Westwatch (005)

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Westwatch

One of the few sites of the Freehold to be scarcely affected by the Cataclysm, Westwatch was renamed as the western most base for the Freehold. Settling and developing a station near the mines, the Freehold uses the Gold Mine as a source to fund their quests and as a port to the Hangurian Sea, allowing for easier trade at the market, located just north of Westwatch.
 
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Coming from Otohime's Monastery (Travel Itinerary).

This post encompasses a C-rank mission containing the following storyboard elements:
  • (custom) Find a way into the mines (2)

While the geography of the mine made Katabami difficult to access for most it was a cakewalk for someone who could walk on vertical surfaces. As Hawke strolled down the side of the cliff that hid the mine’s only entrance he wondered how the Yajirushi kept their people supplied. More importantly; how did they ferry out the gold? Some sort of pulley system like they had at the Pit seemed the obvious choice, but you never knew with ninjutsu-wielders. Coming up with some spiffy doodad or miracle method was all the rage these days. Oh well, the grizzled veteran thought to himself, time would tell.

The heavy stone doors that guarded the mine’s entrance were rather impressive feats of engineering. Hawke knew less than nothing about the mechanics of such things, but even he could appreciate the scale of the layers of metal sheets, cogs and bolts that made up the double doors of the gate. It was obviously too heavy for even a platoon to budge, so it was likely that the built-in machinery served that purpose. In the end it was all the same to him. The gates of Katabami were just yet another door to kick down to yet another place with excess valuables that needed redistributin’.

As stone materialized around his hand to form gauntlet Hawke could not help but feel as if he was missing something. Did these people really go without guards at the gate? Then why even have a gate in the first place? Did arrivals used to yell, or maybe knock some sort of rhythmic signal? A testing all-out punch put only a small dent in the metal and made almost no noise doing so. Score one for the yelling hypothesis.

“Oy!” He barked up at the towering structure. “Is anyone there?”

He heard only the whistles of faraway birds in response, so he put another dent in the metal. And another, and another. In a comfortable stance, punching non-stop it took him almost a quarter of an hour to make a real dent in the metal. With that in mind and a discouraging estimate of its thickness Hawke settled into searching for other solutions while he punched. Patience was a virtue, after all. That and imagining the miners scared shitless by the drumming of stone on metal was a great source of amusement to him.

As day turned to night Hawke was still unblessed by burst of inspiration that did not involve a lot of chakra and a lot of dead people. As his patience thinned Hawke’s one-two rhythm of blows became a staccato of frustration. Still his stubbornness refused to let him quit, so it was after midnight when he simply plopped down against the gate and promptly fell asleep.

Daylight revealed that he had a long way to go, so Hawke decided to fill his body-sized dent with explosive tags, but though the detonation was impressive the result of it was not. There was no damage at all as far as he could see, just soot and grime on every exposed surface. Once again then, Garrett got low, regretted a life of seats without lumbar support, and resumed his punching schedule. He tried to spice things up that day; switching freely between the five elements every other punch, but in the end the result was the same. After eighteen grueling hours of boredom, already a slap in the face considering yesterday’s hassle, Hawke found the modest increase in the size of his dent wholly unsatisfactory.

“What is wrong with you people!?” he howled at the unresponsive obstacle in his way. “What’s the bloody point of a gate if you won’t defend it, huh!?” He hurled a kunai at the gates, but of course it simply bounced off of its mostly smooth surface with nary even a clink.

His anger fueled another six hour marathon of punching, now featuring a variety of curses and swears for added aggression. When he finally fell asleep face-first Hawke could not tell if it had made any difference at all.

He found the hidden lever first thing that very same morning.
 
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This post encompasses a B-rank mission containing the following storyboard elements:
  • (custom) Brave the darkness of the Katabami (3)
  • (custom) Make contact with the inhabitants of the mine (2)

The inside of Katabami was darker than a pulp horror novel. So much so that the mere creaking, agonizingly slow opening of the mine’s double gates seemed to unleash it from the depths of its tunnels. Shadows spilled from the opening, hugging the metal like slime as the gates finally fell quiet and revealed the entrance in all its glory, such as it was. All Hawke saw was a wall of solid black that gobbled up any speck of light that tried to penetrate it. Even to him it seemed imposing; forbidden. The feeling it provoked in his gut was almost enough to make the man want to turn tail and forget all about it. Then he thought about gold and felt better.

“What the…”

A few hesitant steps begat more and before he knew it Hawke let the darkness envelop him as he stepped into the mouth of the mine. The warmth of the sun left him before he even crossed the threshold. Stale air filled his lungs. His feet found solid ground underneath, but dense darkness made it impossible to see anything as he left the light of the entrance behind. No more than twenty yards in he heard the gates start to creak shut behind him and grimaced as the dark void became total.

Hawke remained motionless for a few minutes as his eyes adjusted to the dark, but without any light at all the blackness was still thick enough to cut with a knife. Seconds became minutes as he listened to the sound of his own breath and heard nothing else. Not the drip of water or the scurrying of a rodent. Not even the wind could he hear. It was as if this place had been left behind. Truly left behind, by the eyes of men and beasts if not time itself. To Hawke’s mind it was like standing in a tomb. Finally he had enough and let the familiar tingle of molded chakra flow down his arms and into his fists, illuminating the dark with fire that sprung from his fists. Orange hues danced across his fingers Hawke held them up around him to finally get a look at the mine proper.

The tunnel he was standing in was wide enough that twenty men could walk side by side and never touch. The floor here was made of smooth stone so dusty that a step made almost no sound. The ceiling stretched out high above, the light of his two fires dancing across its vaulted arches. It was grand, Hawke admitted despite himself. That was the moment he saw the first bone; a pelvic bone that cast a shadow against the far wall. It was unmistakably human. The bone was undamaged and upon inspection turned out to be surrounded by a whole skeleton and a sticky puddle of liquefied flesh. The woman, as he identified her from the remains, bore no marks of struggle and, from the state of her, had been lying there undisturbed for over a year. Hawke broke off the woman’s skull and inspected it at eye-level.

“What is in a name,” he muttered to himself and then carelessly discarded the former head.

Moving farther into the depths of Katabami was an uneventful venture, in the sense that the level of dread it invoked remained steady. It was borderline terrifying, but steady. The entrance tunnel took him along a straight path that led deeper into the mountain. It was an unchanging road. The tunnel never wavered; its vaulted ceiling stayed exactly the same as far as Hawke could see, as did the smooth stone of its flooring. Hawke walked quietly for almost half an hour before the path suddenly ended in a solid stone wall with only one anachronism: a thick metal door with no handle.

Hawke inspected the wall’s surface with a few testing knocks, needing no degree in geology to know it was made of the roots of the mountain itself. The frame the door had been set in seemed to have been fused with the stone so finely that it was difficult to see where one ended and the other began. The door itself was well-made and did not budge under a testing shove, nor did the fire around his fists leave any mark on the metal. The grizzled veteran was about to embark upon another punching parade, but remembered himself at the last moment and decided to try a simpler approach.

He knocked.

Only dead silence greeted his gesture, so he tried again with the same result, but just as violence was starting to win out over patience a sound came from the other side of the door. The sound of rusty hinges unlatching and metal scraping against stone was followed by the door swinging open inwards to reveal a young man with dark hair, a dirty jumpsuit and a flabbergasted expression on his face as he looked up the twelve-foot man in front of him. It was a look that Hawke, for his part, mirrored exactly.

“Who are you?” they asked each other at the same time.

“I’m asking the questions here,” the man followed up before Hawke had the chance, now sporting a glare filled with suspicion.

“That so, yeah?” Hawke’s reply was sharp. “I’m here for whoever’s in charge.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” The stranger’s knuckles were white from the death grip he had on the doorframe. “Who are you?”

Gods above, Garrett sighed to himself. What was with nosy Nelly here? Still, he maintained his composure and responded evenly.

“I’m Hawke. A colleague from up the north way.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Oh for ****’s sake.”
 
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This post encompasses a C-rank mission containing the following storyboard elements:
  • (custom) Learn more about Katabami and the Yajirushi Clan (2)

Nosy Nellie turned out to be the Yajirushi Clan’s first line of defense, known derisively amongst his compatriots as the Margrave. The man was all too happy to share despite Hawke’s outsider status. As he explained it the last year plus change of his guard duty had been a rather lonely affair. One day people simply stopped coming back from the tunnels, so he was fairly confident that nobody would mind. Deliveries had stopped, supplied had stopped, and he had not received any word from any of his clanmates in the depths. A few scavengers had come through from the outside, as well as the odd lost soul, but otherwise the Margrave had kept his own company for the last eighteen months and was all the weirder for it.

The man’s humble abode was a five by five metal box that he claimed was the only sluice for folks to get in or out of Katabami. The door Hawke entered by was smaller than its counterpart and considerably thinner, explained the Margrave. He zoned out during the explanation why, but it was something to do with temptation.

“So youse the only one left, yeah?” Hawke asked his host from the little tripod he had been invited to sit on. The grizzled veteran was nursing a delicious cup of coffee that the Margrave had brewed with surprising efficacy. Apparently he had supplies to keep him for years, decades even. He had everything he needed, except for the slightest intention of ever stepping outside of his quite compact comfort zone.

“I ain’t seen none of mine since them miners stopped comin’ back.” The Margrave sounded unconcerned, but Hawke supposed it was fair to assume that the man had gone through however many stages of grief there were already.

“So you’ve got no clue what happened to ‘em, then?”

The skinny lad shook his head and now Hawke could see the mourning in his eyes. He allowed a moment of quiet to linger in the air before simply nodding and got to enjoy a few sips of mocha before the boy broke the silence again.

“What're you hoping to find anyway? Gold like them other fellas?”

“That’d be nice, but I’m out to find your people, Margrave. This place’s too important to let go to waste.”

A half-truth, but the watchman was better off not knowing. As far as he was concerned his clan was gone, so he would make a fine consolation prize if the rest of the Yajirushi were really gone for good. Many things could go wrong in a mine, after all, but a treasure trove such as Katabami was a rare find; one that nobody would relinquish willingly. Hawke simply expected there to be people alive down in the dark. Struggling, certainly, but alive. It was amazing what one could do with a little bit of chakra. The question was why they had left the Margrave out to dry.

…That and the whole ‘abandoning the sale of gold from their gold mine’-thing.

“Don’t reckon you’ll find a thing, friend,” the Margrave quipped with a somber shake of his head. “The pit’s been all quiet since back then.”

“What about that lot you mentioned before? The scavengers.”

“Not a peep,” he insisted.

“Did ya keep an eye out after they left?”

“Through that there door?” The Margrave gestured towards the bulky metal gate and chuckled. “No dice. Could be a party right on the other side and I wouldn’t know a damn thing about it unless someone uses the seal on the door.”

Hawke’s head was beginning to hurt.

“Well did you bloody well check?”

A shrug. “Been a few months.”

“Oh for-“
 
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This post encompasses a B-rank mission containing the following storyboard elements:
  • (custom) Find the lost people of Katabami and confront them (3)

What awaited Hawke behind the Margrave’s gate was in stark contrast to the spacious walkway he had entered through. The tunnels on the other side were dark, damp and cramped. Though no skeleton was propped up against the door’s far side Garrett felt a sense of impending doom as he stepped into the confined space. Behind him the Margrave had been eager to lock up again, but he had managed some hurried instructions about how to open the hatch before he clicked his many locks back into place. Hawke had thanked him, but none of it made sense in his head. No matter the wall’s thickness no determined chakra-wielder on the outside would have gone unnoticed, so why had the gatekeeper been left all by his lonesome? Was he simply so mad as to have forgotten?

As he narrowly avoided a low-hanging stalactite Hawke muttered a curse under his breath. He decided then and there to save his frustrations for a time when he had at least some idea of where to start looking for the answer to those questions.

Following the flickering flames around his fists the flummoxed son of the Inuzuka found that his love for the glittery contents of mines did not extend to their rather restrictive architecture. The Pit was spacious, from the central shaft to the deepest tunnels. By contrast Katabami was byzantine, folding in on itself like a rocky variant of the Penrose stairs without any steps. The farther Hawke descended into its depths the more lost he felt and yet he could never shake the feeling that he was going the right way. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling him along jagged paths, across cave-ins and pitfalls, all leading to what he assumed was the heart of the mine.

Hawke walked for hours without sound, never seeing another soul, nor any former hosts of such specters. Occasionally he passed by tools of the mining trade gathering dust in empty tunnels, but never saw any signs of a struggle. Everything from heavy machinery to helmets had simply been left behind, but it was only when he very nearly stumbled over a bucket of raw gold ore that Garrett began to worry. He had toyed with the idea of internal conflict, or perhaps a successful infiltration being the source of the trouble, but by then doubt had started to take root in his thoughts.

Whatever had happened in Katabami was more insidious than mere violence. The tunnels spoke of a quick and quiet death, of work that had simply been abandoned and never resumed. There was a pressure here that bore down on everything within the tunnels; unseen but never unfelt. It was a sense of emptiness, of otherness; one that Hawke could not attribute to chakra no matter how hard he reached for the energies around him. Even with his deepest breath he smelled only dust and grime. And yet through all this confusion his sense of direction never wavered, and though the trek was long and arduous ever step felt rightly guided. Thus it was not relief, but rather a deep sense of satisfaction that washed over Hawke when he reached the mouth of an expansive natural cave formation and saw a light in the distance.

The source of the light turned out to be a series of campfires burning in a shallow depression in the center of the open cave. Around them were tents, goods, but more importantly people. Living people.

Hawke extinguished his own fire and quietly made his way along a narrow ridge overlooking the camp to get a better look at it, but otherwise kept his distance. From that vantage point he could look directly into the camp and the people milling about down there, seemingly unfazed by their long isolation. Men, women and even a few children went about their daily lives. Hawke saw all the trapping of a bustling village down there and remembered his promise to himself about long-held frustrations. Finally, Hawke had an idea of how to get answers and true to his nature the grizzled veteran decided the only logical course of action was to announce his presence and get on with it.

A mighty jump saw him soar across the campfires and tents, drawing surprised gasps from below as all heads turned to look at him. He landed with a heavy thud in a small courtyard near the settlement’s center where soon he was surrounded by curious onlookers. They whispered excitedly between each other, but no one stepped forward to greet him. Hawke quickly grew tired of the farce.

“Whoever’s in charge here better speak up or there’ll be a lot more campfires around soon, yeah?”

His threat was met with stony silence as the whispers died down to be replaced by blank stares. Finally an old woman with white hair and a hood that covered her eyes stepped out of the circle and addressed him, her voice low and husky.

“Why would you do such a thing? Giving into your feelings over such a small matter. They would be better served elsewhere.”

Her appearance surprised Hawke, who nearly did a double-take at her impudence.

“You question my feelings, when I come here to take from you what I please?”

Her voice did not waver in the face of his threat. She met him evenly and though he could not see her eyes he felt her piercing gaze bore into him.

“The day shall come when you can test your strength, I promise you, but such acts of cruelty may have more severe repercussions than you know, or can see.”

“And what do you know of cruelty, you crone?”

Something tugged at the corners of the woman’s mouth, but it disappeared so quickly that Hawke wondered if he had imagined it. Her answer was determined, backed by the absolute certainty of age and wisdom.

“Cruelty leads to suffering and when one suffers it is the way of life to spread suffering. Use your power, but in its proper place.”

Something about her gave Hawke pause. A thin sheen of familiarity that unnerved him.

“Who are you?” he asked icily with narrowed eyes.

She let him wait for what seemed like an eternity before answering.

“I am someone who can answer your questions. You may call me Kreia.”
 

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This post encompasses an S-rank mission containing the following storyboard elements:
  • (custom) Meet your teacher of the higher mysteries and try to understand her lesson (5)

“Again!”

Kreia’s voice rung out across the fighting ring as Hawke spat a glob of blood down at the sand and wiped his mouth with a growl of anger. He charged the freakishly large warrior in front of him again, weaving behind him with a burst of speed before whipping a a knee into the small of his back. The man grunted and wobbled on his feet, but before he had a chance to follow up that infernal crone’s voice rang out again.

“No. Again!”

Hawke gritted his teeth in frustration, but wordlessly returned to his starting position. He looked around at the faces of villagers passing by, few of them sparing his training session more than a passing glance. After Kreia’s introduction most of them had simply dispersed, returning to their daily tasks to Hawke’s great confusion. The old woman’s word carried an air of almost divine authority, but if Garrett had a coin for every all-bark-no-bite grandma he had come across during his time he would have been be a wealthier man. He had thought to nip the dismaying prospect of a verbal earful in the bud, so a few steps brought him within choking-range of the woman. That was when he realized that he was not able to kill her. Not trough any defense of hers, but simply because he found that his muscles did not obey him when he instructed them to pop the crone’s head like an overripe melon.

Hawke was snapped out of his train of thoughts by the sting of a meaty fist burying itself in his gut and then had his sinuses cleared by what felt like a sledgehammer slamming against his forehead. Once again Kreia’s command rang out, some amusement evident in her tone.

“Again.”

Hawke’s fists were clenched so tightly that he felt his nails dig into his palms and draw blood. It was the last drop that made his cup of incoherent rage overflow.

“You absolute… I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

He jumped to his feet and felt the familiar surge of energy as he moulded chakra for the inferno he thought to fry her to a crisp with. Just as quickly as it came, however, he felt it all dissipate and his muscles relax. A feeling of calmness washed over him, a sensation Garrett was rather unfamiliar with. It was pure torture.

Kreia had not commented on the look look in his eyes when his first attempted murder of her ran harmlessly into the sand, nor on the attempt itself, if it could be called that. She had simply turned on her heels and led him to the fighting ring, instructed him to strip down and then presented him to his opponent. The man was built like a brick shithouse and had to be at least seven and a half feet tall. Even Ahichu Uchiha would have found him imposing. Hawke had not, until the crone instructed him to fight him without any chakra whatsoever.

This second time around his self-proclaimed sensei rewarded his efforts with a sigh that sounded less than impressed.

“You would only be inflicting harm on yourself,” she intoned matter-of-factly.

“And your overgrown simpleton here isn’t?” Hawke gingerly rubbed his forehead, wincing at the swelling he felt.

“The beast is a lesson in strength. Learn that lesson, then you will understand.”

The certainty behind her words infuriated him. She never hesitated, never flinched. Whatever power she used to keep him at bay had to be so deeply ingrained within her that she never doubted it. That was a bad sign, because it showed that a midnight run would likely produce the same lack of results.

“Who says I want to learn anything you teach?”

Another sigh and Kreia dismissed the meaty beast with a wave of her hand before stepping into the ring, giving Hawke a critical once-over that momentarily exposed her blind white eyes to his sight.

“You must learn to see crude matter for what it is before the veil is lifted,” she explained resolutely, slowly circling around him. “I sense a disquiet in you, an unrest. Entertain what illusions you will, but know that I am your teacher, and that is enough.”

“And what could you possibly teach me that I do not already know? To fight without strength? Without power?” Fire streaked through Hawke’s hands, but just as before calm quickly washed over him and the fire sputtered and died.

“The highest powers cannot be found by falling to these baser instincts,” Kreia lectured while continuing to circle him slowly, unheeding of his protests. “It is a quick path and often, a short one. The growing anger, the rage, and the power it brings. Such things will ultimately erode your strength.”

“Why me, then?” Hawke heard the resigned tone of his own voice and regretted it at once. His follow-up was steelier. “You were the thread I sensed. You led me here, but why? My life is decided. Why try to change it now?”

Kreia came to a stop in front of him and slowly raised her hand in front of his face. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her, but then felt the pressure of her energy against his psyche. He tried to move, but found himself rooted to the spot as unbidden thoughts began to take form in his mind. A raised hand and the thirs for vengeance; the glean of steel in the sun; sounds of screaming and the smell of burnt flesh; locks of red hair mated with blood; tiny fingers and a swell of pride.

Fury. Blind, uncontrollable fury.

Hawke opened his eyes and found white spots dancing in his vision. For a moment everything was spinning, but then his sight settled on Kreia and the world seemed to steady itself.

“Because I am not blind, that is why,” the old woman answered cryptically. “But if it means so much to you, then this I swear to you upon my life... upon our lives... that when your training is complete, I will answer everything.” She made the vow without hesitation, though its wording raised more questions still.

“And until then I will just have to trust you? Piss off.”

“I do not ask you to trust me, only that you listen to what I have to tell you.”

“Like your lesson of strength where I must forego its use? Killing everything here would be nothing to me, so why should I believe that you have anything worthwhile to teach me?”

“Why ask that question when you already know the answer?”

The retort provoked a bitter growl from Hawke, because deep within his heart of hearts he did know the answer. He had sensed it the moment he felt the pull of that invisible thread, eve before he laid eyes on Kreia herself. It was an unfamiliar sense of purpose; a question that he could not see, yet knew the shape of. It was a realization that at once infuriated and pacified Hawke.

“So you have brought me here to learn a lesson that you will not teach?”

“I am attempting to teach you something greater, but that was not what brought you here,” she replied with a simplicity that belied its content. Her answers were more frustrating than the questions themselves. “You must realize this on your own.”

“Then what..?” Hawke mumbled and looked around the quaint village, so similar to many others he had visited were it not for its location. It was composed of people and their possessions in the grind of daily life. There was nothing extraordinary about it, except perhaps… “It’s the Yajirushi,” he realized with a start, turning once again to face Keira. “They’re all here?”

“Those who survive, yes,” the old woman confirmed with a neutral expression.

“So you are-?”

“One of them? No.” It was the first time Hawke sensed that she took offense to one of his questions. “They gathered here in desperation and now lack the will to leave. They were drawn here and more will come.”

“And you lead them?”

“I know many things, and I know what I am not,” she said dryly. “I speak with a voice that will never move others.”

Hawke looked over at the meaty beast who was sprawled out in the middle of the ring and staring at the duo with a blank expression. “So they follow no-one, then,” he surmised.

“They will follow you because you are a leader and their kind always needs such,” Kreia explained, sounding rather indifferent, but her tone sharpened again as she warned him. “If that is your choice, then use their dependency, feed upon it, until you have exhausted them, then leave them. Do not rely on them to compensate for your weaknesses.”

“I rely on no-one and nothing,” Hawke said, sounding more certain than he felt. He had always taken pride I his independence, but saying it just then felt like a lie. One he suspected Kreia saw through more clearly than even himself. That notion infuriated him. “But I’ll make sure to view you as disposable, then,” he all but sneered.

“Ah,” Kreia allowed the tiniest of smirks to tug at her lips. “Now you are learning.”

They went back to training after that. It took a while before Hawke learned to let go of the almost instinctual response of using chakra to enhance his strikes and movements, but once he got the hang of it the beating began in earnest. He tried to make up for his lack of size through sheer aggression, but it was quite a differential to bridge. In the end it was Kreia who called it a day after one of the beast’s tree trunk kicks shattered Hawke’s tibia in three places. She watched him as he healed the injury in the soft blue energy of medical chakra.

“Nothing is impossible with chakra. It is good to know of its mysteries, but not to rely on them.” She remarked as Hawke’s energy guided the bone back together.

Hawke looked up at her with a weary expression.
“For these lessons... Do we really have to travel together?”
 

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This post encompasses a B-rank mission containing the following storyboard elements:
  • (custom) Learn more about your new followers (3)

While one of his new Brothers worked on the seal Hawke’s knuckles rapped against the Margrave’s thick metal gates for emphasis. The guidance of the Yajirushi had shaved at least an hour off their return trip, which had immediately warmed Hawke to its warriors: a dozen competent chakra-wielders with battle scars and hard eyes that did not shirk from grit and grime. Kreia’s words had turned out to be true, as the Clan took to his leadership like he had always been in charge. He had dismissed it as naiveté at first, but the more he spoke to them the more he sensed threads between him and them that he could not explain.

The Clan’s strongest was a contemporary of Hawke’s by the name of Jin-Soo, a black-haired veteran of Hanguri with an intelligent glean in his eye who had personally briefed Hawke before those who could keep up set off for the Margrave’s box. As Jin-Soo told the story his Clan had suffered some internal divisions that came to an abrupt end with the return of the Red Fever. Most competing factions simply died out, leaving the survivors to pick up the pieces. The epidemic had stopped almost all mining activity and killed many workers, so it was decided that the Clan would retreat deep into Katabami to regroup. When Hawke had asked why, Jin-Soo referred to it as ‘the call;’ a sense in all the Clans adults that it was time. Their Clan had always been fractious, so the move was unprecedented, but in the end they set up their settlement and settled in for the wait. Hawke would have asked the obvious, but it was at that moment the group arrived at their destination.

The lanky Margrave let them in without much fuss and seemed surprisingly calm for a man who was being reunited with his lost family. He offered the group coffee, which they drank, some supplies, which they ate, and asked them for some stories from the mine, which Hawke declined. His Excellency was to remain at his post, but the other Yajirushi did take care to leave him with a communications scroll this time around.

Kreia did not say a word, not in the mine or in the long tunnel leading outside, but Hawke paid her no mind. It felt good to be back aboveground, to feel the wind and the warmth of the sun, so he allowed her some peace of mind in exchange for the same until after the group had braved the steep climb up Katabami’s mountain face and was overlooking the area from the summit. It was there she approached him again.

“Tell me why they follow me,” he commanded sharply without turning to acknowledge her. The view was magnificent, overlooking light forest and a number of quaint towns dotting a hilly landscape.

“Because you are a leader who has earned such obedience,” she responded dryly, drawing a low growl from Hawke.

“You said that already, yeah? And it’s not the whole answer.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed dismissively. “But everyone is made up of events in their past. It makes some powerless and gives strength to others. The lives of the Yajirushi are static, untested. Your mere presence serves as an example to them, of something to uphold, or something to fight against.”

“Your riddles do you no favors,” Hawke all but seethed, finally turning around to shoot a withering glare in the ‘wise’ woman’s direction.

“They heard the call of home and answered, waited, all their strength held in check by doubt.” Kreia was obviously not fazed by his implied threat and simply wrapped up her lesson. “Surrendering themselves to their beliefs, their ties, has made it so that they will always be ruled by those whose choices are their own.”

“And I should use them, but never rely on them,” he scoffed, but Kreia nodded seriously at the observation.

“Watch them carefully, see their patterns, and recognize the strength in it. Influence can be a weapon.”

“For once we are of one mind then,” Hawke retorted with a hint of sarcasm, walking over to look the older woman straight in the eye. “Because I intend to use it as such.”

“Ah,” Kreia croaked with some amusement. “Then you are learning.”
 

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This post encompasses an A-rank mission containing the following storyboard elements:
  • (custom) Learn more about the phenomenon of the absence of death (3)
  • Make all the necessary plans and arrangements for your Clan (4)

With the help of twelve other chakra wielders it was almost a trifling matter to assert control over the rest of the area. Though Kreia made it clear that she was not there to fight his battles, she did add another body to the group of chakra-wielders that appeared in several town squares that day. Most of the elders knew Jin-Soo, or knew of him so introductions were always a quick affair, which suited Hawke just fine.

The settlements were not in good shape. It was worse for some, but even in the least impoverished towns the smell of desperation was palpable. There were too many empty houses and too many skinny children, and each alderman told the same sad story about hardships after the mine closing and the still apparent ravages of the Red Fever. They tried to make do with farming, but the land was arid and poorly suited for agriculture. In some towns people had simply starved, though few ever died. They simply shrank into shriveled husks of themselves and laid there trapped in their own bodies, unable to die.

What about a merciful kiss of steel? Hawke had inquired the first time he heard of it. And that was when things took a turn for the bizarre, because the alderman assured him it had already been tried. Some poor bugger in the town over had a dagger stabbed into his heart and did not even have the strength to scream. Lost almost three pints of blood in the patch-up effort and still lived. Unbelievable, Hawke had thought and did not believe a word of it, until he was introduced to a man in that same town who had been found guilty of murder. Sentenced to hang by the neck until dead the man had taken the drop almost a week earlier, only he was not dead yet and a complimentary tour indeed took them past a squirming man hanging by neck in a tree on the outskirts of town.

It was one of the coolest tings Hawke had ever seen.

From there the conversation always turned to practicalities: The ‘why should I listen to you’s, the ‘spare my life I have a family’s. It was all the classics, now facilitated by the familiar faces of the Yajirushi, who, as Jin-Soo told it, were not unfamiliar with heavy-handedness. That experience came in handy, because Hawke posed each alderman with a simple choice: work the mines and be grateful for your lot, or leave and take your chances elsewhere. Most were only too happy to accept the work, some tried to negotiate and were admonished, but a few tried to take a stance.

When such thanklessness showed itself Garrett’s new Brothers posed the townspeople the same choice, with the catch that the alderman had to be beaten to death for them to qualify for the work. It was a sign of the times that threats were not even necessary. Desperate, starving people descended on the aldermen like animals, tearing them limb from limb just for a chance to earn their daily keep. It served to implicate them I their own hearts and it tested this so-called immortality. The results were interesting as one man died, while the other two survived despite gruesome injuries. One had several nails driven into his skull and lost most cognitive functions, something Hawke made a note of in his ledger under the tut-tutting of Kreia’s disapproval of meaningless cruelty.

It took the group a day and a half to make it through all the towns and villages, but by the end of it Katabami had its workforce back. Hawke made it clear to the aldermen that it was he, not they, who were in control, but it did not seem to dampen their spirits much. The miners were paid a pittance, but it was more than nothing. Food would continue to be an issue, but with the centralization of the mine’s management some resources that had before been allotted to cronies could be spent elsewhere. It was the first time he followed the advice of Kreia, whose lesson on influence had not gone unheeded and this despite Hawke’s best efforts to the contrary. The miners were used to living rough, but their families were suffering and oh so cheap to help. It was almost comical how cheaply he bought the loyalties of men who could mine several days’ wages worth of gold ore every day.

Thought the prospect of sticking around to watch the mine return to its former glory was tempting, Hawke had other business to tend to. He had come to Katabami for a reason, after all. It was decided that half the Yajirushi’s, including Jin-Soo, would be going to the Pit, leaving his second-in-command Jae-Sung; a young, balding man with a bright smile and dead eyes in charge of the mine. Hawke sent word ahead via his communication scroll and ordered Brok, Tom and Ratgut to make their way South: Just a little mingling between the families to cement their relationship. The civilians of the Clan would all remain behind, except for one engineer that Jin-Soo vouched for who had to be carried on someone’s back so as to not slow them down.

All in all the entire process was smooth, enough that Hawke almost had to pinch himself. Karma had really come around and he could not help but give Kreia just a tiny bit of credit for it. She, for her part, made it clear that she did not care for such things and simply prepared herself to travel with him. It was an odd feeling, progress, but Hawke found it addictive. The foundation had been laid for rapid expansion. All he had to do was build.

- Leaving for LM 55.
 
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