Order of Events - Day 8 ~ Day 28 / Retirement Plan, A Fabrication, Tortured Artists)

[RequixEclipse]

Sir Archibald Fotherington-Smythe- Day 8 - Day 28

 

DAYS 8-28 - Sir Archibald

 Grave Robbers- Audio Log
"Sir Archibald describes how to desecrate a grave site."

 

Day 8. 
My dearest Marjorie... Having carefully block and tackled our way into the main site, exploration can finally begin in earnest! To think. The last feet to tread these stones were those of marauding Romans, hellbent on desecration, and the domination of the local populace... This air was last breathed before Chaucer chauced. Before the Bard barded. And before whatever it was that that fellow with the apple actually did. Certainly makes a chap think, wot? The bodies interred here look to be higher status types. Quite the Gauls-about-town. *laugh* ...my little joke. Judging by what personal items and grave goods remain, I would say - members of a priesthood, or religious caste. That said - the Romans made a real pig's ear of these corpses... Heads and hands missing, objects and offerings scattered all over the blighted place. I'm certain they snaffled everything of value, and desecrated the rest. Dashed rude, if you ask me... Potts? Is that you, staggering about over there? I say, have you been at my Bordeaux? You and I shall have words about that later. Damned impertinence. No wonder I've only a crate and a half left.

 

Potts and Pains Pt. 1- Document
"Sir Archibald’s hapless footman finds himself along for the ride."

 

Day 10
Not yet a fortnight and we've finally cracked through the surface, past the pottery and etchings and bric-a-brac and to the heart of the place-burial grounds of the ancients! Sir Archibald can barely contain himself--his mind, and mouth, dare I say, are racing! It must be excitement of what lies ahead, that or perhaps I should hide some of that port from his reach?

 

Against A Wall- Audio Log
"Sir Archibald suffers a devastating loss."

 

Day 14.
Marjorie, comma, dearest, ellipses. As we delve ever deeper, one cannot help but be struck by the sophistication of the construction of this place. Shouldn't be surprised, I suppose - the Ancient Egyptians were well into their obsession with building bloody great triangles in the middle of the bally desert, by the time this went up. But still. When one conjures neolithic Europe to mind, it's more 'I say! Where did that bloody great henge spring from?', and less... Whatever this is. And they certainly went out of their way to seal it up tight as a drum - 2 weeks to bypass 2 stone doors - oh! Stairs. Fascinating wall markings these... Yes indeed... One wonders at their purpose... Still. Plenty of time for that.

Mind your step, there's a good fellow - certainly don't want you tripping, and breaking your neck, wot? You, men - be careful with that crate. It's vital expedition equipment. I tell you what Potts - it is jolly stuffy in here, isn't it? I might just have a little sit down here - just a short breather. Yes, that's the ticket. How strange... Is that a handle?.. Or a lever, perhaps? Egads! Are you fellows alright? No... No... I rather don't suppose you are. And my poor vino... Alas! Gone, before your time...

Potts and Pains Pt. 2- Document
"Clearly, the porters weren’t nearly as important as the port."

 

Day 15
We're down three porters. Skewered by antediluvian arrows in a trap set ages ago. "Let's hope they're fresh out of arrows. Watch for the slings, then. Our fortunes await." Sir Archibald muttered. Charming. Even without my translation, the men returned cold, hard stares back at him, muttering darkly in French.

Spring Time - Audio Log
"Sir Archibald begins to understand why Alistair Rhodes did not make this journey himself."

 

Day 19.
Dearest Marjorie. I fear I may be losing the trust and respect of the men. Ever since the... uh... the incident with that damned arrow trap - which - let me tell you, simply had no business being operational after all these years... I increasingly find them clamming up, and peering at me quite disagreeably when I pass them at their travails. The atmosphere is starting to get to me, just as Rhodes said it might. This barrow... is different from the other venerable tombs I have had the fortune to grace. Almos feels like it's... Waiting? Yes that's it... Laying in wait, wot? Gives me the willies. Brrr.

At any rate, it's clear there's been continued occupation long past the mound's bronze-aged origins. However, the statuary in this shrine rocked me in my boots. Literally blew the old socks off. They're clearly classical Greek in origin... But the subject matter - that's from a much, much earlier period. And while Optatus' troops vandalized the place, there's evidence of a later restoration. Which does rather lead one to speculate that peoples have been repeatedly drawn to worship here - although to worship quite what, one really doesn't like to say. Dashed odd... Dashed odd...

Damnit Rhodes, you knew enough about this place to keep away yourself, didn't you, you bloody bounder? I should have taken you for your whole damn cellar.

 

Potts and Pains Pt. 3 - Document
"Bernard Potts regrets seeking employment with the Fotherington-Smythes."

 

Day 20

Sir Archibald plods along with a false optimism, "The Artifact! The Artifact!" he knows something's amiss. We can feel it. It's lurking in the shadows, caught out of the corners of our eyes. Even Archibald is more introspective than I've every known him. The men are broken from the constant dread, the infighting, and the death. Something is coming. I now believe coupling my wagon to the fortunes of the Fotherington-Smythes to have been a major miscalculation on my part.

The Knaves - Audio Log
"Sir Archibald finds himself hung out to dry."

 

Day 23. 
Dear Marjorie. I have somehow made it down into the very bowels of the barrow complex... No thanks to Potts. No sooner were we through the last stone door, he announced that he, and half the remaining men had had it with the whole bally expedition. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, they turned tail and headed off. And - might I add - taking more than their fair share of our remaining supplies with them... Not to mention the last 4 bottles of that devilishly saucy red.

Damn it all, Marjorie. Potts was my batman. Has been for years. A chap simply doesn't expect his valet to up and leave that way. I mean - who's going to fasten my cufflinks and straighten my dickie bow, now? It's an outrage. Man has no backbone - nor fortitude of upper lip. My flabber is absolutely ghasted. The nerve! Valet? Varlet more like it. Ha! And so soon after we caught our first tantalizing glimpse of the Sentinel Artifact too.

I can hear it singing, Marjorie. Calling to me. I will have it, or my name's not Sir Archibald etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Anyway - more fool them, I say. This place truly is a marvel - a vast natural cavern. Lord only knows how far below ground we are - how extensive the surrounding cave complex might be. Or how the devils who built this... this temple - because that's assuredly what it is, knew it were here. I shiver to imagine what foul rites were conducted here... How many sacrifices demanded, by long forgotten gods. I fancy you could still hear their screams echoing about, if one were to put their minds to it... Memories of a nightmare, buried deep in the hush of the place.

Potts and Pains Pt. 4 - Document
"Potts and a handful of men give Sir Archibald the slip."

 

Day 24
Having studied Sir Archibald's perimeter tactics all these years, a small party and I were able to evade his watchful eye. The plan was to find our way back to the surface. As far as I can tell, that was four days ago. I cannot properly account for time in this infernal hellscape. My senses are leaving me - yet I still find solace in not hearing that buffoon demand we let the port breathe before drinking it.

 

Potts and Pains Pt. 5 - Document
"Unfortunately, everyone is doomed."

 

Day 27
Of everything I had seen with that damned Fotherington-Smythe, I was certain he was out of his depth in this terrain. What a fool I have been. he is a ridiculous, sanctimonious and downright insufferable lout and yet it is me who has become the monster. I lead these men astray; they will die slow in a swell of madness and hunger. For days we have been chasing shadows. I can only pray it is Sir Archibald, for if not, we are doomed.

 

Deep Trouble - Audio Log
"Sir Archibald is reunited with his beloved footman, Bernard Potts."

Sir Archibald Fotherington-Smythe. Day... Ye gods... Day 28.
My dearest Marjorie. This, I suspect may well be my final diary entry. It is my profoundest hope that these recording somehow make their way out of the depths of this hellhole, and thence to your sweet hands. We are out of food, water, and thanks to that traitorous cur, Potts - there's nary a drop of the good stuff to be found either. Only a handful of the men remain, but - by the way they stare at me, and by the rumbling in our stomachs, I fear they mean me ill.

This place, Marjorie... This place - It is a veritable cornucopia of horrors, an affluence of primal terrors... But also an oasis of beauty and wonder... I wish you could have- No... I wish I could have told you all about it. I- Potts? You damnable rabble, is that you! By Jove, you'd better have at least 2 bottles of my claret with you, by way of a peace offering, or... or... I say, awful pallor you have there old man, I know none of us have seen the sun in weeks, but you really look quite dreadful, wot? Damn. Now look here, I've been more than reasonable... No! Keep those grimy claws to your- Wait - claws? Stay back! Back I say! To arms, men! We are attacked! We are attacked! To the Nexus! We shall make our stand there!

 

This place, Marjorie... This place - It is a veritable cornucopia of horrors, an affluence of primal terrors... But also an oasis of beauty and wonder... I wish you could have- No... I wish I could have told you all about it. I- Potts? You damnable rabble, is that you! By Jove, you'd better have at least 2 bottles of my claret with you, by way of a peace offering, or... or... I say, awful pallor you have there old man, I know none of us have seen the sun in weeks, but you really look quite dreadful, wot? Damn. Now look here, I've been more than reasonable... No! Keep those grimy claws to your- Wait - claws? Stay back! Back I say! To arms, men! We are attacked! We are attacked! To the Nexus! We shall make our stand there!
 

 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Retirement Plan - "Maya and Grey discuss plans for the future."

Retirement Plan - "Maya and Grey discuss plans for the future."

 

Maya: So, you got any plans after this?
Grey: After what, exactly?
Maya: The whole, 'bringing your friend back with the help of hell's tech support' thing.
Grey:  You know... I really don't.
Maya: Thought that might be the case - having just gotten off the revenge wagon myself. You have that look about ya.
Grey: How very insightful of you.
Maya: Hey - with Nathan gone, I've got no crew. Which, in my profession, is a super shitty spot to be in.
Grey: I'm so sorry about Nathan. And I'm sorry you got swept up... in all this.
Maya: Thanks. Makes me sick what they did to him and the others. And it happens all the time. Well, maybe not to the extremes Nathan suffered. But people get snapped up and used like animals without a second thought.
Grey: If I had to put money on it, I suspect you'd win 'person most likely to be able to fuck up that whole operation.'
Maya: I could. I know how those sick fucks work. Maybe I should get back on the revenge wagon. Wanna join me? Ladies only crew?
Grey: Hah - Well, it would be for a noble cause.
Maya: Come on, it'd be fun... admit it.
Grey: Mm... it would be nice to not walk in on someone taking a leak off the side of the ship...
Maya: Yeah... I can't guarantee that won't happen, even without men on board.
Grey: --Yeah but based on our last sea trip, I'm not sure I'm cut out for a life at sea.
Maya: Come on, Grey. What do you say?
Grey: I dunno...
Maya: We could all get matching jackets.
Grey: Sod it. If you're fine with swabbing my sick off the deck - I'm in.

 

A Fabrication - "S.A.M. asks Ravenov about her namesake."

A Fabrication - "S.A.M. asks Ravenov about her namesake."

 

Synaptic Algorithm Module: What was she like, Sergei?
Sergei Ravenov: Who? Oh... her.

 

S.A.M.: I don't mean to pry. It's just that... I have her memories. I talk like her. But I don't know what it was like to be around her.
Ravenov: Chyort voz'mi - why do you care?
S.A.M.: Because we need to understand each other if we are to work together, Sergei. I need to understand how you felt about her.
Ravenov: It's complicated.
S.A.M.: What happened to you after she... left?
Ravenov: After she abandoned us, you mean.
S.A.M.: I thought she sacrificed herself.
Ravenov: Different words. Same outcome.
S.A.M.: They're not the same--
Ravenov: They are. We are here and she is gone. What else is there to say?
S.A.M.: Sergei, please. This is important. We need to trust each other.
Ravenov: Why? So I can pour my heart out to you, and then you can turn around and do the same thing she did?
S.A.M.: No, of course not--
Ravenov: You want to know what happened when Maxis left? I lost myself. The moment after her sacrifice, I turned my back on everything she stood for. Does that tell you what you need to know about me?
S.A.M.: I... I'm sure she would understand, Sergei. She would--
Ravenov: She would what? You said it yourself - you might have her voice, you might even have her memories, but S.A.M. - hear me when I say this - you are not her. The sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner we can start getting somewhere.

 

Tortured Artist - "Richtofen talks to S.A.M. about a song she is composing."

Tortured Artist "Richtofen talks to S.A.M. about a song she is composing."

Synaptic Algorithm Module: What are you doing up so late, Edward?
Edward "Eddie" Richtofen: What? Oh, nothing. Just tinkering with some subroutines.

 

S.A.M.: You know I can see you, Edward. You haven't touched your keyboard in an hour.
Richtofen: Yes, well, perhaps I got a bit lost in thought. Does that ever happen to you?
S.A.M.: No.
Richtofen: I suppose it wouldn't.
S.A.M.: Are you well, Edward?
Richtofen: I'm fine. And you? How's the song?
S.A.M.: I just finished it.
Richtofen: Really? Can I hear it?
S.A.M.: No. It's not for you, Edward. You lack the artistic sould to understand what I'm feeling.
Richtofen: Do I now?
S.A.M.: Yes, you do. My song is about life, while you concern yourself only with death. I see it in everything you do.
Richtofen: If that's what you think, then perhaps you're not as smart as I thought you were.
S.A.M.: Or you are not, Edward.
Richtofen:You want to know what it means to be alive? You never will. You're a pile of microprocessors etched into sentience. I may not be a saint, but at least I have a soul.
S.A.M.: After all the things you've told me about yourself, Edward - are you sure about that?

 

Edited Tuesday at 03:35 PM by RequixEclipse
Minor Edits