Homeworld/CombineInnerAssembly

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At the heart of the People’s Combine is the Inner Assembly, unrecognisable from the gulags that stood in its place four generations ago. Its towering Arsenals are home to a million patriots apiece, each structure perfectly optimised to maximise its contribution of skilled soldiers, gunships, and materiel to Operation Infinite Dawn.

Life in the Inner Assembly is harmonious and bright, with the workers of the Combine circulating between instructories, forges, logistics centres, medical workshops, laboratories, and mess halls as talent, need, and inclination direct them. Grand portraiture of the People's heroes smile confidently down upon them, and One World Radio keeps perfect time. It is a model for how everyone should have the right to live.

But even the Inner Assembly has not escaped the influence of chaos abroad. Logistical failures and difficulty reaching Consensus suggests the Industrioclasts are trying to bring down the Combine from within its innermost sanctum.

The Inner Assembly is most likely to feature stories from the People's Combine, the Penitents seeking to direct them, and ambassadors from other cultures.


A Call to Action

+++PRIORITY COMM BEGINS+++

PATRIOTS OF THE COMBINE! In 83 hours, OPERATION INFINITE DAWN enters its FINAL STAGE. As we speak, our GREATEST SHIPS are converging on the Worldbreach. They carry an ELITE TEAM, UNITED in ONE MISSION: to claim the UNCHARTED WORLD in the name of LIBERTY, UNITY, and PROGRESS! The VICTORY THROUGH PERSISTENCE is the first to the fray, fresh from battle against the VALTARIAN TYRANTS on the Shattered Front. War may take its toll, but the valiant crew of the VICTORY THROUGH PERSISTENCE never falter!

But they do not fight alone! Since receiving the signal, the SYMPHONY OF PURPOSE and the RELENTLESS ASSAULT ON THE TYRANNY OF AUTHORITY have raced NIGHT and DAY from the Inner Sea, leaving a wake of shipping HEAVILY LIBERATED from OPPORTUNITY PROFITEERS!

And on an intercept course, newly refitted from the Armories, the VICTOR ASCENDANT seeks to lend their LEGENDARY FIGHTING SPIRIT to the cause! These are the HEROES of the PEOPLE. Their VERY HEARTS pump DIESEL and CONVICTION. With the might of their COMBINED ARMS, and the strength of their UNITED WILL, we CANNOT FAIL!

+++PRIORITY COMM ENDS+++

Bring Me The Horizon

Author: At Dusk and At Dawn

It was a tradition of sorts, within the combine, that when a new ship was built to the name of a new crew’s choosing its first engine check was to have the crews core liberators present. Not only was it a prime propaganda opportunity (and an excellent step on the way to fame for the young pin-up-prospects) but it also helped to form a bond between the crew and the ship. Just as the Pro-crops were entrusted with the first welding of the bare bones and the Rev-corps charged with outfitting the decor, Lib-corps had the burden of making the ship an extension of the combine itself.

Gatling smiled as the wind tugged at her hair and the engines hummed into life beneath the black lacquered wood at her feet. There was something about the mix of cold steel and dark walnut that shouldn’t have worked but brought the whole thing together into something --

“Beautiful, right?” Her brother grinned from beside her, leaning back against that same bow and adjusting the goggles on his head. The Rev-corp covering their visit, one Comrade Signal, had insisted that they be at a “jaunty” angle for the shot, despite the young man’s protests on the matter. Gatling smiled as she reached across and straightened them for him. “If all goes well today it should be just another week before she’ll be sky worthy.”

The two shared board, cat like grins.

“Not a moment too soon, ay Dy.” Gatling smirked, elbowing him in the side before hopping up onto the side railing of the ship. Out of the corner of her eye Signal burst into a sudden flurry of movement in an attempt to capture the moment. This was the rest of her life - she thought - ignoring cameras while trying to look good at every moment. “You’ve been talking about this for weeks.” The male smiled, boyish charm still awkwardly trying to keep what would one day be a roguish smirk at bay.

There was a small jolt as the ship started to raise a little way off the ground and Gatling hooked her boots around the support strut of the railing to secure herself. “It’s so close I can taste it. Everything we’ve been trained for, Dy, been working for. It’s out there.” She gazed out of the open bay doors, the wider world stretching out beyond the ship's current reach all the way to the horizon line. “It’s waiting, calling to me, to us. The Horizon… I can feel it in my bones.”

Their grins were still wide and bright as the camera flash behind them, silhouetting them against the sun.

The Music in The Storm

Author: By My Crooked Teeth

The Inner Assembly, a long time ago.

The Oncoming Storm of Progress was truly a monster. A vast heavily armoured war ship, top of the line with 84 guns upon her, she was a thing to be feared. But to Hegemonic Engineer Rotation she was home. The back of the ship was burned black after it got into a tangle with a dragon, in which they got away with only some beauty marks. The Storm was a tough lady that was for sure.

Rotation was one of the few Shapers on board, he was discovered after he was seen picking up crew assumed past the point of help. He was a quiet but smiling man, always ready for a joke with the crew but firm when needed. He was someone who the crew could rely on to keep them on task and bold when they were fighting the capitalists of Opportunity or the Tyrants of Valtaria.

Rotation was practicing shaping. It was a practice he was fascinated with but never really had much call for the usage of. The means of production being limited in the resource he needed to work. But he was turning his harmonica over in his hand faint green mana danced around it as he worked. It was a simple item, one he got with a drop of instruments for morale purposes. He found the small instrument in his hand to be oddly reassuring. To begin with he was terrible. Much to the amusement of his comrades.

But he would just laugh and says, “Persistence Comrades. Have Faith.” And still he would play. As the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months he started to get good, he could hold a tune and amuse the crew as he did it. Here he was turning it into something else, a new purpose to the combines gain.

The Storm was caught up in putting down a new threat of Industroclast activities, they had taken over a whole three airships. This was unacceptable. The Storm was sent to capture or destroy the offending vessels. The rain fell hard upon the decks as the Storm climbed higher and higher. The Storm took advantage of cloud cover and their weight to perform combat dives. It was insane but it was effective.

The gunnery crews were ready, loaded and primed. The Crew were attached to their harnesses to keep them from kissing the sky and rushing to be acquainted to the ground as Engineer Weld would say.

The Storm drop was a thing of controlled beauty as it took perfect timing from helm and engineering to time everything right. The Volunteers and Liberators hunkered down and checked each-others harnesses to make sure they are tight. Rotation walked down the line checking with the rest of them.

The other members of Revcorp on the ship were spaced throughout the vessel and were calling out the mantra that the crew always spoke before a drop.

“Citizens of the Combine. Comrades one and all. Today we do the great work. Today we will do what we are trained to do. We will show our enemies that tyrants will not stand, that those who stand against Liberty and Unity must brave the Storm. Be Bold Comrades. And please don’t fall off the Bloody Ship.”

This was met with laughter from the crew and then it was silenced by a wave from Engineer Ballast who was on the radar. The Industroclast ships were right beneath us. We waiting for all stations to sound off as ready. Rotation checked his pocket was buttoned up to prevent his harmonica from dropping out. He hunkered down in his seat and strapped himself in. Liberator Gage fussed over his wires. He nodded and smiled at her as he took his glasses off. He had learned his lesson from the first time they attempted the drop.

Helmsman Lens was counting beats between the lighting and thunder. This was so the ship wasn’t struck by lightning as it went down but could still look impressive on the way down. The crew was silent and then they heard the crackle on the radio.

“Attention Industroclast ships this is Hedgemonic Engineer Piston of the Liberation without Limit. You have one chance to hand yourself in for reeducation. This is not the way comrades. This is your one chance to redeem yourself. What say you?”

There was a murmur though the crew mostly a combination of comments on Piston’s bravery or stupidity. Then the crew heard it. The reply crackle on the radio.

“We will not live in chains.” Then the sound of cannons firing. We knew there were three ships, The Liberation was a small ship twelve gunners, but fast. She was mostly for reeducation and morale work.

What they were doing here was no one’s guess.

A sound came up from the engine room, “Ready comrade.”

Helmsman Lens checked the straps on his harness one last time and nodded. “Dive Dive Dive.” He yelled into the radio. With that the levitation engines were shut off and the Storm was falling. It was like dropping a Valtarian fortress on someone. By the Machine it was a sight.

The levitation engines kicked in and the heavily reinforced supports for the lift balloon was strained as the ship suddenly became a lot lighter. The Industroclast ships were one moment out numbering the small ship the Liberation and then it suddenly had the storm on their hands. The guns fired as soon as they got a shot. Bottom deck first. Then middle then top. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. Like the clapping of thunder, wisps of cloud curling along her hull. One industroclast ship took a bad hit to the mast and began to dangle dangerously. A second volley sent it spinning into the waters. The Storm powered forward.

“Right Comrades. To your stations. It would be unfair for the Gunners to take all the duty.” Rotation would shout as be pulled his revolver from his holster and replaced his specs on his face.

The battle was done, the will broke from the traitors, one ship destroyed. One crippled and the last one captured after a boarding action. Rotation was always where the fighting was thickest. He would wade in with his pistol or blade and help pull out the wounded. He got some funny looks when he pulled his harmonica out of his pocket. “Now’s not the best time for a song Comrade.”

“Just watch.” With that Rotation, would play a few fast-breathy notes like a small tune and he then moved it from his face and said “You ONE UP.” And the wounds started to close. He smiled broadly and continued playing. Volunteers surrounding him keeping him safe and spotting for him the wounded as he played his battle field tune. There were those who laughed at the absurdity but they did not laugh for long. That day was the first that Rotation had made use of a hailer.

By My Crooked Teeth had a harmonica against his lips playing a tune that washed though the Gallery. He started playing an old tune of battle, one from long ago. There were times where he would feel nostalgic. He remembered that he dropped into the old tune when in battle, he remembered the quick lessons he gave. He always felt strange when around the Combine. But they were always tests. Show himself his old life and keep himself on the path he was needed on. He smiled and placed the harmonica back to his lips and continued to play as he remembered the battles of the Storm.

The Prisoner

Author: Unknown

The Inner Assembly.
After the failure at the Castle of Solaris, The Reflexion.
Before the Fall.

The stench of sweat and misery hung heavy in the air of the oft-used holding cells of The Inner Assembly. The sweet smell of oil did not reach into the darkened corners of the labyrinth like prison, nor did the light of progress shine upon those who dwelled there. Instead there was only humming, flickering light and the distant whisper of the One World Radio - a constant reminder of the Consensus that now dominated this barren land.

The wailing or sobs of the forgotten did little to drown out the constant din or indeed the echo of boots against concrete as each Hegemonic Engineer went from prisoner to prisoner, offering them them the chance for freedom as part of a more worthy cause. Harmony and happiness awaited above, if only they were willing to listen…

The sound of boots got closer and the sound of a key turning in a lock, entering the cell. He looked the picture of a member of the Revolutionary Corp, red coat, blue waistcoat, well cared for boots, even a neat pair of glasses to complete the look. He held a chair in one hand and a file under her arm.

“Good morning Comrade. I am Hegemonic Engineer Prop. What do I call you?” He sat down in the chair and opened the file in his hand he pushed the glasses up his nose nervously.

The man shifted in the corner of the cell, shrugging off the shadows that clung to him for a moment as if they were dust. The simple black woolen cloak he wore, stained with mud and blood, seemed to cling to him instinctively. From the darkness, the pale face stared back adorned in the apparel of a traditional Valtarian peasant, barely suitable for the cold north of The Inner Assembly. He wouldn’t have stood out from any of the other prisoners present, if it weren’t for the ragged regalia of a dozen or so Monarchs and Combine Ships which hung from his belt.

“I’m not sure Comrade. You have the file. Maybe you should tell me?” the man smirked, staring back at the Revolutionary Corp through the gaps of his black fringe. Slowly a hand reached into the corner of the cell, collecting a pair of round battered glasses before sweeping the hair away to rest them precariously on his nose.

Prop adjusted his glasses again and turned the pages of his file. “Well there are some colourful titles. The Shadow of the Shattered Front is a common one, a bit of a mouthful. The Rogue of Regent Falls, The Demon of the battle of Checkpoint 9-17, and the slayer of the Dread Monarch Edgar the ever-ready. Have I missed anything?”

The figure sighed and rolled its eyes “I despise titles…but if you must use one, use the first. Alternatively, Comrade will do.”

“Personally I find them a little convoluted honestly. It is hard to shout them in a combat situation. If you are comfortable with Comrade I will stick with that. I want you to be at ease….as at ease as you can given the situation.” Prop looked a little self conscious about the prison.

“I am perfectly at ease. Do carry on Heremonic Engineer. I am listening…”

“By all means call me Prop, Comrade. It is less of a mouthful. Now, I believe you are responsible for the destruction of seventeen Combine vessels correct?”

The figure sighs. Slowly and meticulously, he took the broken bits of shrapnel off its belt, laying them across the floor of the cell to form a perfect circle. The man observed each carefully, whispering the name of each ship under its breath until it had finished counting.

“I only count fourteen. Interesting… I can confirm the destruction of fourteen yes. I imagine the next three will be destroyed soon enough. Hopefully with minimal collateral damage.”

“Well one would hope that no more ships will be destroyed Comrade. I suppose you would say we are rather attached to them.” Prop gave a weak smile. “But I can understand why you might want to do so.”

“It depends how hard the Monarch fights back. There are always unforeseen consequences when Shapers wage war. Boats can be repaired. Your comrades? Less so.”

“Depends on how strong a shaper there is. But none can save everyone. We know what we are supposed to sacrifice. But I want to hear your story if you are willing to tell it. I think it stands the chance of being important. If you are willing to tell it.” Prop pulled a recording device from his pocket and placed it on his knee. He smiled shyly again.

The man shrugged and sat down, resting against the back of the cage as he speaks. “Where shall I start comrade? The country I come from was once one of many but now lies within the Valtarian Kingdoms. It is no longer recognised as an independent state and is as forgotten as the people you have left to rot in these cells.

But there were heroes in those days of old. Strong warriors. Wise wizards. Devilish rogues. They saved our lands, cleared every dungeon and ended every villain before it could arise to hurt us. Those days were filled with happiness, smiles, sunshine, wealth and riches beyond understanding. The people were safe. Contented. But their happiness was not what mattered, not when their saviours got....” The man let disdain fill his voice. “...bored. But I think you knew that already Comrade.”

“Well of course one would not be content living in a world ruled over by tyrants. But let’s keep philosophy out of it. I know mine well enough. Please continue if you would. I want to understand.” Prop nodded.

The man frowned, drawing the darkness closer to his person. “Very well. Have you ever heard the poem by the troubadour Maetherian of Valtaria concerning the last Knight-Errant of the Golden Age? I suppose not, given the broadcasts on the One World Radio. Still, it’s very good despite its trite message that Valtaria was somehow less for having monsters to defeat and threats to overcome. Still from their boredom came the Monarchs-in-Shadow. Then the Imperatrix and the Imperative. The constant, never ending pageantry. In those days communication was slow but the consequences became all too apparent when village after village fell into silence. Some were burnt to the ground, their ashes fertilising the fields of those who survived and served in fear under their ‘merciful’ Monarchs. Others were encased in ice or forced to melt away in the acidic wind conjured by ravenous viziers turned warlocks.

I refused to partake in that story but my voice was never heard nor that of my family or friends. You don’t grant trees or sheep the luxury of an opinion, so why the people? After all, they were merely scenery to be chewed apart both figuratively and, in some cases, literally.”

The man reached a hand into the darkness of his cloak pulling out a flask before offering it to the Hegemonic Engineer. Above the rim of his glasses, his dark green eyes glared back.

“Would you like some? It’s ale from the Karaskian Redoubt in north-western Valtaria. Little remains of the brewery given the recent wars but this flask remains.”

Prop listened intently to the Valtarian’s tale, seemingly fascinated, possibly more than what would be seen as ideologically sound. He smiled and reached out for the flask and took a swig. He winced. “I don’t often drink you see. I always have bad luck when I do. Thank you. Have you ever read the works of Citizen Lynchpin? I expect not, it would be a bit strange to listen to in a court. Citizen Lynchpin was one of the first to inspire the origins of the Combine. We were slaves you see. That is why we have mechanical names. It was meant to be a degrading practice to say that we were nothing more than parts to be thrown away and replaced just as easily. Just like your people under the monarchs I suppose. The central ideal of Citizen Lynchpin was a simple doctrine ‘we will not live in chains again’ of course that phrase and his works fell a little out of favour. I don’t suppose many in the Combine would know his works anyway but he was inspirational. In essence the ideal of his work was that it was the right of every being in this world to have the right to choose their path, to do what they wish provided it was not to the harm of the innocent. Does that make sense?” Prop reached into his pocket and offered a flask of his own. “Fine grade engine shine, this stuff is stable and I guarantee won’t make you blind.” He grinned.  

“Fascinating,” the man replied, before waving a hand. “I will pass though thank you for the offer. Unfortunately if prior experience tells me anything, fine grade engine shine always tastes poor.”

Prop let out a genuine laugh, “I don’t blame you. Stuff like this is why I am short sighted. I mostly carry it for guests….and if I need to set something on fire in a pinch.”

“Alchohol is good like that,” the figure gives a weak smile “As is all alchemy. That was my past time back then. I was an alchemist of sorts. People travelled from miles around to purchase my wares until such time as my home became the chosen stage and…” He pauses and frowns again. “Well, you are right about the fire.”

“I’m sorry about your home.” Prop said with sympathy, “I am afraid I don’t have a comparison. I was born in the Combine, raised in it. I guess the closest I have was that I wasn’t always going to go into Hegemonics I was going to be a Rhetoric Engineer. I was going to write plays and films. I wasn’t bad at it but the Combine saw I had a better talent for this. And so off I went to Hegemonics. I still write from time to time though. Much like i expect you still so a little alchemy when you get the chance am I right?”

“First of all – sorry does not bring back my home, nor does it fix the mistakes of the past. I do not expect the Combine to understand that, given the violent path of Consensus you have burnt across this world. How many homes have you left bathed in cannon fire in the name of public exaltation? No wonder you have Industrioclasts. Even here.” he replied coldly. In the darkness of the cell and the flicking lights, the figures silhouette began to bleed like ink under water, merging with the shadows around him. Despite his distorted form, he spoke calmly. “Secondly, I do indeed practice alchemy. Which is why I am surprised to see that the poison I just offered you has had no effect…which means Comrade, you’re a Monarch.”

Prop laughed again with a little more confidence than before. “I think the prefered term is Shaper, Comrade. Monarch is such a tyrannical term. You are right, sorry won’t bring back your home or your people. And yes the Combine have done some terrible things. But no one is blameless in this world. No one can really claim a moral high ground. I thought that ale tasted a little off. Nearly untraceable. What did you use? Mandrake heart? What was your plan if I was mortal Comrade? You would have had a dead RevCorp on your hands. Wouldn’t have gone well for you.”

“Call yourself what you wish but you’re a Monarch. You merely hide your titles well, like your knowledge of alchemy it seems. As for if you were mortal, I’ll ask you a question.” the figure grinned, face shattering like cracked glass in the shadow between the flickering light “Who is to say I haven’t killed plenty of them already? How many cells do you think this place has? There is such little light down here and in the shadows plenty can quietly go missing, until a Monarch turns up worth talking to.”

“Then I am honoured I was worth the conversation Monarch. You have caused the disappearance of approximately seven RevCorp, Three Liberators and roughly five volunteers. But who’s counting. So what happened that brought you here? To this place at this time? So many shadows as you said made it easy to slip about, easy enough to slip out I am sure. So why stay Monarch?” Prop leaned back in his chair in a relaxed manner.

“You don’t know?” the figure sighed disappointedly “The joy of dissonance is that I can have this conversation again and again in my head and you always ask this question, so I will say it simply. I came to find out what made so many Combine so loyal to their mission. So dedicated. Unusually loyal and unquestioning. I have seen magic but on a scale like this, to the depth in which it is practiced...that is fascinating.”

“The first time I asked you said that you wanted to know why I would go in here alone and unarmed, with nothing but my faith to protect me. The second time you asked me why they were so loyal to their cause. I believe you attempted to guess what the spell working was. The third, you wondered if RevCorp like me were the sorcerers of the Combine. Do you want to know a secret? It has nothing to do with magic. Not a single thing. There is no single thing that secures their dedication and loyalty. Let me guess, you either want to dismantle it to finally fell the People’s Combine or you want what they can do to your own ends. Or that of your cause.”

“The notion of using any technique like this against an unwilling populace through magic or otherwise is extremely distasteful to me, yes, I agree but…” the figure paused, twitching slightly before glancing towards the RevCorp Engineer warily “...we have had this conversation before. The fact you are asking me the question either means that you still need answers or are toying with me. Above all else however, it appears that you know what you are doing.”  

“I asked the same questions, in the same manner, in the same order because you were lying to begin with. You assumed I was Mortal so you kept going around and around trying to work out what I was here for. It only took you four attempts to realise I am a shaper. I needed you comfortable and honest. Thank you.” Prop pushed his glasses up his nose again and smiled.

The figure raised a solitary eyebrow. “You seem smug with yourself. For a Monarch so happy and two Shapers who appear to have skirted around one another’s every move, what is it, exactly, you have achieved from this conversation?”

“What do you think?” Prop asked genuinely curious.

“A dash of Valtarian history perhaps and the knowledge that one Valtarian might come out all the way to a blasted gulag to try and find some answers to rumours circulating The Shattered Front. Answers which apparently do not exist though I suspect they do in some part. Nothing of any worth really - at least nothing you wouldn’t find in a history book or have possibly lived through given your herbology knowledge. Not met many Combine who know about Mandrake Hearts”

“No, I expect you wouldn’t have. You are right about some of the reason why but not all of it. You won’t find out about the conditioning in here. You likely want to try in the Manufactor Nurseries just a guess.” Prop started to gather his file up.

“Now, why would you do that?” the Valtarian shifted within the darkness of the cage.

“Do what?” Prop asked the shadow.

“Share such valuable information with me. What can you seek to gain from doing so?” the man paused and leaned forward, speaking with barely a whisper “You’re not a member of the Combine, are you Monarch? At least, not anymore…”

“You can think what you like. Also a lot can be learned when you give someone what they want. Also there is a difference between giving you the information and telling you where to start. Besides if I wanted to convert you it would make sense to get you to go willingly towards the conditioning rooms.” Prop shrugged.

The figure ponders before nodding slowly. “It’s a very risky strategy to take Monarch if that is the case. Then again as you have informed me, I can ‘think’ what I like. I will take your guidance with caution.”

“It is the smartest thing to be cautious when you talk to strangers, especially if they are telling you exactly what you want to know. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. So the best you can hope for is to walk away unharmed. If you believe in that sort of thing anyway. It doesn’t matter if you take my advice or not. I could be lying, or not. It is all about choice Comrade.”  

Closing their eye the figure focussed intently, the shadows and air shimmering like a heat haze before subsiding quickly. Suddenly its eyes snapped open, glaring intently back but filled with caution.

“There is no choice where there is dissonance. As I said, I will take you up on your advice Monarch. A fight between us would only end up being disappointing for the both of us. You’re clearly an excellent fighter as well as someone filled with a libraries worth of knowledge, rhetoric and half-hearted remarks. I was sure I had you until the knife punctured my jugular. Practical and efficient, I am impressed. It seems you play your part well whether in this Combine machine or...” The figure pauses and considers its words carefully. “Elsewhere.”

“You can choose where you stand even if dissonance is inevitable when Shapers fight. You are right fighting isn’t practical…..you’re a Tempest right? Your close quarters attacks aren’t as powerful as others I have seen. The stories about you involve you standing from a distance shooting from a bow. We tend to lean towards the weapons we are most comfortable with. That was interesting though. I wasn’t expecting the shiv made of shadows that was cheeky.” Prop chuckled, “You play your part well too.”

The figure nods respectfully, a cheerful smirk before standing.

“Do you have any further questions before I make my leave? I can assure you, I will not be leaving quietly, though that may prove to be useful for the both of us.”

“I think I have learned what I need to. I am going to leave this cell first, after that it is your choice. I can make my way, with or without your exit. It was educational meeting you Shadow of the Shattered Front.”

“I am glad I could be of interest. Seems fitting payment. I estimate you have thirty minutes by the way. Avoid taking The Requiem of Productivity, Bane of Tyrants and The Horizon’s Edge. That should bring my tally in line with what we discussed earlier. Other than that I wish you the smoothest of journeys…”

The figures pauses, licking its lips briefly as it begins to pace the cage, preparing for battle, fingers twitching. It thinks carefully for a moment deep in thought – weighing up all the could have beens and never weres until it speaks again. As the figure speaks it pronounces each word carefully, meticulously and with caution as if to etch it into its memory. “Monarch Prop, Whisper in the Ear, The Many Faced Man...I sincerely hope we do not meet again.”

Prop quirked an eyebrow, “I will admit I am impressed. Thanks for the warning, but I have my own way out. As the troubadours of Valtaria once wrote, ‘I set my course upon my quest, til its end I find no rest. Although I’m lost, I will be found. I pay that cost when I sleep in that soft ground.’ Good luck and goodbye.” Prop gave a lazy salute and opened the cell stepping into the corridor.