Reading

Open fileNeed to knowMy clearance

A.Journal

Checks

1,165 checks

The days are gone, only hours remain.

High pressure coming in from the Noscorrentes means cooler and wetter times ahead. Questions remain as to when this change will come, best to prepare for all scenarios.

You don't climb so much as glide; feet hovering over each wooden step, the chorded muscle of your biceps hauling most of your body's weight up the ladder.

LIES! STOP HIM! WAR CRIME!

He's mostly making it up.

A barely audible hiss in his words.

There exist brick walls with more awareness than him.

He truly does not.

Bruce had a whole lot of clothes at his shop, maybe you can play the part of the mage yourself.

Trust gut. Gut best.

Why can't we do something cool like that when we get clipped? What is this 'leave it in there' shit?

The fresh wound splits back open.

Microscopic waves of warmth radiate out from him.

Flicking ashes out the window.

Looks like boars live here. Smells like it too.

His right hand forms a fist.

Uttered with great solemnity one instant then spat out like curses the next. They seemed to take on their own solidity, detached from any human situation.

Liquidity far beyond your current state of matter.

A different type of magic.

Bags under his eyes, tense shoulders. Yes, this man is very, very tired of it all.

No different to the beasts that wander the wilds.

His mind was busy doing something else.

Company scrip. Funny money.

A tell. You didn't make any connection between Tempo and Reyes.

With one of Tempo del Sur's 'unspecified associates'.

Seems agitated. You're probing a sensitive spot.

That the man is associated with the foreign fascist secret police does not phase him.

THE INDUSTRIALIST HAS FALLEN PREY TO THE CULT OF NOSTALGIC OBJECTS. SICKENING YET LOGICAL.

He's lost far pricier things in terms of market value but this one makes the very marrow of his bones ache with worry.

Using your asset in ways never known to be possible. You have to respect it.

Great art deserves exhibiting.

Obviously plastic.

Lightning flash! Thunder! A crackle of electricity in the air.

A man with the demeanour of a goalkeeper whose team has fled the pitch.

Yeah. We should have asked for more money.

The corners of his glasses fog up.

A woman leans out the open window, shivering in the cool evening air. She tries not to blink. They've had to pack so quickly, this is the first chance she's had to try to memorise the view she's mostly ignored for the last six years.

HE WILL TAKE THEM TO HIS TOMB, LIKE THE SELF-STYLED GOD EMPERORS OF PRE-HISTORY.

END TIMES. CULTURE SHOULD GO THE WAY OF HISTORY AND DISCONTINUE ITSELF.

Playing that thing on a radio station? Metaphysical nuke.

Underdog. You. Pieces of soul between teeth.

Valkyrie pop. Chants of war.

'Atta boy, we should be on our feet saluting that shit.

The antithesis of camouflage.

Sounds pretty 'off the books'... Eszti's going to be even more mad at you now.

You should do this kind of work more often. It suits you.

1,165 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 15 of 24