The Supply Drop (Paragon)

[Franky]

Franky walked along the cobblestones, taking his time, taking in the beautiful sights around him. He didn't know why he was here, where he was, or where he was going, but that was fine. He was enjoying the walk. The temple was modest but beautiful nonetheless. Interesting words hanging from streamers. Gold on parchment would normally be difficult for his old, gas damaged eyes to read, at least compared to his younger days, but something about these was perfectly clear, more so than they should've been.

It was a serene place, and Franky felt at peace. He could lose himself here, in contemplation and memory. Though the accompaniment of dragons was unexpected. Franky began to wonder if he were in the south. The real south, not what the Imperium thought of as the south. Strange creatures, old temples, dragons galore... he'd never been but he'd heard more than enough stories from the few who managed to return mostly intact from that war.

Then she spoke.

Even though he wasn't expecting it, there was a comfort in the question and voice that prevented Franky from startling. His suspicions only increased at the sight of the beautiful Orkhan woman, dressed like a Hinterlander. Words upon words upon words in tongues Franky had no practice in, and some in the few he knew. And Franky saw that empty gaze, one he knew well, for when an army practiced warfare through the use of explosives, it churned out blinded soldiers with some regularity.

An offer?

Franky smiled softly, "I would love to." He reached into his pocket, pulling out his smoke box, popping out a cigarette an inch, "Smoke? My name is Franky." He offered his other hand to the woman to help her to her feet. He suspected that he wouldn't need to guide her, but his arm was offered for such anyways. "What is this beautiful place? And how did I end up here? I remember falling asleep in my bed, in my tavern, in a land far less lovely than this." A perplexed look on his face, followed by a polite smile.

"I suspect I am dreaming, and if I'm not, I apologize for the assumption. I don't believe we've met before. What is your name?"

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

"Franky." She spoke his name as though tasting it. With a fluid grace she accepted the hobgoblin's arm.

“Galetira.” She began walking but her movements were leisurely, allowing Franky to set the pace and direction. At the offer of a smoke, she shook her head.

"In your tongue, this place is called the Isle of Light.” Her expression softened.

At her words, some of the slips of paper hanging from the stone ring rustled in a breeze. The whisper of voices drifted softly on the winds prompting the Orkhan woman to close her eyes and tilt her head in their direction.

“You are still asleep in your bed, Franky, but this is no dream. You have been brought here, somewhere between moments, adrift among the threads of destiny. I was transcribing the Words, when I felt my gaze drawn in your direction. A beacon I could not ignore. Then you appeared, in a manner of speaking.” The Orkhan woman lifted her middle and index finger of the hand wrapped around her staff. Whether it was a trick of the light or some other method, a single silver feather materialized in her hand. It shimmered, the plumage pristine, even after being stuffed in Franky’s hat. The sunlight in the enclosure seemed to seek it out, wrapping around the silver and causing a sheen of prismatic colors to practically emanate off of the feather in a soft aura.

“I suspect it is because of this.” She extended the feather to Franky. “Do you know what this is?”

[Franky]

It seemed that Galetira was not interested in joining Franky for a cigarette. Some simply didn't enjoy that particular aesthetic. Franky wet his fingers in his mouth and snuffed out his own cigarette, slipping it back into the smoke box with the rest. And then he began to process the fact that this woman called herself the name Galetira, a name all Imperials knew, a name that was often said with poison and vitriol. She was one of the Ecithian Triumvirate, and was therefore, an enemy eternal of the Imperium.

She was not pulling or guiding in her walk, and Franky took the leisurely stroll. He didn't know why the goddess of a country he'd never been to, a goddess he did not worship, a goddess whose name he probably had only uttered casually a handful of times across his long life, why this goddess would want to talk with him.

The Isle of Light... a stone of guilt fell hard in Franky's stomach. He had not been remotely involved in the campaign against Ecith, for the Imperium had more than its fair share of enemies to fight, but the Isle of Light... Ailos... that was without a doubt one of the Imperium's many great atrocities. Franky had heard of the beauty of the place, a holy place, not built or designed for war, an island that was largely defenseless because it was sacred. And he knew that the Imperium had destroyed so much of it.

He remembered the Imperial airships dropping the barrels of gas upon him and the men he was commanded, and that was in the Imperium's own lands, its own people. He killed her so that they wouldn't. He couldn't even begin to imagine what they did in the holiest of places for the Orks, to a place they felt was a true affront to everything they stood for. The shame was not earned by him, but it was his nonetheless. Was this what it looked like before? Or after?

Franky listened quietly as she explained that he was both here and not. This was a world of gods, so Franky was not going to question just how this all worked. That was best left to the philosophers and scientists to disagree over for eternity. But somehow he'd gained her attention. Him, a mere bartender and retired soldier who never got involved in...

Shit.

He saw her present the feather to him, and present a question in kind. "I.. didn't. But I think I do now."

His life, while adventurous, had never come close to crossing into the realms of the gods. But one simple errand on behalf of the Imperium, a simple connecting of the dots, paying attention to the connections... Franky sighed. Just as he knew but didn't admit to himself who was the cargo being carried by those soldiers, he knew what that feather was. Or rather, who it was from.

He opened his eyes, there was no shame in them, for Franky was one who fully accepted himself, for all his flaws and imperfections, and for his strengths and gifts. "That's the feather from the Prince of Kalzasi, Talon; The Dawnbringer, isn't it?"

He knew it was him that had been captured. He knew it before the crew had arrived at that clearing south of Zaichaer. He, a simple bartender, was part of some massive plot to kidnap a god. Franky didn't care so much that it was Talon, or that it was anybody particular really. He didn't know Talon, he knew nothing about the man, or what his people thought, or even the Imperium's opinions on him. Talon was effectively nothing to him.

But the idea of stealing a god... that was... hubris. Nothing good could come from meddling in such affairs. But it was over now. Talon was already en route to the Imperium and there was nothing Franky could do about it now. Franky listened to the signs and fates and fortunes when they crossed his path, often through his wife and for a brief while, with Yeva. And now, the Shephard of Destiny, the Fateweaver, Fortune's Mistress, was here.

Franky would listen and bear to heart what she said. He cared not for the world of gods and royalty, but he did believe in these forces beyond his understanding. "Why me?" was all he could whisper out.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

“So it would seem.” She thumbed the feather, her expression unreadable. She was silent in the wake of Franky’s question. She twirled the feather gently between her fingers, rolling it slowly. A prism of colors reflected off of its surface as the light in the enclosure sought it out and was reflected off of it.

“When I was a girl, the world was very different than what it is now.” Her expression softened as her thoughts drifted to her childhood. “I saw such terrible things. My mother told me that I had to remain strong in the face of those things. To always be kind and to remember the importance of the lessons that came before us.”

A sad smile tugged at her lips.

“I did not know it then, but I would realize soon just how important small things like a few words on parchment and wise compassion would become to my people.” As they continued their walk, she peered over to the napping dragons sprawling about on the various branches of the large tree. A few of them had awoken and drifted down to lap at the water in the pond it was growing out of. They did not seem to pay much attention to the presence of Galetira or Franky.

“We are on a path now. A path toward a future that fills me with dread. For centuries I have worked to try and divert us all from this course but now…” Her lips thinned and a hard look entered her expression. She clutched her staff more tightly. “...now I fear it may be too late”

She looked at Franky then and her blind eyes peered past him, beyond his mere flesh and bone, she was unmistakably looking at his soul.

“In the old stories, the legends speak of the battle between Arcas and Shaeoth. What many fail to remember is that this battle was the conclusion of a very long and bitter war.” Her grip on her staff tightened. “Many were the evils that Arcas sealed away. Evils that make the wars of this era look like a mercy. For thousands of years, my brother has stood in as a proxy for the Dawnbringer, wielding his domains in his place even as the spirit of Arcas lent his strength to mortals most in need of it. The world has already seen the consequence of one of those evils breaking free. Now, as his true reincarnation has returned to the world, Raxen can no longer wield the strength of Arcas. They were never his, he was merely a guardian of them. Arcas has truly returned to the world and claimed his rightful place among the gods.”

A cold wind picked up, blowing some of the dust on the ground up into the air. All around them, the many shimmering golden letters on the parchments and the cobblestones glistened, their light briefly rising. Whispers gathered on the winds as the breeze drifted down from the temple and toward the blackened forest. Galetira’s expression was momentarily worried and she stared at the path leading to the black forest for several unwavering moments. When nothing further occurred she looked back to Franky. Galetira was slightly paler and there was a very real fear in her as she spoke.

“Those seals are breaking. And now, the one person who can restore them is in the hands of people who very much want them broken.” She stepped forward and took Franky’s hand. Her own was shaking as she placed the silver feather within his grasp.

“I cannot force you upon this path. As a mortal, you have more freedom to choose your destiny than I ever have. But I must beg you…” She looked sincerely at Franky. “...free him.”

[Franky]

Franky watched her face closely, but if she were showing any outward signs, they were beyond him. He watched her toy with the feather of a god, a god that he played a role in helping to contain. He listened to her words, words that resonated with him, for it seemed they had lived similar lives, at least in childhood. As a child, Franky remembered an Imperium far more different than that he'd recently left. Maybe it was just his village that was the good of his memories.

Maybe it was just his family.

He walked with her, the pace of elders enjoying the flow of wind rather than racing against it. Franky had never seen dragons before, and yet now they may as well be cats back home. It was absurdly beautiful, he'd been taught that they were great, terrible beasts. And while Franky was sure that they could kill him with ease if so desired, there were many more people in this world capable of such a simple feat. At least these dragons didn't seem to hate him for his mere existence.

And then She looked at him. Truly at him. And she Spoke, and Franky knew her words to be beyond simple facets of truth or lies. Her words Were. Are. Always would be. She told a story of gods, but those were not the words that truly resonated Franky's core. No, Franky cared not for the affairs of gods.

Except when they brought ruination on normal people, people he cared about.

The breeze bristled through him, and Franky saw her unreadable face show obvious worry. It was so strange to think that gods were people, capable of the emotions of people, but this here was an absolute example of such. Worry. Franky knew that mistress well. He heard the shudder in her voice, one that he'd had to hide so many times as a soldier and commander in the Imperium.

His hand was in hers and she asked him, laying herself bare before him.

It was an impossible ask. She was asking him to risk his life, and the life of every member of his family, of every person in his employ. She was asking him to potentially put all of them in harm's way for a man, a god he did not know nor worship. She was asking him to stop an uncertain future, asking him out of fear and worry. She was asking a man well past his prime, a man more interested in retiring with a whiskey, a pack of smokes, watching his grandchildren play, to give all of that up for an impossibility. An impossibility that he'd helped make impossible.

Who was she to ask this of him? He was not one of her followers, he never worshiped her. He was not one of her many Orkhan who believed she was the greatest of their gods, having helped guide them from savagery. Why should he risk so much to help her? What Victoria had asked of him was easy. And she had come bearing honey and followed through on her promises. She was a contact he could rely upon, if not trust.

But Galetira? Franky knew nothing about her and trusted her none.

Franky didn't look to the dark forest, one so foreboding, one that the winds themselves seem determined to drive him to focus on. No. He looked at the dragons on the lake. He remembered when his father told him about dragons, flying through the skies, majestic. He remembered this time he and Dalma shared a few days by a lake between his campaigns. He remembered the worry he bore when his first grandchild was born, thinking that they would have to follow in his footsteps, in the footsteps of his children, and become soldiers, baptized in the blood and shadow of war.

He remembered Her.

He remembered how she fought against everything the Imperium stood for, claiming back her ancestral lands, how she rallied her people. And he remembered how thousands had died while she did the right thing. He remembered the feeling of her blood on his hands as he too did the right thing and stopped her. He shook his head a bit, letting go of Galetira's hand, letting it fall back to her. Good, evil, none of that was real, none of it mattered, both allowed war to happen, allowed people to die, guilty or innocent.

His eyes cast a severe sidelong glance at her, the same look she would recognize from his days as Major Frankorg if she had ever cared to walk his past. "Allow my wife, Dalma, to carry your Emblem and I will do this for you." Franky turned and faced Galetira properly, and there was that glean in his eye, and in this world that was a dream, yet not, Franky stood before her in his youthful glory. His skin was deep green, his hair long and starkly crimson, his gaze harsh, his body strong. But just as quickly as it had appeared, the withered elder of a man was back.

"I can and will do this if you grant me this tool. I do not wish to carry your burden, nor do I wish it upon Dalma. I know how much your Seers suffer in this world. I'm sure you've suffered as well." In his mind, 'We all have.' "Curse her with your Emblem, and I will see to it that Arcas is freed."

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Galetira considered Franky for a moment. There was a pause.

“The choice to carry the burden of Foresight will rest with Dalma.This is not a decision you can make for her, nor would I allow it. But…” Galetira held up a finger. Her eyes lost some of that distant haziness to it. The veil of the humble mortal Orkhan woman faded and before Franky was not simple Seer. In front of Franky was a being older than the known world. The vast weight of her ancient years was reflected clearly in her bearing. All around her the very fabric of the world held its breath as if awaiting the barest hint of her command. She beheld Frankorg with the weary eyes of a mother, tired from the great weight she carried but relentless in her dedication to tending to all who benefitted from her care.

“If she accepts, if she makes the choice to carry the mantle of Foresight, I will do all in my power to help you in this endeavor.” She extended a hand to Franky. “Do we have an accord?”

[Franky]

Franky beheld the greatness and depth that Galetira bore before him. He assumed, no, he Knew that this was her true self. Franky neither knew nor cared if this was real or physical or any of that sort of thing. This was her truth and she was baring it before him. And he respected her for that. Just as he would do the same.

"I will ask her. I will speak the truth of what has occurred here, and of my actions that led to this."

He looked Galetira in her now clear eyes, eyes that beheld universes and lives far beyond his own understanding and comprehension. "We have an accord."

And with that, Franky was awake now, once more, in his bed. Dalma groaned, curling up into his chest, her naked body against him, whispering in his ear, "Why are you awake, my love?"

She kissed him on the collar bone, her fingers trailing over the scars on his chest. Franky sat up in their shared bed, and Dalma looked up, smiling at him. His face was serious, concerned, but determined. A look she hadn't seen since he walked out the door on his final campaign for the Imperium.

And Franky told her everything. She already knew that Veronica had visited and Franky told her about what had occurred this day, and about Galetira's visit to him now. He told her about what he asked of Galetira, and he asked it of Dalma. She hesitated, "I know I must have failed her, she did not choose me before or during my pilgrimage. There must be a reason I was refused. To accept now would be to overlook that. We don't ignore the signs. That leads to terrible tragedy."

Franky nodded, "You know I would not ask this of you if there was another way. The die has already been cast, he will be in Imperial lands in a matter of days. We will have to go home to set him free." He was silent, "And to do so risks everything. Our entire family, our children, the grandbabies, everyone. If our role is discovered, you know what the Imperium will do. This is the moment we can walk away. Leave the gods to their own affairs."

Dalma nodded, her throat tightening, her eyes filling with tears, "But Galetira does not ask this of you flippantly. You're not one of her Seers. To reach out to you... This is bigger than us. Than our family. Can we get them to safety?" Franky nodded, "We can try, but if we do it too early, it could alert the Imperium. You know they watch everything, suspect everything. We have to act as if we won't be able to do so."

Dalma nodded. Tears filled her eyes knowing what this could mean, nodding still, her voice caught in her throat as the tears began to fall. "Then we do this, together."

Franky squeezed her hand to his chest, "Together."

[Paragon]

R E W A R D S

Name: Franky
XP: 15
Requested Lore:
Tactics: Scout out meeting points ahead of schedule
Tactics: Bring a guardian angel
Tactics: Do not travel with those you don't want known about
Tactics: Approach small if not seeking a fight
Tactics: Creating multiple angles
Tactics: Not taking on more risk for no reward
Tactics: Working with those who trust you enough to operate in ignorance
Detection: Recognizing another professional
Detection: Recognizing the sign of the irridescent feather
Stealth: Displaying a hidden signal as a casual gesture
Etiquette: Properly honoring the unknown fallen
Etiquette: Passing on a polite word subtly
Negotiation: When a God makes a desperate ask, make them put skin in the game
Negotiation: Always operating in good faith

Note(s): Dalma can be given the Emblem of Foresight.

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