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[InZane]

PTW

[Digital Hellhound]

"*Sigh*, Very well, only because you have been somewhat understanding, what would you like me to tell your employer?"

You suppose it's not too much of a diversion. As long as the dead don't make a habit of it. You let the private investigator know you'll do as he asks. The man shrugs his shoulders.

'I suppose that's something. Alright, tell him, uh... give me a moment,' he says. 'Tell him he was right. Wodan Chemical is producing some kind of weapons - whatever's in these tanks gotta be proper illegal. Only I don't think it's that simple. It's bigger, global, maybe. Found a register with plant names and locations... well, that's as far as I got. Just let him know he's on the right track, right? And for the love of God, make sure the next guy knows what they're getting into.'

'Is that all?'

'Yeah... yeah, I guess it is,' the PI says. He digs out a notebook and scribbles down an address - soul matter, but you memorize it. He sighs. 'This is it, then? Wherever the hell I'm going...'

Fear flickers on his face for the first time. Still, he reaches forward to take your hand...

***

A screaming inferno surges up to meet you as you descend into Hell. The pillar of black flame spins and ripples around your form. Madmens' whispers fill your ears, but you give them no heed. They make their usual demands, hungry and desperate; to submit, to surrender to the will of the Infernal Realm. To let go of the Guide's aura that protects you: you've seen this enough times not to care. The blasted marches of Hell spread out below you, a scarred landscape of fissures and rifts under an ashen sky. Red lightning spits out of the clouds in staccato rhythm, their bolts rendin and flaying the flesh of the damned hordes toiling below. The air is thick and corrupt, painful to breathe.

The PI remains in your grip for a moment more. He begins to wail, struggling - and lets go. His pale form solidifies in an instant, bowing to the laws of Hell. He screams out before his lungs are choked by ash and the flames consume him.

You stay looking down for a few moments longer. To be claimed by the Infernals... he's set for an eternity of pain and work, subject to the arbitrary punishments of his demonic masters. The traitors and murderers do not get even that; their souls and bodies are twisted, moulded into new shapes and turned into mindless creatures of war - Hellspawn. Some of your kind would prefer dissolving damned souls in the Stream rather than carrying them to this mutilation, even though it would go against the first rule.

Persuaded Soul: +5XP
Soul Guided: +5XP

***

You return to the PI's world. It is not a familiar place - the address only helps so much. The city in the distance is a mass of streets and buildings, as strange to you as any other world. There might be a faster way to find the apartment than to methodically go through each street, if one occurs to you - though that will get you the right place too, eventually. You should also consider how to approach the employer and how to leave the message.

>?

[Harry Baldman]

Find a bus stop and check a map. Locate the appropriate street if possible.

Failing that, see if they still have phone booths. If yes, get a phone book and look at a map in that.

[AoshimaMichio]

As for how to leave the message; Write it hastily to piece of ripped paper and drop it on his mailbox.

[Tomasque]

Using the phone book, we could call and leave a message. It's not like we live in this world, and we can leave before they notice us anyway.

[Harry Baldman]

As for how to leave the message; Write it hastily to piece of ripped paper and drop it on his mailbox.

But that's so very impersonal. Dude went to hell. Least we can do for him is make sure the message is properly received!

[AoshimaMichio]

I though we could make it look like dude wrote it himself. Hence "hastily".

[Parsely]

We could just call the employer's place and tell them over the phone, make it seem like a message from someone who knew him.

[High tyrol]

As for how to leave the message; Write it hastily to piece of ripped paper and drop it on his mailbox.

1+

[Digital Hellhound]

Find a bus stop and check a map. Locate the appropriate street if possible.

Failing that, see if they still have phone booths. If yes, get a phone book and look at a map in that.

As for how to leave the message; Write it hastily to piece of ripped paper and drop it on his mailbox.

1+

You have some familiarity with these kind of places and times. This city of steel and combustion engines will yield its secrets to you.

You drift over the sprawl of low-lying buildings. The predawn gloom is lit by thousands of little lights and lives. Occasionally, Guides flicker into existence, ignorant of your presence as they head straight for their subjects. It itches at you not to be working as they are, but you tell yourself this is still part of taking care of the private eye.

[Intellect 2: 1+2=3, Success] With your plan in mind, you know what to look for. You descend to a bus stop which looks remarkably like one where you found a soul dead in her own vomit once and study the map. The living mortals are blind to you - you fish a piece of paper and a pen from one's pockets while she passes. The first bus stop gives you little, but it helps you navigate to another part of town. Perhaps half an hour later, you've found the right place. The system of houses and numbers makes little sense to you, but after circling the block once you identify the place.

The address tells you to go the third floor of a rather run-down apartment building. You head up the fire escape and into the right corridor, but something makes you pause.

[Arcane 3: 4+2=6, Success] There's a faint trace of background magic in the air. Usually, it would be barely recogizable, but in this city devoid of magic, it sticks out like a white-hot flame. It is not the result of great arcane power, but the cumulative imbued energy of a hundred small spells and enchantments. Someone here is a magic user, perhaps the only one among all these mortals, and you are fairly certain it is the mysterious employer. 

You study the door - it might have some minor ward, but no door can keep Death away. You might simply leave the note through the mail slot as intended; though odd, this is none of your business.

>?

[Execute/Dumbo.exe]

This is far too interesting a situation, what is the basis of magic, are there any strict rules all types of magic have to go by? Or has anyone ever jumped worlds?

[Digital Hellhound]

This is far too interesting a situation, what is the basis of magic, are there any strict rules all types of magic have to go by? Or has anyone ever jumped worlds?

Magic comes from a connection to the primordial Stream, the lifeblood of the universe. Each magic user is born with it - you have not at least heard of anyone gaining access to magic by any other means. There are worlds where everyone is a mage, or where the power is rare, or where no-one is. Magic can be made to function through different ways - rituals, runes, words of power and myriad other ways. Arguments of which way is most efficient, most powerful, most pure, delicate, precise, and so forth are common even among Guides, who have the liberty to learn whichever way they wish.

Living mortals cannot travel between worlds as gods and supernatural beings such as you can, through the Stream itself, but there are ways for them to cross worlds. You do not know the specifics of how.

[Execute/Dumbo.exe]

So either someone jumped Worlds or they just were born with magic, but the PI was probably correct when he said it was bigger.
Ah well, nothing else to do now, we've done all we can without really getting into things, Let's just leave now and go to our next poor soul.

[Harry Baldman]

Yeah, drop the note in the mail slot and leave quietly.

[AoshimaMichio]

Yeah, drop the note in the mail slot and leave quietly.

+1. Be done with this task and get back our real one.