After the great behemoths of metal fell from the sky, the city of Arangoth became quite the spectacle. Along with the countless deaths, the damage to the city was extensive, and the governmental board was thrown into chaos. Among the casualties were the treasurer, the secretary, the jurior, and the governor's spouse. While traumatic, I don't see there being enough time to mourn for at least a day or so. Those remaining met within an hour to plan next steps.

I was there, of course. Information is my specialty, and a meeting of the governmental board immediately after a crisis is the kind of juicy apple one of my kind can't resist.

Closed session? Never heard of such a thing.

"I'll cut to the chase." says the governor, raising her hand to silence the room. Interestingly, despite the situation, she only did this in a metaphorical sense. I suppose it makes sense not to add more tension to such a situation by not allowing people the dignity of finishing their sentences. Or perhaps she intends to speak shortly, and doesn't want to spend mana on a few seconds of silencing. "The situation is dire, and we owe it both to those lost and those remaining to resolve the situation quickly. Would the captain of the guard, the court magician, and the court jester please give your reports, in that order. Acting secretary Samuel Riegel will keep notes."

She sits, revealing it was in fact simply a short speech. Her words resound through the empty room, echoing off the mostly empty chairs an audience may have occupied. The tone of this meeting is now set. While not a declaration of war, as the enemy is supposedly already defeated, there is a similar tone of seriousness in the room, amplified by the harsh, quiet tones of the court bard. Next raises up a somewhat average sized elf with slight tone to his muscles. He wastes no time in speaking.

"The report is not as dire as we feared, at first glance. As this event happened at night, most of the population was resting in the residential areas, of which only one was struck. It is notably the fairly wealthy Whitehouse District, which may cause some civil unrest in the near future as funds are transferred and insurance is collected. As you see, the treasurer, secretary, and jurior were terminated by this calamity. As such, until further notice, the guard volunteers to handle financial and judicial matters until new representatives of the people may be elected."

Interestingly, the one to jump on this opportunity is the acting secretary, stating much too clearly for new blood in the government, "I second this."

While the rest of the board holds their faces famously, this is quite the unusual circumstance. However, it is clear they all sense this is the best move, and have great respect for captain Elethar, as they all raise their hands together once the governor asks, "All in favor?

"The motion passes. We will vote on representatives within the guard once all reports have been given. Continue with your report."

"As the board requests." continues the fiendishly clever and handsome captain. Such a bold move, yet so easily attained. The captain is truly powerful, as those with friends in high places usually are. "We have confirmed the deaths of 90% of the sky carriers' inhabitants. All foreign creatures on board have been detained and placed in quarantine, any surviving captives have been brought in for questioning. There has been one escape, though it is unknown whether this was a foreign entity or a citizen of the city. Reports show between one and three escaped in this group. Scouts are researching the premises as we speak. As of now, no more conclusive facts have been obtained and verified, and this report will refain from speculation in the interest of efficiency." The armored man sits, indicating the end of his speech.

An escape, eh? Something to look into later. It will have to wait, as the lanky old hairless man with the honor of being called "The Beautiful Bald Bastard of the Best Board" stands next. His speech is much anticipated by any with a pocketbook, as the nature of these strange creatures is a mystery to all. Everybody hopes to profit from researching their vessels. If it were appropriate, half the table would lean in to hear his words more clearly.

"There... is no magic." He sits back down.

Though there is no clock in the hall, with the time only being reported by a herald when necessary to avoid distraction via having something to stare at which isn't a meeting, I can hear said herald's clock ticking from down the hall. It doesn't help that the current occupancy of the room is only ten board members and two in the audience. Yeah, I see you over there Sharin, I'll deal with you later.

The head of the peoples' committee speaks first, standing in desperation, "What do you mean, no magic? By what means did such behemoths of metal float so high and silently? How did they cloak themselves? What did they use to capture civilians??"

The wizard, in true fashion of a turtle, raises his arms to the table, lifts his hands to shoulder height, then bobs his shoulders upwards to match. With heralean effort, he manages to avoid destroying the table with the sheer speed at which they float down as a feather.

That damned clock is too damn loud.

"Ahem, well," the governor says as Fern slowly lowers herself back to her seat, shock clear on her face. "That leaves Radittz. Please report."

Alex Radittz, whom no creature on earth save for their mother could distinguish as either man or woman, due to their occupation being assisted with ambiguity in that regard, stands at last, putting their hand to their chin. They speak in the voice of a detective, "Well well, it would seem we have quite the conundrum on our hands." Their frilly hat jingles as they swoon, a fair maiden stating, "So many lost, hurt, poor souls on the streets." A true jester speaks next, "Very poor, what with the rich bastards getting all the magic non-magic super beast they could pay for in a night, if you catch my drift."

The table grits their teeth and watch, one or two giggling here and there, the rest bearing through the poorly timed jokes to hear the true report. The next to speak is a bandit, "Oy, I hear there's lots of rubbish to clear in the market district. I think I'll, heh heh, volunteer down there a bit." A soldier clasps his hand to his chest and religiously states, "It is our duty to the people. To our neighbors. To the weak and elderly. To do our part. To clean up and bring this city back to its feet." A true patriot. A patriot who is put into a panic a moment later as they exclaim, "But what if it blows up?? Again?? What are we supposed to do about this?? I think we should run!!" A grizzled old veteran follows up, "Right into the barrels of their guns, and toss a few fireballs down 'em! City's already blown up, so what harm in blowing them up, before they blow us up? Ey?"

A store clerk asks him, "But sir, we've already lost so much. The place I work was destroyed. When will we ever get back a sense of normalcy? Is such a thing even possible?" A child pipes up, "Mama, when can we go home?"

The jester bows, and sits back down. A splendid performance of mild unrest and worry, with a sense of patriotic duty and a hint of "we were expecting the peace couldn't last forever". A worrying, but not unexpected, bit of looters fever snuck in there as well, though not as much as one would fear.

"Alright," speaks the governor, "we will now analyze these reports and suggest actions towards..."

I've heard enough. I crawl in a distinguished manner towards the door, shooting a dirty look at Sharin, and waving at the captain who looks my way. Nothing escapes his sight, though luckily his sight is the only attention I draw. I point to Sharin, and the captain nods. Sharin blanches as I stick my tongue out at her, and I make my way out of the room.

Not bad for a quick response. Not much requiring my attention for once. Still, I should hop on this missing persons case, before whomever it is has a chance to escape with whatever knowledge, technology, or diseases they picked up on the ship. If there's one thing the humans learned during our colonization of the planet, it's that foreign knowledge, technology, and diseases are the most dangerous things to our survival. Hence the subjugation of women for so much of history.

I chuckle at my own terrible joke, glad the people staring at me confused couldn't hear it. Then I notice the lady in a psychic's getup giving me a dirty look. The next two monutes are an apology marathon, complete with mental images of cute kittens tearing me to shreds. I'd rather not think about which of us was forced at mental gunpoint to create such an image.

Thought used to be sacred, private. Those were good times, those years a few centuries before I was born.

I pass through the market district, taking note of the few scavengers and cleanup crews. Sure enough, the number of volunteers and "volunteers" is pretty high. Despite all the destruction and occasional case of someone bawling their eyes out, morale seems to be mostly high. We'll see how long that lasts once the evacuation order goes through. We all know it's going to happen. Along the way I politely accept a cookie from a grandma who had made snacks for the volunteers.

Finally, I make my way to the docks, where one of the ships had politely landed at the dock for deboarding. Or rather, landed on the dock, but still. Mighty fine placement for exploration and examination. But as juicy as that information sounds, I'm here on a mission. I walk up to Psimmons, the scout who always seems to know way more than his paygrade should allow. That's one mystery I still have yet to solve, but for now, it's the perfect time to take advantage of it. I come up behind him and shout, "Soldier, where's your shoulder band? And stand up straight, damn it! You're a representative of the people, for Elanor's sake!"

Psimmons jumps and accidentally does a flawless about-face. "Sir! I had no time as I was-"

"Never mind that, soldier. I need you to tell me where those insects got off to."

"Sir?"

"Don't play dumb with me. The two that got away!"

"Ah! Yes, sir, they were near the ship in the historic district, the trail ends at Fort Street!"

"Good work, soldier. Have a cookie." I toss the chocolatey death disk at him and walk away.

"Well thank you sir, but seriously, how is it that every time we speak you always seem to have a cookie? And why is it never the same one twice?"

I make my way to the historic district, taking a moment to pay my respects to those lost in the Whitehouse district. Shame, really, how will society ever get on without all the rich buggers to blame everything on? I give a crying young boy a lollipop and tell him everything's gonna be alright, then go on my way.

Along the way I grab a coffee from apparently the only remaining open store in the city. The workers are going insane with the amount of work, although the owner works with a great big smile on his face. That man is gonna feel rich tomorrow. Better give his staff a bonus for this. I know he will, man learned from the best.

Finally I find myself standing under the massive hoof of a beheaded bronze behemoth known as a "mao muth", looking past its missing part at the glowing mass of steel in the street. Most of these vessels had been completely totaled, but this one still seems to be functioning, if at a base level. Crazy, really, that until moments before they crash landed, not a hint of their existence was whispered on the wind. And without magic, to boot. However, as crazy and curious as that is, my job isn't to learn more about the world. It's to make sure the world doesn't learn too much about itself. Or, in this case, too much about other worlds, apparently. Strange creatures wielding power we don't understand without a hint of what makes our society turn, floating in the sky with constructions so large you could house a city in them? There can only be one explanation for that, and it's not the kind of thing we want getting out. Better if people still think the universe revolves around us. Metaphorically, of course. Anybody who thinks that literally should probably get no further than bussing tables if we want our society to continue functioning. Eh, but with our luck, they'd probably find their way into government. Or married to someone in government, Toara rest him.

So where did those buggers run off to? Simple. If the ship is still functioning as well as it is, the likelihood they would have both found and used an escape hatch on a ship full of language they couldn't understand is quite low. Thus, they'd probably use the official main bridge, which, these being sky ships, would be near the bottom. So start from the bottom.

I walk to the bulbous extension underneath the ship, and walk around it, looking for signs of an exit. I don't have to look long before I find a pool of green fluid next to a surprisingly dramatically lit set of stairs. A slight residue coats the stairs and some of the ground around them, but not so much directly underneath. The kind of residue usually caused by gaseous spells. Fog? Shit, these things were going to show off when they decided to reveal themselves, weren't they?

I like them already.

Amidst all the pools of green, which I assume are pools of blood by the reports I've been given, and the pools of black, which supposedly made this machine run, I spot a trail of red. Lowering myself to the ground, I look for further clues. Footprints would have been wonderful, but it seems the footmen were careless and stepped all over this region. Dust, all over. Scorch marks, either from the ship or cleaning duties. But this? A golden thread. No, only looks like gold, this is cloth.

Quickly, I make my way to the nearest temple to Balum. If any priests will be able to verify this, they'll be in the temple of knowledge. Stepping inside, I am greeted by a man in a blue cloak. An apprentice, by the lack of a silver lining. "Welcome to our humble temple," he begins, standing underneath a hundred thousand gold bit of architecture with a pure silver statue accentuating his words, "how may we assist you today? I must warn you, our services are somewhat limited at the moment, as most of our priests are examining the new addition down the street."

"That's fine, my request is a simple one. I'm looking for a friend, think they may be kidnapped but probably just overthinking it. They're a follower of Toara. I found this, hope it may be from her cloak. If it is, I'd like a dowsing implement made to find the rest of the cloak."

"That is well within our range of services. I may examine the fiber, but may I ask that once you have the dowsing implement, you take it to the authorities? We'd rather civilians not put themselves in danger, even for the sake of a friend."

"I would, but with the situation as it is... you know, I'd rather make sure something's actually wrong and she didn't just sneak off when nobody was looking. With no further evidence than a piece of cloth, I feel like they'd just give me a good, 'yeah, sure, put it over there,' then go back to finding out what's going on with the metal beasts."

"Indeed," he bows, "now if you'll follow me to this room, Mr. McCormick, I'll begin communing with my god."

Having dealt with these guys in the past, it doesn't surprise me much when he uses my alias. Wouldn't expect it from someone of his level, but perhaps that's his specialty. I follow him to the room, the muggy smell bringing back a few dozen too many memories from similar investigations. He places the fiber on a round dais, then kneels and begins to pray. Sure enough, the fiber begins to glow, and shifts around a bit on the table. He continues praying for ten minutes, until the fiber stands straight on end, pointing at the ceiling. Standing, he holds his arms out, welcoming the power of Balum into the room, before clasping his hands in prayer. Then he pulls a piece of wood and a staple from his cloak, placing the fiber on the wood and fastening it in place with the staple. The fiber is pointing out the window, through which a dim light illuminates the lack of dust in the air.

"Here is your implement, take care on your adventure, Mr. McCormick. May the light of knowledge shine on your path." He bows again, gesturing towards the door.

"Thanks, bud." I pull some silver from my coin pouch. "A donation for the church for your trouble. And here," I toss him a wood coin shaped like a platinum, "for the materials used."

"You are most kind." His smirk indicates his god told him this wasn't the first time I'd pulled this. "Farewell."

I step out onto the street, waving back at the attendants holding the door. Stepping on the sidewalk, I close my eyes and listen. Sounds of traffic have increased, commotion is higher, but mostly in the direction of the travel hub. Looking down, sure enough, the fiber is pointing in that direction. The evacuation order has gone through, time is short.

Walking in that direction, I listen out for any rumors, but surprisingly everything is going smoothly. No raids gone bad in the market district, the cleanup is stopped, only one wizard found near the wreckage poking around for secrets. Imagine their surprise.

Finally I step through the gate at the travel hub. The crowd here is thick, chatter so loud even I couldn't pick out a sentence. Luckily, all the information I'm looking for is visual. I mark the direction the fiber points, and start pushing past shoulders. A few people get angry, but most assume I'm here on some official business. Funny how easy it is to get what you want if you just act like you belong.

Pushing through, I make my way to an open area between stations. There are three in this section, each with a long line leading up to it. Examining the fiber, I make my way to the one leading to Yarin. An attendant stops me, "You can't come through here, please make your way to the back of the line!"

At that moment I spot, among a crowd of other priests, one robe with a section of the hem missing. The edging is gold. I hate to do this, but...

I pull out my badge, "Sir, I'm an investigator with the Emperor's guard. Stand down immediately."

The shock almost kills the attendant as he leaps five feet back. Not a moment too soon, as my mark is just stepping past the portcullis of the teleport pad. As the last few are ushered into the gate, I pull the furthest back off, bursting into the pad. One too many and the spell would go haywire. They start to argue, but the attendant pulls them aside with reassurances.

The priest hears this and turns around. As he locks eyes with me, I grab his robe and say, "You're coming with me."

Now, I'm used to this, working covertly and all. When you don't announce who you are or why you're putting someone under arrest, it's normal for them to fight back. But when he pushes me away, what I'm not expecting is the burst of energy that comes with it. Usually when a mid-level priest casts shockwave in this manner, it gives a mild push, which one of my strength can handle. This guy, though? He's something else. His faith must be off the charts for a member of his rank.

The force of the blast knocks me back a foot, causing me to lose my grasp on his cloak. I take one more step back to regain my balance, and bump into something. A jolt runs down my back, and suddenly I'm paralyzed from the shoulders down. With the way my feet were angled at the moment of impact, I twist as I fall. As I do, I hear a dozen gasps and a scream from behind me. What twists into my vision is a different crowd from before, in a completely new station.

It would appear they decided to run the teleport cycle at the very moment my back hit the portcullis. The teleportation sigils on this side are intact, which makes me think those on the other end must have been given quite the bloody surprise when the cycle ran its course.

Funny, with all the political powerhouses, mad wizards, and otherwise dangerous people I've had to deal with in the course of my duties, with all the information I've gathered to take these people down, with all the experience, knowledge, wisdom, and strength I've gathered in my life... it's an assumption that does me in at the end.

... With all that knowledge, I'd heard a lot about what the afterlife would be like. But this? This is new.