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[Stirk]

++Lord-Captain Guerra speaking. I am looking for a skilled artist responsible for reproducing dead dinos as statues, and I've been informed you were responsible for transporting a gift of theirs. Do you know where live or have their contact?++ Marco asks, additionally sending over the information of the day and hour of the trip to see whether that jogs the pilot's memory.

++They're my father's work and I figure each one will be his last. He's in pretty bad shape. Bad enough you probably can't get a good conversation out of him, its a miracle from the Emperor that he was able to finish the last few pieces. He's never been big on commissioned works neither. I'll send you our address - but you'll probably want to call ahead to make sure me or another handler's there before the visit.++

"Well, there are two other locations in the area. And since we're hunting cultists of the Dark Powers, one would think a place of worship to your emperor would be less likely to house any than a mining or farming village... or at least better hidden." Tallion says, musing aloud as he studies the map read-out. He pauses a moment to give it some further thought, before pointing to the map and adding. "Hmm... I think near the mines would be the best place to land and start with. There would be plenty of places within cults or agents of the Dark Powers could hide their actions in, places not often traveled, without them having to brave the dense jungle. And given all the trade they must do with the fortress alone, I doubt anyone would much notice one additional shuttle if we land among any others there on business."

"Alternatively, if the two of you wish..." He says, shifting where he's pointing on the map to a new location. "The Flak-grass ranches should have places that are remote enough to hide our landing more efficiently; allowing us to better conceal our shuttle with brush and/or approach more stealthily if we so desire. It's less direct and, given the size of the area, would probably have more places we'd need to cover; both investigatively and defensively. But with the insular, sleepy, idleness of communities like it, it's worth looking in to; especially when coupled with this world's warrior-hunter traditions you described. I'd just be afraid of being without cover should a firefight break out, given how open it all is."

"But even if we land at the Flak-grass ranches instead of the mines... I suggest we at least claim, if asked, to be agents of one of the two other Rogue Traders, the ones our boss is having to deal with; here to survey for additional resources to use in their little... duel. That way, should something go wrong, its one of them who feels the backlash and not our actual employer."

Turning from the maps to the Seer, he asks. "How good are you at reading Mon'Keigh minds?"

Let's go mines.

Indaria remains silent, not having a strong opinion on the matter.

You land in the mining village's landing pad. The jungle is cut back well from the landing pad and the connected dirt road leading back to the mine, but the village proper is more or less built into it with trees and undergrowth surrounding the human dwellings big and small. Small houses use stilts to keep their floors relatively flat on the steep mountainside, while the larger and more lavish houses sit on terraces cut into the mountain.

Both Raptors sniff the air and click between themselves as they're removed from the transport. There arn't very many people idling around the village, presumably most are in the mines or are otherwise occupied with their occupation. Those capable of feeling the presence can feel it further into the mountains - neither pick up anything strange in the village itself (at least for the time being).

[Caellath]

Were things simple and easy, the universe wouldn't be as it was. ++Has he taught anyone the trade?++

[Stirk]

Were things simple and easy, the universe wouldn't be as it was. ++Has he taught anyone the trade?++

++No, he always worked alone. He hated being disturbed and wouldn't let anyone so much as watch him work.++

[Caellath]

That's certainly troublesome. A proud artist who dislikes commissioned artworks and is close to the Emperor's Peace. ++I have need of someone who can visibly weather a pristine dino hide, and it does sound like your father would not be a good choice. Do you know any more people in the same artistic area I may contact?++

[Egan_BW]

"I cannot detect anything at this settlement. You? If not, perhaps we should press on to the Aura itself."

[Stirk]

That's certainly troublesome. A proud artist who dislikes commissioned artworks and is close to the Emperor's Peace. ++I have need of someone who can visibly weather a pristine dino hide, and it does sound like your father would not be a good choice. Do you know any more people in the same artistic area I may contact?++

++Not my hanger. You're free to look through my father's records if you think it would help. Most of his statues went out to artists he admired, he's probably got the biggest profolio of local artists in the world.++

[Caellath]

++I will be paying you a visit then. And who knows, perhaps your father will have his interest piqued by the novelty of the request.++ That said, Marco now has to get ready for another shuttle jaunt.

Time to go visit the old man and check those records.

[Stirk]

++I will be paying you a visit then. And who knows, perhaps your father will have his interest piqued by the novelty of the request.++ That said, Marco now has to get ready for another shuttle jaunt.

Time to go visit the old man and check those records.

You arrive at the family's modest hut on a hill with a good view of the ocean. The pilot managed to get home before you and is waiting at attention by the door. He allows you in with a solute.

A rarity on a planet where everyone is accustomed to violence, the artist is a truly old man. You have seen plenty of men with grey in their hair, locals lucky enough to hold their grandchildren, but this man is clearly at the end of his natural life. His white hair and beard are long, in the places they arn't replaced by scar tissue or his bald crown. His arms are thin and skeletal with age, covered in wrinkles and liver spots. His mind seems to be in similar condition, his eyes set on some distant battlefield rather than acknowledging his child or their honored guest.

The pilot is, by contrast, young and fit. Young as in he appears to be in his 20s, likely suggesting an adoption unless the old man has his child in his sunset years. He is dressed more similarly to the fortress dwellers than the locals, with a clean outfit and clean shave.

Much of the dwelling is decorated with picts of art, covering much of the wall like wallpaper. Many contain different dinos performing different poses, though if he was as skilled as they say he was they could perhaps be that statues he created over the years. A corner of the house is dedicated to similar picts, some peaking haphazardly out of books while others are stuffed into rusted ammunition boxes on a shelf.

The young pilot sits his father up at the edge of his bed.

"He can no longer move much on his own. He now needs an assistant for most basic tasks."

The father makes a weak motion with his lengthy pointer finger. The son brings his ear close to the old man's mouth and listens to a few rasped words you can't quite pick up on.

"He says it would dishonor our village if we do not offer an off-world visitor refreshments during his visit to our home. Do you mind if I run off to acquire some peaches? The food we keep here at the house is liquefied and not suitable for those with strong teeth."

[Lenglon]

"I cannot detect anything at this settlement. You? If not, perhaps we should press on to the Aura itself."

"Seems fine so far. Lets keep moving."

[Caellath]

"Not at all, feel free to. May I check those contacts while waiting?" He doesn't require anything fancy but he's also taken to understand that denying a host's hospitality is in bad manners unless it's an emergency.

Meanwhile Marco stares at the old man, wondering whether rejuvenat treatments and bionics could help him.

[Egan_BW]

Let's slip past this settlement for now and proceed to the shiny thing.

[Stirk]

"Not at all, feel free to. May I check those contacts while waiting?" He doesn't require anything fancy but he's also taken to understand that denying a host's hospitality is in bad manners unless it's an emergency.

Meanwhile Marco stares at the old man, wondering whether rejuvenat treatments and bionics could help him.

"Feel free. Hopefully I will not be too long."

The pilot leaves you and his father alone.

As you stare at him, he stares back. His eyes seem sharper and more alert now. If his mind is truly gone bionics are likely to be of little assistance so far as you know, barring rare and valuable examples that directly augment the brain even a servitor created from his parts would likely have issues. Given his level of wealth, it is unlikely that he's ever had a rejuvenat treatment. The rarer kind that reverses aging would be likely to restore his youth enough to do the job easily, should you get your hands on it.

[Caellath]

"Well, pleased to meet you. I might as well ask you: how do you feel about taking up a job to artificially weather a dino's hide so we might use the trophy to stop the conflict between two fellow Traders?" You'll never get a yes if you never ask, so he might as well.

[Stirk]

"Well, pleased to meet you. I might as well ask you: how do you feel about taking up a job to artificially weather a dino's hide so we might use the trophy to stop the conflict between two fellow Traders?" You'll never get a yes if you never ask, so he might as well.

The old man slowly and deliberately picks up a picter sitting next to his bed. With a snap, he captures a pict of you. Said picture prints from the bottom of the machine. There is otherwise no response.

[Caellath]

Marco sighs. "I will check your contacts then, as your son has said."

Check those contacts, assuming the son has told me where they are. Otherwise, time to ask the old man and get no proper answer.