive any type of trickery."

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The woman Look-Out inclined her head.

"And before then?" Persa asked. "Any family or friends…"

Shakes of the head all around, "He lived alone. Had a mother who died ten years before. Prior to this, he was last seen walking from the end of his shift to his apartment, checking in with its Headmistress, and then leaving several hours later. About an hour before his death, in fact."

Persa pursed her lips, "And the other director?"

The governor shrugged, "Negain. At first glance, we thought it was suicide, gunshot to the head. He often talked about his time out with the Northern regiment. Rarely a good thing, as you can imagine."

Persa and Sabra glanced at each other.

At the lack of reaction from Persa and Sabra, the governor raised an eyebrow, "You… are aware of the Northern regiment's reputation?"

"Matters of colonies not assigned to us are not our concern," Sabra answered. "For the most part at least. Chronic?"

Milian answered, a bit pale, "It was the Empress's fifth expanse into the barbarous domain of the Cyclo-Horde. It only ended three years ago, with three-fourths of the regiment returning."

Persa's eyes widened, a small gasp leaving her. The horrors this man must have seen.

"That explains enough," Sabra said sourly. "Continue, governor."

He nodded, "As you can imagine, he was always a dark man. The things he had to do to survive scarred him and the stories he told disturbed others. It is despite that nature of his that he impressed enough of the people of this colony to support him, and help him rise the ranks in the docks. He was quickly chosen as interim director once Dallan passed. He lasted a month."

"What made you think it wasn't a suicide?" Persa asked.

"The nephew," Sir Nothar answered. "His only living relative. One day, he's finishing up his work in his office, a stern but effective leader, and had tasked his nephew with writing letters to our neighbors down south of the island about importing wood for a priest of the Hectorian Temple. It was a large order and Negain was expected to make the trip down himself. The day after, as the nephew tells it, Negain was hammering at his door, practically shouting about how he can't take the nightmares anymore and that he had deposited all his funds in a trust that the nephew could access. The resulting argument was heard and reiterated by multiple neighbors."

Allam wrote something on his paper, 'I knew him for years. He never raised his voice once. Can't believe it.'

"He runs off," Sir Nothar continued. "He's found dead in his office. Gunshot to the head. Self-inflicted."

Persa thought about it, "Could the gun have been planted?"

"Perhaps. Not likely. His corpse held the gun so tightly that it marred his skin. And no reason to want to kill himself when he was preparing letters and meetings with his fellows."

She tilted her mask, "You believe the True Seers have a Blessed that compelled them?"

Silent but serious nods from all three of them.

"And yet," Sabra said, looking at Allam. "You live."

"By luck," Irmas replied. "The bullet that caught him knocked Allam off of his balcony. Sheer miracle that he hit the cloth shade beneath him and landed in the flower bed. The poor man had barely been in office for a week when they took their shot at him. Just now discharged."

"Shooting doesn't fit the pattern," Sabra pointed out.

"We had already been investigating with Lorne and Baer," Irmas nodded to the Look-Outs. "We had Allam under intense scrutiny. Even though the shooting took us off guard, we are pretty sure we found the attempted killer. A militia-man who was vocal about how the Temples were corrupting the Empress's message, often drunk."

"A useful proxy for the True Seers," Sir Nothar said. "Had me under investigation for quite some time, and he made sense to be a 'lone agent' as it were. Dead from suicide, naturally."

Persa tilted her mask, looking between the three men, "And to what evidence do the True Seers have against them? I have no love for that of the heretical mind, but simple anger at the local temples is not inherently worth extermination."

"Decree of the Testimonium declares that all raised temples of holiness must not only be judged by the Heavenly Eye, but by those of limited mortal perspective," Milian said in support.

All three of the men bowed their heads for a moment at that.

Irmas was the first to look up, a wry smile on his face, "Allam, if you would?"

Slowly, the young man wrote something new. It was a long note, and beads of sweat covered his brow.

He faltered for a moment, but eventually showed Persa the paper, 'I was once a member of the True Seers. Left once they became too violent, spoke of committing harm, and they never forgave me. Worse when I took renewed vows of faith at the temple. After I was shot, one of them snuck into my room while I was healing. Wore a mask and their symbol, and said that this should never have happened. That I must leave the city. I don't recall much else, but he had eyes that seemed to unwind themselves.'

"The guards were dead." Sir Nothar said. "Unwound, as it so happens."

Persa had no desire to know what that meant. "How many Blessed are in their ranks?"

The men traded a look for a moment, before Northas spoke up, "We relied on Lorne to confirm our findings, but we have reason to believe that those who attend True Seer assemblies are not actually aware of any Blessed in their organization. Even the few preachers we corralled were confused and believed us to be trying to plant misinformation."

"Which we found interesting," Irmas added. "Because soon after, the numbers of attendees swelled as rumors of our local militia roughing up people of faith began to circulate among the populace."

"Baited?" Sabras asked.

"So it seems. Maybe Allam surviving wasn't a miracle after all. Perhaps they wanted the pressure. Either way, we had to pull back resources and refrain from looking like we would begin cracking skulls without evidence. That number of two hundred has swelled to four hundred believers."

Allam did not look pleased.

Persa frowned. Blessed hiding so well that not even their own members are aware?

"Where do they worship?"

"An old farm, up in the North-East. Owned by the Goanic family for generations, and are probably the most wealthy members of the True Seers. Part of the reason we haven't outright raided is because it's easier to have all the members in one known location."

Sensible. Everything seemed to line up…

"And what do you think?" Persa asked.

Sir Nothar blinked at her sudden attention, "Forgive me, Honored Oidan, but-"

Persa raised a hand, stalling his words.

The dead duelist turned to look at her for a moment. When it opened its mouth to speak, there was only a spatter of blood and gurgling to be heard.

Right. She really should have thought of that.

"Spell?" She asked.

The ghost grimaced but took a handful of his blood in one hand, cupping it as much as possible, before hobbling over to the napkin nearest Sir Nothar. Though it was a single wound, the dead man was still in the throes of how he died after all, and his movements suffered slightly as a result.

Persa kept Sir Nothar in her field of vision, even as she glanced at the napkin. So long as the man was seen, her Glimmer would allow the dead man to continue existing. It did not matter if the corpse blocked her view, since it did not truly 'exist' and thus did not count as obstructing her Glimmer.

It was a painful silence as the corpse worked to use the blood to draw on the napkin, the three men looking anxious. Well, Irmas was curious at the least. The man was inspecting the napkin she was staring at, even though there would be nothing for him to see.

Glimmers were a key part of learning new information. Sabra could see clearly for miles, as though she were standing right there, and even listen in on conversations if there were people around. Milian could see books, scrolls, and tablets from ancient history brought to the fore by his curiosity.

And with the death in her gaze, Persa's Glimmer allowed her to see and commune with the dead. A very specific kind of dead, however: they had to be a killing that left the largest impression on her target's souls.

The heretical captain had viciously killed and possibly tortured a Masked, a moment that he carried with him like an anchor around his neck. The woman from the temple was an oddity, in that Persa had only seen a handful of people who had multiple ghosts haunting them since.

Whomever the Look-Out guards had killed had been of similar spiritual weight as those examples, as was this duelist of Sir Nothar.

It says a lot that this corpse doesn't seem to hold contempt for the gentleman, Persa considered. She wondered what the story was behind his killing.

The dead man finished his bloody message.

Two compelled. One shot.

He held a red finger to his lips, a shushing motion, glancing at Sir Nothar.

Persa frowned behind her mask, but gave the corpse a reluctant nod. "Is that all?"

He merely pointed at the message again.

I hate the cryptic dead, she thought sourly. The undead still had remnants of who they were as people, for the most part, but some felt the need to only give the bare minimum of information when she compelled them.

She chalked it up to the loss of sanity from being trapped in an undead state.

"I believe that finishes up this discussion for the time being," Persa said. "Unless there is more to say?"

She could see the curiosity burning in the eyes of all three men, but Irmas shook his head, "No, that is quite all. Chatea, please retrieve the packets."

The packets were all stored information pertaining to the mission, a counterpart to the initial plea sent to the embassy within the temples. As it took time for Honored Masked to travel from place to place, it was legally required for the government body to have a prepared collection of need-to-know information, as specified by their acceptance letter sent by the temple.

Milian looked eagerly at the three packets of paper bound inside of the wooden trunk and handed them off to a nearby guard.

"They will take these and lead you to your chambers at the Millrose Inn. It should be to your liking, but please feel free to ask us of any favor necessary. We are in your debt."

"All is as the Empress designs, so long as the Heavenly Eye watches on," Persa replied.

"Until we meet again, Honored Masks. Chronic." Governor Irmas dipped his head in a bow, as Persa rose from her seat, the other men following suit. Even the Look-Outs did so.

Glad to see they retain some civility, Persa thought, looking at the pair. Perhaps if all goes well, I leave a note of good will in our report to the Empress.

"There is more to be done," Sabra said quietly as they departed, surrounded by guards to the carriage.

Persa did her very best to hold back a sigh.

What she wouldn't do for tea and treats at the moment.

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The Inn could have been mistaken for a mansion. Easily four stories tall, covered from head to toe in vines that had been groomed into swirls and curved around window-sills like a lover's hand.

According to Chatea, when in bloom, the flowers would create a pattern of a multicolored iris, and that it was such a shame that they would not be able to stay long enough to see it.

"Want us gone so quickly?" Persa asked, testing the waters of humor. Chatea seemed a pleasant enough man and the fact that he did not flinch at her mask gave her some measure of liking to him.

"Far be it from our small home to keep you from the Empress's designs," Chatea jested in good nature. "Some Honored Masks have passed through our colony as I grew up, but none seem to wish or be able to stay for longer than months. We are a place of passage, not for homage, to your grander sort."

Persa took that to be the truth and did not press the man on the topic again.

Persa and Milian were given rooms together; the boy was young and hardly a danger, and Persa would be able to protect him in case of danger. Sabra had insisted on taking a room right next door instead of sharing the space, which Persa did not argue, though they had a shared door between both rooms as Sabra requested.

Persa was curious what her killer guard would do with her spare time. She had seemed interested in what Persa had mentioned the dead duelist spelled out, but said she had no concrete conclusions yet.

Sabra wanted to ruminate on what to do and Persa wanted to sleep in a comfortable bed for the first time in a while.

The entire upper fourth floor and a bit of the third was filled with not just the ship's guards, but local militia delegated to their command under Sir Nothar's orders. A small army was likely scaring the local customers away, but Persa had been assured that it had been paid for.

Milian was reading the reports, flipping through them in moments, before moving onto the next. After a few minutes, he restarted with the first packet, pulling out a pencil and beginning to add annotations.

She wasn't quite so curious as to ask what he was writing. She was tired of playing the role of Oidan, and simply lay in bed, relaxing ever so slightly.

The mural of the Empress was all sea-greens and blues within their room, including her regal dress and armor, designed to look like fish scales and the shells of clams. It depicted a tall woman by the sheer fact of it taking up most of the seven foot space, with her two sister priests leaning their heads against her shoulders, the Empress's hand raised and emitting a glowing triple-eyed insignia.

It was odd for Persa to see a depiction of the Empress that was so pale, with only the shocking white of her and her sister's wild hair being the norm, and that was because it seemed to be an artistic choice for it blend into the cascading white sea-foam of the waves behind the holy trio.

They stood atop a rock in the shape of Ena, a common theme for much of the artistry, Persa noted.

Persa had been taught that all depictions of the Empress were sacred, as they were meant to be a symbol of how her righteousness and good word caught the eyes of any culture under her protection, which she cherished within the heart of her bosom.

Yet that made her no less… uneasy? Ill-placed? A complicated sort of disagreement to see a depiction of the Empress in such a manner, when Persa knew that the earliest of art had her of darker complexion - some near dark as night - back at the Temple of Enquarus, which matched Persa's own.

The sisters, less so. That had leeway with religious backing, in her opinion.

After all, scripture dictated that Enquarus was the Empress's first home before she began uniting the barbarous kingdoms of mankind, and found her holy sisters on two sides of the world.

It was much easier to accept that they would be very different to the Empress herself.

Still, she could admire well done art despite having no skill of her own and she appreciated that they left the trio with the empty eye sockets. It wasn't quite blasphemous to try and depict the glory of the Empress and her sister priests Blessings, but it was a good way of becoming a social pariah for assuming you had the ability.

Social pariahs brought her mind to the True Seers. People who seemed to love the Empress, just in a misguided fashion.

"I would prefer if no one died on this mission," Persa spoke aloud, already hating that she brought up the mission when she should have been resting.

"Do you count the former Captain Horsai, Honored Oidan?" Milian asked, not looking up from his scribbles.

"Persa, please." She frowned, considering it for a moment. "I wonder, was he a member of the True Seers?"

"His Glare was known to all. And the cult does not seem to believe they have anyone who is Blessed."

"Lorne could not have possibly investigated them all," Persa countered.

"She has not," Milian conceded. "But from these notes on the cult leaders they did interrogate, not even the highest branches seemed to know about any Blessed beyond Lorne and Baer."

That bothered her. Why would the Blessed be hiding their presence from followers who agreed with them and vice versa?

It bothered her much in the same way the corpse had hinted at an answer with the same question Sabra asked. She could compel the dead to answer, but how they chose to answer was up to them.

And the dead around the Look-Outs were clearly incapable of speech, if they were sane enough to even understand what she asked.

I should order up some treats, Persa thought. Sugar calms my mind.

As if on cue, Sabra knocked once and then entered the room, dressed to the nines in her Masked attire. Right behind her was the crew-guard's leader. Ladley, if she remembered right.

Persa hopped to her feet immediately, both galled at the sudden entrance and happy that she had not bothered to undress beyond her sock and top coat. Milian was quick behind her, adding a salute to his posture.

"Arm yourselves," Sabra said, mask in hand. "Meet us on the roof in five minutes. If you hear gunfire, remain in your rooms and then await my return."

Then she and Ladley strode out of the room.

Empress thrice-eyed darn-

Persa cut off the curse and moved to grab her socks, grumbling under her breath, but not loud enough for Milian to hear and record. She made sure her knives were strapped to the belt, and her revolver was both loaded and safely strapped to her side.

Glittering skull mask in her hand, smiling.

Milian didn't need to worry about any weapons, just grabbing his goggles, scarf, and coat.

They made their way to the rooftop, Persa strongly considering being a minute early or a minute late to test the boundaries of being 'Oidan' to Sabra, but relenting to arrive just on time.

Sabra and Ladley stood on the rooftop, looking out into the city. The dark lids of the Heavenly Eye gave the greens and blues a dark tint to their colors as night approached.

"Area is secure," Sabra said. "Rooftops nearby at least. We are going to the farm."

"Now?" Persa asked, surprised. "Should we not rest and conserve our energy for tomorrow?"

"We investigate," Sabra said. "Rest after. They'd expect us to be in our rooms and might be making moves. Might have already done so, from the moment the governor started plans for that irritating parade."

Persa frowned but put on her mask. She glanced around the rooftops as well, using her Glimmer and the telescopic lens to see if there were any dead nearby. Even just a peak of a spy poking out could summon one for her.

None she could find, at least.

"Shall I call your carriages, Honored Aisan?" Ladley asked.

She shook her head, "No need."

With one arm she scooped up Milian, the boy's eyes widening as she carried him like luggage under her arm. With the other, she wrapped a bulky arm over Persa's shoulders and brought her in close, pressing Persa against her side.

Persa was paralyzed, utterly unable to react as she felt the arms holding her tightly against Sabra. Her shoulders dug into the Aisan's stomach and her gold skull bumped against the middle of her rib-cage.

"Should we not return by morning, you and your Captain know what to do."

Ladley looked haunted at the thought, but nodded, "Aye, Honored Aisan."

"Ready?" Sabra asked, staring into Persa's mask.

"Ahyuh?" Was the closest approximation Persa had to words as she still processed this sequence of events.

Sabra just nodded, turning to look at a distant rooftop easily five hundred feet away.

All scattered thoughts and feelings were dashed away, as the trio promptly ceased to exist.