You Don't Have to be Crazy to Work Here...0.3

Sven didn't like his odds, and the bleak landscape didn't make matters easier. Apparently, the Demonlands hadn't become any prettier due to the change in Regime. Certainly they were safer, if the Order's historians were to be believed -- no longer were the Demonlands a continuous stretch of land out to eat you. Still the omnipresent fog and twisted flora were disconcerting. As a Order Spy in the heart of enemy territory, he often felt as if there was a dark cloud over his food and drink. The time pressure, naturally, only exacerbated this feeling.

The vial hidden in his jerkin's inner pocket was growing dangerously low. It was, other than his extensive training and web of contacts, his only real protection from being swallowed by the Demonlands without a trace. Furthermore, it was his primary protection, without it most of his resources wouldn't be much help. The vial held a salve made from modified sexual fluids of one of the Order's many Monster Agents. Minerva, a cheerful and skilled Merrow alchemist, had made this batch for him personally.

He still recalled his last briefing with her, months and miles ago. Despite the months between, he could easily remember the Pool and Spa -- the public name for the Order's Micean Intel Branch. He had sat poolside while Minerva bobbed happily in the water. Her tail had languidly shifted through the clear water as she described in vivid detail the synthesis of the protective Cam' Salve. Camouflage, or Cam' Salve for short, was an alchemical product that gave the impression that a Human was marked by a Monster. It's production required among other things, Monster musk, sexual secretions, and charged effluvia. Also lots of odd sexual rituals, apparently.

Her slight, delicate, and pale hands had flitted through the air as she spoke. The bright optimism permeated her voice even when she pitched it lower, due to the semi-public location of their meeting. Though he had appreciated her attempt at discretion, even at a secured Order location, he had found the vulgar and vigorous gesturing to be somewhat unnecessary.

"... And then Ronaldo did that thing with his tongue all over my pap, y'know the hole behind my anus?", she said while lifting her tail, in illustration. Keeping his face expressionless, Sven had stage-coughed and interrupted her spiel -- he'd long ago learned that she would go into greater detail if he didn't direct the conversation.

"So what you're saying", said Sven, "is that this batch of Cam' is much stronger than usual? Is the method of application any different then?"

The slight hands still holding her tail suggestively, had released her fishy appendage and returned to her habitual gesturing as she'd described the necessary modifications in applying the salve.

Minerva's voice lost a bit of it cheer as she responded,"Well, yeah. This batch of Cam' *had* to be so much stronger, you're going deep into the Core Demonlands, Sven. The deeper into Demonlands you go, the stronger the mating musk Monsters use. Don't forget that we more civilized Monsters hold back to fit into Human society, and to keep from turning our men into Incubi -- though to be honest, the anti-corruption drugs have a stronger role in making Humans resistant to Monsterization." She had began to wring her hands, and her normally bright expression was marred with worry.

"Hey, every little bit helps, Minerva, without your restraint, Ronaldo wouldn't be able to walk with that spring in his step, now would he?", Sven said, in an attempt to curb her worry.

At the mention of her husband, Ronaldo, her gaze defocused even as her expression became lustily animated, and her face flushed as she cheerfully muttered,"He wouldn't be able to walk at all, not that it would matter, since we wouldn't leave the house...". Her words became steadily more incoherent, and Sven gave another stage cough when he heard something that sounded suspiciously similar to "everything covered in goo".

At his prompting, she returned to the present moment, and deliberately shifted her posture in the water. Her head was tipped forward as if to accentuate the crown of her head, her tail swished erratically through the water, back and forth. Her hands were no longer wringing each other, and were now making a series of gestures he recognized from before her marriage.

Having known the Merrow even before giving her away at her wedding, he was familiar with her many varied beret torturing gestures. They were oddly recognizable, even without the hat in hand to twist. The actual hat was probably sitting square on Ronaldo's head -- she was quite insistent that he always wear it.

Sven, like all the Order's Human Agents, had learned to tolerate and help Monsters cope with the odd fixations and behaviors intrinsic to Monsterkind. Sven gave her a moment to work through it, and her tail slowed metronome-like, and she straightened back into an air of professionality.

Clearing her throat, Minerva went back into explaining. "Seriously, though, I had to modify the concentration of anti-corruption pills in the standard kit. The pills have to be much stronger to to cancel out the increased chances of Monsterization that the stronger Salve has, so me and the girls had to recalculate the dosing. Now the pills will have to be pulse dosed across a three month period. That's as far as we can stretch it without you risking renal failure. On the plus side, this Cam' Salve will make any Monster other than the Demon Lord think twice before making a move on you."

She had then proceeded to describe how the modified pills had been compounded across a differentiated spectrum, so as to reduce the side effect profile. She also gave a few ritual methods to modify the effect of the Cam', and outlined a few Charms that she and the girls had added to his kit.

"Technically, 3 months is as long as the formulations will give you -- but no way in hell should you actually be in the Demonlands for more than 2 months. Any longer than 2 months at those dosages, and the crash and recovery time will be at least a solid week of fatigue and weakness. It goes without saying that you shouldn't be anywhere near the Demonlands when you cease the regimen. I don't know the mission specifics, but if they expect you to stay longer than that, then tell them to suck tail. And not in a fun way, either."

Aside from the occasional veering into either worry on his behalf, or casual licentiousness, her detailed and technical briefing left him feeling confident and ready for anything.

Despite his developed skills in acting, a prime requirement for an Order Spy, some of the assurance he felt must have shown through. Whatever it was, Minerva switched back into worry.

"Sven, *please* don't get cocky. I handle the tech, not the strategy, but the location alone makes this dangerous. You're not actually *married*, you wouldn't last a minute without the Cam' -- some stupid Monster would take you and we'd never see you again. Be careful."


Back in the present moment, Sven adjusted his valise. The sturdy traveling bag was an old companion, and it now carried 2 and 3/4 months worth of intel, maps, and reports gathered from his sojourn in the Demonlands. His mission had been extended when he had found several leads on the Sabbath, the cult tended to draw the ire of the Order, a sentiment he thoroughly agreed with. Sven had been burning the candle at both ends, but he had much to show for it. At least two Sabbath Cells could now be tracked, and possibly broken.

All the hard work contained in his trusty valise, however, would mean little if he couldn't get out of the Demonlands with it. Too bad the damn Sabbath couldn't be bothered to have its activities closer to the borders of the Demonlands, inconsiderate bastards. Now he had mere week's worth of protection, but 2 weeks of travel to the nearest border -- and as soon as he ran out of formulations, the fatigue and recovery would make him essentially worthless for traveling, or much of anything else.

The situation was bleak, but not hopeless. The mirror flashes in Order code had been terse and vague. "Stay in the area, extraction difficult but possible." After nearly three months of back-room deals, dealing with informants, gathering intel, and other assorted espionage related shenanigans, he should have found the inactivity to be a relief. Not so, being inactive while deep in enemy territory was instead terribly galling. Being a week away from helplessness was doubly so.

The sound of a wagon approaching roused Sven from his musing. He hid the precious valise beneath a nearby bush and tried to peer through the fog at the wagon. It broke from the fog bank, a small but serviceable two-horse coach of the sort used by traveling merchants. Other than its unexpected arrival, it was an oddity in several ways. Unusually for the Demonlands, the wagon was drawn by horses rather than some variant of Centaur. Also, the six Devil Bugs perched along its sides were disconcerting. The driver stopped the coach upon sighting him.

Tense and uncertain, Sven deliberately relaxed his body. Fighting was a no go, seven against one was an untenable circumstance, especially against quick and flight capable Devil Bugs. Their simplicity was no major disadvantage in battle. Pre-emptively, Sven stepped forward slowly, hands raised and open. As he approached, he made as if to stumble and momentarily shifted his arms and legs into a covert sign used by Order Agents.

"Excuse me", said the driver, "could you wait for me there? They can get a bit skittish." Uncertain whether he was referring to the horses or the Devil Bugs, Sven halted in his approach as the driver stepped down from the coach. The thin dark-skinned man's body momentarily shifted into the counter-sign used by the Order, as he approached. The two men clasped hands and exchanged authentication codes.

Satisfied, the man stepped back and reached into his coat, withdrawing some sort of greenish pipe. Placing it to his lips, he blew into it and shifted his fingers quickly and smoothly along the silver levers arrayed along its length. Oddly enough, despite the device failing to produce any audible sound, the six Devil Bugs perched on the coach immediately drew to attention their antennae twitching to and fro. Then in a feat of strange unified coordination they scattered, flying and leaping into the fog. The man placed the pipe back into his coat, and motioned towards the coach.

"Give me a moment, I've got a valise nearby, its important.", said Sven, before heading to the bush he'd stowed it beneath. Sven felt his insides clench when he couldn't find it.

"One of the girls, has probably found it. They're scouting and securing the area. Don't worry, I've recalled Dahlia, she was the one sent to scout for things related to you, and look for backtrackers and trailing.", said the man, his odd green pipe once more in hand. Before Sven could respond, a Bug appeared next to the piper. She stood intimately close to the piper with a bland look on her face, the valise in her hands.

The piper placed a hand on her arm, and she leaned into his touch greedily, rocking as he gently stroked one of the spines on her arm. The smile of joy overtaking her features was so pure, unaffected, and unrestrained that Sven felt somewhat uncomfortable seeing it. As a Spy, he spent most of his time picking through people's expressions or trying to decode their thoughts and feelings. Dalia showed not a smidgen of artifice. With painful clarity, Sven realized that he hadn't seen an unguarded or uncalculated expression for months.


"Good job, Dahlia, give the man his valise. Finish up scouting," said the man, releasing her arm. She handed it to Sven, and then swiftly vanished back into the fog.

After they had entered the coach and closed the door, the man lit a stick of purplish incense and waved it around them both. He and Sven waited for the Oracular Noise Field to take effect before speaking. They introduced themselves, the man was Pietro, the Embedded Agent for this region of the Demonlands.

Embedded Agents are semi-permanently posted in non-Order lands, and could hope for little to no official support or recognition from the Order. Aside from the clandestine, and dangerous nature of the work, the Embedded often had large unwieldy jurisdictions to deal with. In Sven's experience, every single one he'd ever met had been overworked, competent, and prone to eccentricity -- amusingly, an Embedded Agent in the Land of the Mists had given Sven a similar description of Spies. Not too surprising, as there was some degree of overlap in skill sets, and to some degree, personality.

After a bit of conversation on shop and trade craft, Pietro had excused himself to check on the Devil Bugs. He returned a few minutes later with a hot meal and a roughly scrawled map generated from his team's scouting.

It seemed that no one was interested enough in him to bother tracking him -- not in anyway discernible via the Devil Bugs refined quasi-magical scent detection. That alone made the intel on the Sabbath that much more reliable. The cult was as relentlessly persistent as it was insidious. If they'd suspected him, they probably would have took some action by now.

Pietro handed Sven the single hot meal he'd brought and invited him to dig in.

"Don't worry,", said Pietro, as Sven examined the large meal, "I do all the cooking. The ladies are wonderful, really, but Goddess only knows what they'd eat if I wasn't looking after them."

As Sven ate the surprisingly delicious food, Pietro talked a bit more in depth of his team. Periodically, one of the Bugs would sit next to Pietro, and he would stroke her arm as she smiled unabashedly. Despite his despair at their gourmand-like and unsophisticated taste in food, Pietro was clearly proud of his Agents. Between bites of steak and sips of a decent vintage, Sven learned that Pietro had managed to leverage the ability of the Devil Bug Agents in parallelism, scent, and air current detection into interesting and novel procedures. He implied that, with proper training. there were diverse applications for the Devil Bug's native skill set in areas like combat, espionage, surveying and statistical analysis.

Unfortunately, Pietro didn't go into nearly as much detail as the Spy would have wished. He had nearly dove face first into Sven's notes and had assigned an Agent to transcribe the pages he'd read through. The Embedded Agent made a peculiar picture, reading a page in one hand, the other hand caressing the arm of the current copyist. Here, all of the Agents other than Pietro seemed to be Devil Bugs.

After reading a few pages he'd silently play the pipe and yet another Devil Bug Agent would soon appear. Sometimes the Agent would converse as they were groomed. Pietro had given several dozen concertos on the silent green pipe, and currently he was grooming the arm of at least the twentieth Devil Bug Agent. Apparently, they groomed and reported by rota and schedule. Sven hadn't known very much of Devil Bugs, but he had recognized how critical they considered the grooming and occasional chirps produced when rubbing their arms or legs together -- just another odd but bearable quirk really, like Minerva's innate Merrow preoccupation with romance.


By the time Sven had polished off the small feast, a welcome change from two months of Order rations, Pietro had gone over Sven's accumulated notes, and they had been copied twice over. Now the debriefing began in earnest. As Sven clarified various points at Pietro's request, especially those about the Sabbath, the Embedded Agent began to frown thoughtfully.

"This could be pretty big, give me an hour or two to feed my little horde, and give the outliers time to report in on some of this. Do you need anything?", asked Pietro. Fatigued from both the food and debriefing, Sven replied that he'd favor a nap himself. With a pair of nods from the other Agents, Sven was left in the coach with privacy, a pillow and blankets. During his stay in the Demonlands, he'd slept in more luxurious beds; that night, however, Sven slept most deeply of all. That cramped coach, surrounded by comrades in the Order, was as comfortable as his own bed.



In the early morning he was awoken by a rapping on the coach door.

"Come in." said Sven as he stretched and yawned into wakefulness. It was Pietro, bearing coffee and another tray packed to the brim with food. Sven spent a minute tearing into the food and drink, before he noticed how haggard and tired the Embedded Agent looked.

Sighing, the Spy set aside the plate.

"No offense,", said Sven meeting the other Agent's nearly bloodshot eyes, "but you look terrible. What's wrong? You look like you haven't slept a wink. Bad news?"

Pietro cocked an eyebrow in response, it was hard to tell, due to the the man's mustache, but it looked as if he were restraining a smile.

"You're no looker yourself, Sunshine. Point of fact, Devil Bugs are usually diurnal sleepers, I normally don't get much sleep at night, since that's when most of this region's Agents are active. You mentioned news, though...", said Pietro, as he took a comically serious pondering stance placing his chin on his fist.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?", asked Pietro, his brown hands now tapping on the pipe in his lap, his mustache unable to hide his wry amusement. Sven checked his urge to sigh, Pietro had displayed an eccentric sense of humor in the past.

"Assuming, that there is, in fact, good news -- I'd rather go with that first.", said Sven, hiding his discomfort. There were a lot of old jokes about good/bad news, so much so that they were a bit cliche. As almost all of the jokes ended poorly for the Agents involved, it had become a polite way for actual Agents to convey unappealing circumstances to each other.

"Are you sure?", asked Pietro, his eyebrows waggling with humor. Sven actually did sigh this time. Pietro obviously wanted him to play the straight man to whatever his setup was.

"Alright then. The bad news first.", said Sven, playing along, with little humor.

"The bad news,", said Pietro, "Is that you managed to stumble into my chunk of the Demonlands. Salim's chunk is half a mile east. You just missed it." Here, Pietro displayed a gap between his thumb and forefinger, and said,"Now you're my responsibility."

Sven gave a genuine snicker at that. He had honestly been expecting worse. Things could go to hell quite quickly with operations in the Demonlands. Sometimes even literally.

"And the good news?", said Sven, smiling and prompting the other Agent.

"We can get you out of the Demonlands in a week and a half. All expenses paid. Some skirmishes will be unavoidable. You'll probably be weak as a kitten by then, and drawing Monsters like honey draws bears. The girls and I should be able to manage the fighting. Lots of the information you've brought will have enough bearing on several pending operations, so I can't afford to sit on it. It's too dense for most message transmission channels. So I'll have to reduce my fighting force by using them as couriers, while carrying around grade-A Order MonsterBait."

The smile on Sven's face had gradually soured as Pietro spoke. He didn't realize he'd be putting that much of a strain on the other Agents. Pietro clasped his shoulder, and forestalled Sven's apologies. The other man's face bore a wide smile.

The smiling Pietro spoke,"This is exactly the sort of fun I was hoping for! Me and the girls were getting a bit restless. Espionage is nice and all, but it's been a while since my team's had a decent battle."

Sven regarded the other man carefully. He didn't seem to be joking at all, and was apparently enthusiastically looking forward to nearly a week of fighting. Sven tried to replay the conversation from the deranged sort of perspective shared by Embedded Agents -- men and women who signed up to live as Spies 24-7 in enemy territory without vacation or sick leave. He thought that he managed, if just barely, and gave it a shot.

"Yes. Quite a bit of bad news for Salim, to miss out on this.", said Sven. He had to apply a nearly obscene amount of willpower to say it without any hint of an ironic or questioning tone -- as part of his brain was screaming at him to do.

"Yes! I know, he's gonna be pissed. Poor bastard.", replied the excited Pietro, who then informed him that he was going to brief his team. Sven waited before the door to the coach closed, and other man was out of sight before he stopped suppressing the urge to face palm. It really did take all sorts, he remarked to himself as started once more on the surprisingly good breakfast.


They had been making good time and Sven still had 3 more days worth of doses of the Cam' Salve. Sven was on top of the coach with the Embedded Agent. Predictably, Pietro drove like a madman, yet Sven couldn't begrudge him for his haste. They both knew that this would be a running battle. If Sven had more of the Cam' then he'd gladly burn out his organs to fight with his comrades, or prevent the desperate last ditch battle he foresaw. After four days of spirited traveling and Pietro's brinkmanship at the reigns, the Embedded Agent's madness was bearing fruit. Sven admired his flexibility, though the Spy had little choice but to use the Cam', each limited dose delayed the scent of an unmarried man bleeding out into the Demon Heartland -- the other was not nearly so limited, Pietro could make his knowledge of the local paths and utter disregard for physics, sanity, and horseflesh work small miracles.

They had started with an 11 day journey to the border, and 7 days worth of specialized Cam'. Pietro's insanity had somehow crammed 6 days worth of distance into only 4 days. Somehow, the Devil Bug Agents met them with fresh horses. Every day the wagon exchanged the pair, for even a sturdy pair of horses would only last so long under Pietro's "reigns of terror". The Spy never shared his witticism with anyone, for he felt no humor in it, though after four days of sharing a driver's seat with the Pietro, Sven could feel an odd hysterical chuckle or two building within. Seeing a wagon driven full speed unhesitatingly up a rocky 70 degree incline of alien geometry, or a pair of fine mustangs reduced to shivering, flinching, foam covered shadows of themselves tended to do that to a man. Each of the preceding had happened repeatedly so far.

To be fair, Pietro saved his hellrides for truly difficult terrain. Unfortunately the shortest journey to the border had that aplenty. Sven or one of the other Agents would take his place whenever possible. When the terrain wasn't so hellish or even absurdly difficult in a mundane sense. Even then it was against the dark-skinned man's objections. And the landscape was such that Pietro had little relief. Technically Pietro was highest ranking Order Officer present and there would be no recourse but to follow his orders. Reality was a different matter.

On one of the days when the terrain had been unstintingly and continuously malign, things had gotten terrifyingly worse. Pietro had been driving for hours, the last two stretches of their journey had left them all covered in scratches and bat-shit. Then it stretched out before them, a somewhat unremarkable valley.

Generally Pietro told him about the terrain before crossing, so as to "heighten his pleasure of the journey". The utter sincerity of the man's face, brown tones twisted into an expression of reverence, had made Sven's mind go utterly blank. When Pietro described the so-called "Broken Valley" where the ground had hollow pockets and shells that could shatter unexpectedly and swallow them wagon and all... Sven who had grown to love these Agents as his friends and comrades, who would gladly fight in battle and die with them, who then committed murder behind his eyelids -- Sven could take no more.

The Spy's mind frothed and churned. His skull held a kaleidoscope, scattering patterns of lights and dark with a fever pitch. Sven's face flushed, no longer able to weld the patterns of the world. His reactions deserted his iron control.

"Pietro", said Sven, as the mosaic of light poured out of him in a voice that sounded far away even to him, "I'm sure we all loved driving through the Cave of Fire, Soul-Swallowing Darkness, Evil Winds, and Bat-shit. However we are tired from that lovely Three hour tour. Even you. Your hand is shaking." And true enough there was the slightest tremor in the Embedded Agent's hands. Possibly only detectable from the small bleeding cuts that all who had traveled directly through the Cave now sported.

"Well yes,", said Pietro, as he watched the blood drip erratically from his hands. Pietro's normally warm voice was cold, sharp and something burned in his eyes as he turned to look at Sven, "but not due to fear or fatigue, my friend, you see the fumes of the Cave have a peculiar effect --".

Sven truly didn't know what he would have done if one of the three Devil Bug Agents who had accompanied them through the blasted hell cave, now all sporting their own bits of wear and tear, hadn't stepped into the situation. It almost certainly would've been insubordinate. The notion of beating his fellow Agent unconscious and somehow banning him from driving ANYTHING whatsoever figured prominently. Vaguely, Sven suspected that Pietro's Creme Brulee Grande shouldn't be in there too, even if he and all the other Agents had found it an amazing dish. Sven, upon second consideration, found that the notion of a single giant Brulee made for 40 people fit right in with the rest of his thoughts of murder, and violence quite easily.

Whatever was to become of Sven's murderous disordered thinking, or the razor sharp glint in Pietro's eyes was suddenly interrupted. The other three Agents flitted between them, the raspy buzz of their flight echoing wildly in Sven's brain. Agent Dora, her hair brown, clasped Sven firmly but gently, securing his arms with a supra-normal strength. The other two Agents were upon Pietro, one restraining him, the other reached into the Embedded Agent's coat and withdrew his silent pipe.

In the halting speech but steady voice so common to the Devil Bugs, Dora spoke, "Play. Call for relief. Reinforcement. Alternative Path." Pietro contorted his face into an expression of amusement, a well schooled expression. To anyone but Sven perhaps, who had second guessed Kings and Queens, who had skirted the Pandemonium and drawn intel from its denizens with his sanity intact. The Spy had learned to be very good at people, it was his trade. With a shock, he realized that beneath the surface, Pietro was bubbling over with murderous intent.

As the Agent's dark face shifted conveying charm all the while, Sven could feel the narrowness of the moment, knew that if the other spoke it would be words that'd drag the horde of Devil Bugs into a whirlwind of violence -- having seen their intense loyalty first hand, a cold finger dragged itself up Sven's spine.

Before the moment of Sven's shouting or the poisoned words sprang off Pietro's lips. The Agent holding the pipe raised her hand, the fine hairs on her insectile arm trembling chaotically.

"Please.", said Dora, in a voice devoid of force or resistance. Just as watching the play of emotions, and intuiting-discerning the mind beneath had restored Sven's sanity. The sight of the Agent before him restored Pietro, who sagged and nodded. Bloody fingers fumbled over the pipe. They were joined by a group of Devil Bug Agents who had detoured around the Damned Cave.

By some shared simpatico, the Agents seemed to sense the fading wisps of the earlier atmosphere. Unspoken, by common agreement, they set camp for the night. The hollow feeling gave Sven a sense of unease. He watched as the other male Agent insisted on fixing food for everyone, the damp listlessness even pervaded that now familiar ritual. Sven found the notion disgusting.

The Spy walked forward joining Pietro by the fire. With the friendly gleam in his eyes that'd disarmed politicians and paupers alike, Sven spoke, "I was thinking," and Sven continued, even as a wince bloomed on the other's face and wind blew a chill through the camp, "I really liked that Creme Brulee Grande." The snort of true laughter from the other was no less pleasant for being expected, and the horde of Agents were gazing in their direction, interest, hunger and a gleam of happiness in their eyes. And that night, the warm sparks of the fire drowned out the howl of the wind.

The next morning Sven awoke with memories of firelight, full bellies, and cheer in their hearts. Sven knew it was time to speak of the situation. He felt some guilt to put others through so much for his sake, that no one even thought twice of it gnawed at him. As usual, Pietro and his Agents kept up their usual level of background activity. The Bugs would flitter in and out of camp periodically, drawn by silent melodies beyond human perception, changing shifts, bringing in intel and supplies. As always there were several of the Agents near Pietro, who habitually groomed one while doing another activity.

Seeing his moment, Sven joined the man when he seemed to be occupying a lull in activity. Pietro cut him off before he spoke.

"I'm sorry, my friend, I've pushed everyone too hard, even myself it seems.", said Pietro. The Embedded Agent continued grooming the Agents beside him."The Cave doesn't effect Monsters, and usually our Order training is enough to minimize the side effects. Even a untrained human with a strong will can shake it off. You were already worn out when we first met. In all my years in the Demonlands, never before have things ever gone so far...". The man trailed off.

Sven's extensive training as a Spy usually gave him several knacks in dealing with others. Ultimately, as Order tutors in most subjects tended to insist, you just had to go with your intuition and heart.

"I'm just a single Spy, Pietro. Damn if I know why anyone should go through all of this just to see me back.", said Sven, finally sharing his sentiments on the matter. Despite his enhanced social abilities, Sven lacked the easy familiarity that Pietro and his Agents seemed to take for granted. The surprise on Pietro's face seemed to bleed into the brief series of chirps that the Devil Bug Agents habitually made. The slight oily scent they gave off filled the air as a pair turned to gaze blandly at the Embedded Agent.

Under the sunlight, the tableau of the two closest Devil Bug Agents ecstatic faces as they held Pietro through a fit of his usual barking laugh was somehow fitting. Half a week ago, Sven would've though it odd that even laughter didn't interrupt the gentle caresses of the man. Now it had become par for the course. The Embedded had a strong tendency towards eccentricity, being able to go native while maintaining loyalty to the Order was a prime requirement.

Mind clearer than it had been in days, Sven waited out the laughter, and meditated as the Bugs cleaned Pietro's face in their odd way. The Bugs soon flitted out in exchange for another pair who took up position next to the now weakly chuckling man.

"I forgot that they barely tell Spies anything other than the bare essentials.", said Pietro, now laughed out. Sven felt slight irritation at that. The other man was basically correct, but he could've put it a bit more politely.

"Geo-politics, diplomacy, and strategy are lifetime studies. The Order decided long ago that generalists who could manage in and shape these environments with a minimized background were just as necessary as those who could plan our long term goals.", Sven replied testily. It was true, thought Sven, with some pride of profession justifying his irritation.

"You are right, of course.", said the other man. Though Sven could detect the sincerity, he still felt that the man was patronizing him. It was untrue, but Sven realized that as a Spy, he was a bit touchy on the subject. Paying attention to making the details fit a given assignment without in depth knowledge of the big picture was a practice that had succeeded in producing flexible intelligence agents throughout Human history. Spies had little business in worrying about the larger long term matters.

Nonetheless, Sven's trained knack realized that something was there, some datum Pietro had that the Spy was missing. He recognized and deliberately put aside the very familiar feeling -- normally Sven felt this sort of thing at least a dozen times per social interaction. Only the elements that dealt with the mission, or implied danger were truly important. It wasn't like he could afford to spend all day shifting through errata.

A glance at the others showed that they were waiting for the Spy to finish processing. As usual, the Bugs were sensitive enough to somehow detect that he was done. At their slight shifts in posture, Pietro turned to him.

"Sven, my friend, we'll put the matter of you devaluing yourself aside, for the moment.", said Pietro, and if Sven found it easier to look into the fire than the other's eyes, no one mentioned it. Sven nodded as he watch the flame slowly eat and char the wood.

"Did they tell you about the modified Cam', at least?", asked the dark man. He continued speaking despite the brief nod of acknowledgement from Sven. "How after you reach the end of the dosing period you'll have to recover for at least a week without even the weaker version of Cam', or else risk a high chance of Monsterization?"

Sven had enough control of himself that very few Humans or even Monsters would be able to notice his shock. The Bugs, however were innately extraordinary chemical, magical and electromagnetic sensors. Sven failed to feel any surprise at the brief series of chirps or the shifting scent in the air. Pietro, a Human integrated into their swarm as far as possible without being an Incubus, would naturally be aware soon after.

"No. Not in so many words", said Sven, the rest of the sentence only continued within Sven's mind, because I manipulated one of our best Alchemists, and deliberately ignored her medical advice out of a lack of self-preservation.

His friend, the Merrow Minerva, was a skilled Order Alchemist. That set of skills however only reached so far. Basically a socially awkward lab jockey, she likely would've never have managed to be happily married to Ronaldo, but for Sven's prompting. Sven had made it a habit to redirect her worry, and outright ignore her long technical speeches whenever possible. Of course when it came to the actual tool and ritual portions, Sven was honestly attentive, that sort of thing he'd always found relevant. Normally he could project enough confidence to convince her that he was attending to her somewhat uninteresting magico-scientific babble.

Sven was given half a minute to face palm. While he did so, he elaborated, "I really wasn't paying enough attention to that portion of the briefing. Medicine bores me. This is solely my fault." Neither the crackling of the fire, nor the occasional chirps or buzzing of wings lessened the sense of visible and awkward silence.

"The Broken Valley, Sven.", replied Pietro, and rather than blame, there were notes of sympathy and similarity in his tone. This morning they had unanimously agreed to plot the course through that hellscape meticulously, even Pietro -- who had previously planned a somewhat reckless headlong rush.

People, no matter how well trained, inevitably made mistakes. That was probably the sentiment the other man was trying to convey.

"Sidereal Mountain, the eater of horse souls.", said Sven, joining in with the portion of the journey that would probably give him the occasional nightmare for years to come. Though it was technically successful, Sven couldn't find it within himself to see any interaction with that twisted landscape as anything other than some sort of cosmic mistake.

There was a series of chirps, and a wafting of alien pheromones.

"Crossing the Effervescent River.", said Pietro. Despite his suspicions, Sven met the other man's gaze with a questioning look.

Flashback

The day of Crossing the Effervescent River had been relatively sane geography and normal trails. Pietro, who had barely slept across the last few days, had spent most of the time catching up on his sleep in the coach. Periodically a Bug would fly onto the coach and climb inside with the sleeping Embedded Agent, or fly out the window. Agent Djarah, had sat beside Sven as he handled the reigns, occasionally she would direct him in a certain direction. Invariably, she would urge him to drive faster. With a slight yet mundane sense of horror, Sven realized that the majority of the Bug Agents dealings with horses and driving in general were probably derived directly from Pietro.

Agent Djarah, had grabbed and drawn up on the reigns suddenly, when they were still a dozen coach lengths from the shining river. Their being somewhat distributed across a group made it somewhat difficult for Sven's intuition to grasp an individual Devil Bug's mindset. Either they were very obvious, or very vague. His intuition functioned reasonably well on a group of them, but there was only Djarah beside him.

"Pietro.", said Djarah. He didn't need the anxious chirps from her legs nervously shifting together, nor a Spy's intuition to pick out the message. Djarah's fair freckled skin looked clammy and pale, Sven knew from her tone and expression that the Human equivalent would be grief, loss, and despair.

Uncertain and nearly panicked, Sven did his best to scan the area around them as he frantically knocked on the roof of the coach. The buzzing of multiple pairs of wing resounded from inside the coach, and four Devil Bugs, shot out of the coach's windows and into the distance. The brief glimpse of them that Sven had, showed the same signs -- even ones with dark skin were paled and clammy. Pietro opened the coach door, stretching and yawning. He closed the door and climbed next to Djarah.

"Pietro.", she said again, in that mournful tone. Sven continued regarding the Effervescent River. Pietro, however, regarded the situation with aplomb, a bored and slightly patronizing look on his face as he held Djarah.

"It's alright,", said the Embedded Agent soothingly, as Djarah pushed fiercely into his hug rubbing against him frantically as he continued, " It'll be fine. I *have* to be with Sven to show him the way. It's not like I'm asking you girls to go with me." The last statement was made with enough irony that a schoolchild would've realized that the speaker thought the notion absurd. Nonetheless, it was apparently the wrong thing to say. Djarah's body went rigid, locked into a flight/fight response, she clung to him desperately.

At that point, Pietro began showing actual signs of concern. After a minute or two of petting her and insisting that he "needed someone to take something somewhere important" and "that he was glad Djarah was here so that she could do that without getting near the river", Pietro had managed to get her to loosen her grip enough that he could withdraw his pipe and notepad from within his coat.

He'd scribbled a few signs and a brief map on his notepad, tore off the sheet and handed it to her.

"Yeah, I need you to take this,", here he held up the pipe, "to meet me and Sven past the river, here.", Pietro continued, and with a few seconds of his playing and a tap on the hastily-made map, she straightened, nodded, took the two items, and flew off.

Sven's natural complexion was fair and tanned, but now he was certain he looked just as pale and clammy as the Bugs, He certainly felt like it. He had realized that the Embedded Agent usually had a minimum of his swarm with them when the trail was not just difficult, but actively malicious. Even the horses, who had a relatively sane hand driving them, were nickering and shuffling anxiously.

"Pietro, anything I should know about?", asked Sven, managing to produce a sense of calm as he looked at the river a dozen coach lengths in front of them.

At this point Sven had been certain that the Effervescent River would likely be as bad an obstacle as that damn mountain trail where the stones bled and the path twisted through space in such an unnatural way that he'd simultaneously never be able to remember or forget. Pietro had managed a strained grin as he drove them through that unpleasant bit of business. The three Bugs with them had been utterly deadpan and uninterested in the mind breaking surroundings, looking at anything and everything other than Pietro with boredom.

Before that leg of the trip, Sven had been warned to look where Pietro did and nowhere else, as the Human mind didn't deal well with such places. After having dealt with Pandemonium, Sven followed Order advice on these matters meticulously. Now Sven steeled himself for a hellscape that frightened the even normally unperturbed Devil Bug Agents, preparing himself, waiting to take in Pietro's briefing and hard-won advice.

"Nope. Its a river, not too deep. The water is potable and clean. Basically a cakewalk, Sven.", said the Embedded Agent as he took the reigns and drove the horses at a moderate pace into and down the river. As if to demonstrate, Pietro reached out a hand and drew it through a waterfall as they passed. Continuing to drive one-handed, the man rubbed the fingers on his wet hand together, producing a squeaking sound.

After a few minutes of somewhat random turns along the river, and after they were doused by a few waterfalls, Pietro handed the reigns to Sven.

"The bottom of the river is normal from this point on, you don't even have to worry about the underwater caves. Keep going down the river, and wake me when you see red barked trees on the left. Between the girls and the Forest of Death, I'll need as much rest as possible before we get there. The route's pretty scenic, try and enjoy it."

The Spy startled internally at the mention of a "Forest of Death. Looking at the other man from the corner of an eye while he drove downriver, Sven determined, to his displeasure, that Pietro was being serious. The Spy sighed as the other Agent climbed into the coach.

End Flashback

"That series of chirps and scent pattern was a Full Quorum, Sven. The Effervescent River was the worst part of the trip, from their perspective. Apparently, the water dissipates scent markings.", elaborated Pietro.

Ah, that explained it. Sven had learned that the Bugs used some sort of group decision making process utilizing various signals, like scent. A Quorum was a majority vote, a Full Quorum was unanimous. Bits and pieces relating to Devil Bugs churned in the Spy's mind. The minor elements the Order had debriefed him on, the small percentage of Pietro's substantial research they had discussed, and his own observations.

Sven realized that there was a deliberate leading quality to the Pietro's statements. Not all of them, but the ones on specific subjects... The ones about the Devil Bugs, Spies, and himself especially. He felt the familiar churning Pool in depths of his mind -- his mind's attempt to weave all the disparate strands into a usable whole. The Order tutors taught their Agents not to disturb the process, but rather to work with it. Though it was a hit or miss sort of technique, the results were often too valuable to risk tampering with.

"What are you trying to tell me?", asked Sven. Pietro's expression of "duh" was the single best example he'd ever seen on a Human face. Sven curbed his irritation, naturally that would be a form of tampering. It was clear that Pietro wanted his novel insights on the matter.

"No wait. Sorry, I'm not used to this, Pietro, I'm hardly a top-level Strategist or Inquisitor.", continued the Spy, voice and manner clearly showing his scorn for the Inquisition. Pietro groaned in frustration, but waved his hand dismissively at the same time. Whatever was actually frustrating the man wasn't actually meant to be added to the churning Pool in the back of Sven's mind.

Slowly bits of clarity began to shine within the roiling mass. Pietro was integrated in the Bugs swarm, their behavior at the Effervescent River, sorrow, grief. The brief mentions Pietro dropped of his research on their senses...

Sven spoke, describing the shining lights accumulating in the Pool's center,"The swarm treats existence as a sensory marker. Scent must have a higher priority than sight. The river dissipates scent markers. From their perspective you wouldn't seem to be out of range, you would seem not to exist, to be dead."

The other male Agent, was so still and controlled, that his brief nod to Sven only conveyed the impression to continue and absolutely nothing more. So that is what Sven did.

"Your swarm has been hiding its numbers. No more than 20 members are here at a time, but I intuit more than twenty individuals. From their varied posture and tendency to distance themselves you've been circulating the swarm members unknown to me while distracting me with the ones I recognize. The fresh horses were continuously scouted and placed on our route by the extra Agents. For a Human, you show an extraordinary tolerance for alien landscapes where time and space distort, and your swarm is immune to the ill effects. The implication is that you are in the middle of wide-scale mobilization of troops. You *are* a high-level Strategist for the Order." The nod was accompanied by a genuine smile now. Sven continued speaking as more bits of light cohered within the Pool's center.

"I wasn't aware we were integrating enough Monsters into the Order to be useful for military actions on such a large scale. That could be potentially disastrous without a testing ground distant from Human society to work things out. Oh. Embedded Agents serve a dual purpose." A nod and a wave of dismissal. Pietro pointed at Sven, as if to say, now yourself. The Spy had never particularly liked himself as a topic of thought or conversation -- the points of light relating to himself were not quite as bright, but they were still visible.

"You're using me as bait in your military campaign." Another "duh" face, and a nod to continue. Yes, that would be obvious to a Strategist, no doubt Pietro's own Pool was filled with maps and tactics. Sven was the subject, the Spy tried again.

"My lucky success in gathering and infiltrating two Sabbath Cells in 2 and 3/4 months, brought me to your attention. Or...my recklessness in pushing things so close to the line." Pietro gave a deliberate cough and shook his head. No, those were too involved with his own self-prejudices, close but not quite correct. Sven scanned for dim glitters of light in the darkest section, for ignored intuitions.

"My skills as a Spy are advancing to the point that keeping Order secrets from me is becoming difficult.", Sven's voice was growing hoarse, he could feel his brow prickle with sweat as he tried to relax back into a meditative state, to continue to speak of the lights in darkness. "I'm becoming a liability in the field, I can know far too much. After using me as bait in the campaign, your going to...", Sven stopped, but the light behind his eyes glittered undeniably. Kill me...or promote me. The Spy couldn't manage to say the words.

Pietro wasn't one to leave him in suspense. The sigh and face palm from the other man was a bit of welcome dramatics. "Sven, my brilliant, foolish friend, you are being promoted.", said Pietro, he held up a hand to forestall a response.

"Frankly, you've been growing so reckless that we've worried you'd get yourself killed before we could promote you. Have some pie and recover. This interview was basically a formality, but several of your Micean friends in the Order insisted that I try and knock loose some of that self-depreciation before it leads you to an early grave.", said Pietro. A deliberate scuffing sound to his right drew Sven's attention. Agent Dran was holding out a pie, he took the Bug's proffered pie, already sliced and started to wolf it down. Order techniques could stretch the innate talents of Humans and Monsters quite far, but they couldn't dispel the need for fuel.

The pie was minced meat and cheese, another excellent effort from the Strategist. After curbing the sharpest edge of his appetite on half the pie, Sven sought to sate his curiosity. Pietro and the others were also eating, together in a clump devoid of personal space, as was their habit. Soon it would be maps, grooming and relaying silent messages to the possibly regiment-sized swarm. Sven had gotten a sense for the timing of their rituals, and could now easily question the other man during that period without disrupting the workflow.

Promotion was obviously preferable to death, not that the Order had any strong inclination towards capital punishment, or "removing loose ends" -- well not in the last half-century or so. Severance packages, pensions, and retirement were usually more likely in the current age. A bit more detail on his promotion would be nice, but obviously Pietro was the hub of an Order campaign in the Demonlands -- that had to take priority.

They had an entire day to camp, because it would take an entire day for the swarm to map and survey a safe path for a coach to navigate the Broken Valley. The time-space distortion of the region would allow them to condense 3 days of travel distance into a single day of actual travel. With the surveying for a safe path costing them an additional day, upon exiting the Broken Valley, Sven would have a single day's dose of the Cam' with 2 days distance of travel to the border.

Sven soon had time to question the Strategist, though not during his usual routine of piping, mapping, and grooming. Pietro had set to restocking the coach. Throughout the journey it had served as both a larder, and a cramped but serviceable sleeping area -- the Bugs in especial preferred the cramped confines, more so during the rare times that Pietro finally admitted to fatigue. Though the specifics eluded the Spy, they often fit at least five of their number in a space hardly adequate for a single man.

Whenever Pietro cooked, he did so in bulk, quartermaster-style. With a full day encamped, the man was in rare form, there were nearly a dozen cooking fires around the camp. There was a constant traffic in and out of the camp, Agents flying in with raw supplies which Pietro soon set others to processing, as he himself started the major tasks of the makeshift kitchen, repeatedly orbiting the stations and keeping things in order. Not that he actually had too, Sven noted, obviously Pietro had drilled his strenuous hygienic standards into the swarm long ago.

When Sven had remarked on their competency, Pietro had actually blushed, and set him to grinding a large bowlful of oddly shaped blueish grain, with a brief warning not to eat any until it had been leached. With mortar and pestle in hand Sven had followed as Pietro had set up several water filled pots with fine sieves next to a fire. After motioning for Sven to sit there, the man returned with a grain-filled mortar and pestle of his own and sat next to him. They ground the grain as they spoke.

"Alright, Sven, you've noticed we're not too formal out here. Not to be curt, but your dossier makes it clear that you are oddly disinterested in the Order's internal workings. Especially for such a experienced Agent. One might even say, you're actively disinterested. Also use your wrist more, that's too full to pound away at it. Care to tell me why, Sven Novus?", said the Strategist, as he demonstrated the use of the mortar and pestle. Sven frowned and ground the grain somewhat harder than necessary. His thoughts turned to his native Misceus as Pietro probably intended.

"I've never used a mortar and pestle, before.", said Sven not quite able to mask all the bitterness laced in his words. The Spy deliberately took a deep breath before responding to the actual question. "No, don't worry about it, Pietro. Non-Misceans can't be expected to understand. The 'Novus' is more of a caste than an actual family name -- it's actually a bit of a slight implying lack of accomplishment. Misceus claims to be a meritocracy, but I owe my education to the Order funded orphanage. I'm lucky to be as learned as I am."

Pietro said,"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. The dossier mentioned that you'd passed up being permanently attached to our Diplomatic Corps there. Nice cushy job, the Order training for Diplomats is very similar to that for Spies -- I've yet to see anyone try to make a Diplomat fight his way out of a burning building."

Sven snorted in an unguarded moment. Everyone with high enough clearance inevitably mentioned that incident to him. He hardly even considered it a notable moment in his career, only half the building was on fire. Granted it was the half he was trapped in...

"Is there any way for me to continue field-work?", asked Sven, partially out of bitterness, and half out of curiosity.

"Without being married?", said Pietro with a snort of his own, as he poured his grains into a sieve-pot and placed it on the fire.

"Shall I simplify this for you, Sven?", he asked as he returned with a refilled bowl of grain. Sven sized up the other man's demeanor in a glance.

"I'm not going to like it.", said the Spy.

"No. To be fair, it's only because you've spent your career trying to avoid anything unrelated to your field. Remember the churning Pool? That's only a sporadic ability until a certain level of skill is reached. That's why everyone gets told to leave it be. Frankly, your Handler didn't expect you get enough intel to break two Sabbath Cells -- the Sabbath wasn't even on your checklist. You did your mission, and extra credit to boot. Our Analysts gave a very low probability for even tracking the Sabbath activity in Salim's neck of the Demonlands. Salim keeps the pressure on them, but the area he's Embedded in is twice as large as Misceus. Currently, there's no way he can get the resources to stomp them out entirely, Embedded Agents are expected to put resources into the Home Office's coffers not the other way around.", said Pietro, his displeasure with Order policy towards Non-Order territories was evident.

Sven considered the other man's words. Taming the churning Pool had it's appeal. During most of his career it had been sporadic. Sometimes it formed the connections he needed. More often than not it gave nothing, leaving him to rely on the more consistent tools of his formally honed intuition and tradecraft

"We'll speak of it later, I've got to make the rounds. They're getting a bit restless.", said Pietro as he proceeded to do just that, orbiting around once more before settling into a pattern of cooking and directing the efforts of the camp.

Sven ground grain and meditated as he felt the back of his mind churn as he watched the activities around him. As he was watching Pietro cooking and grooming, as he saw how his hands ended up on some tools more than others, as he saw how the Agents of his swarm would hand him a towel or a handkerchief as the sweat broke most strongly on his brow, as he saw that Pietro placed the used towels in specific places for their benefit, he saw that their antenna twitched strongly as the background chirping shifted in certain ways, he saw that Pietro's pattern of shifting through the camp wasn't fixed but varied in time with the sounds..

"I've noticed you maintain the White Flame meditation.", called the Strategist, not looking up from dicing a pile of odd tubers, batches of which were being scalded and then dried over the makeshift smokehouse, they were important valuable, Sven noticed.

"Otherwise I'd have freaked out by now." replied the Spy.

Pietro responded, "Just so long as you keep in mind that you didn't know that. You intuited that I knew that from observing me. The Pool works with what you have. Spy training makes you a walking talking Theory of Mind Detector. But it's --"

"Not actually telepathy.", said Sven, finishing the sentence. The Spy stifled his urge to snicker. Order Agents were versed in the basics of their skills, and how they were enhancements of their internal abilities. A random Human or Monster, however could easily be flustered and mistake a Spy's variation of intuition for telepathy.

Sven applied his newfound skill to look, see, and know that: Pietro, a man who spent a large amount of time in research, was irritated that Sven had habitually narrowed his perspective and not availed himself of the Order's resources as much as he could. That Pietro had to check whether or not a skilled Agent like Sven knew basic theory due to his deliberate overspecialization which had been subtly pointed out to him by his many colleagues. That he ignored their concerns and had so little self-regard. That they feared for his life due to his recklessness...

Pietro looked up from slicing another batch of tubers directly into Sven's eyes with a knowing expression. Sven jerked backwards.

"Had enough, Sven?", asked the man.

"Y-yes.", said the Spy, a cold sweat on his brow. At his words, Pietro and the Bugs around him continued exactly what they had been doing. Now however there was nothing to detect, the world around him was blank, told Sven nothing. There was nothing for his intuition to grip or grasp or feed into the churning Pool...

"Shut up and listen closely, Sven, cuz producing a null value for a massive set of inputs is harder than it looks.", said Pietro. Sven closed his mouth with an audible snap and did exactly what the Strategist said to still the churning Pool.

That afternoon's cooking and supply processing had satisfied Pietro, so in the evening, the Strategist interspersed Sven's training with his usual routine of grooming, playing music, and receiving reports with the swarm. Now however, there was a small crowd of twenty crammed all around the man.

The Bugs were much more tactile than Sven had seen up to this point. Frequently touching each other and the Strategist. They shifted closer or further to the man in some odd pattern as members continuously joined and left. Pietro had told him not to bother examining the swarm's patterns. Sven was proud that he hadn't. It was harder than he expected, but the new control over his expanded perceptions was becoming an odd yet near-familiar feeling to it. This was a good sign, Sven felt.

Pietro clarified how the early levels of formal skill training interacted with the Pool, and that with the appropriate effort, the fundamental Order specialties could be enhanced via certain feedback loops with the Pool. Pietro finally mentioned the new position the Order was grooming him for.

"The Inquisition!? Pietro, I'm not Inquisitor material. They're all stuffed shirts, quacks, clerks, and snoops.", said Sven, his face flushing. The Spy's vaunted control was fraying. He couldn't help but notice that he'd had more outbursts lately than in the last few years combined. The new levels of technique, and training were more of a strain than he'd expected.

"Snoops, fine tailoring, and literacy. Those bastards. Enjoy the dessert.", said Pietro, his mild words tore through Sven's preconceptions of the Inquisition with barely any effort.

The new doubling of his perception didn't help matters. Sven knew that Pietro knew that Sven knew he was being unreasonable. A Bug Agent unobtrusively sat a bowl of dark ruffled foamy material next to the Spy before easily cramming herself into the group, a small distance from the Strategist. She began packing a satchel, antenna twitching in Pietro's direction all the while. Clearly the swarm was no longer so subdued or restrained. Following Pietro's earlier instructions, Sven managed to keep from applying his skill to try and figure out why this was so.

Sven glanced down at the bowl. It was filled with a familiar Miscean dessert. He ate a spoonful. The dark foam was creamy, bittersweet, and dissolved on his tongue just like it was supposed to. A passing Bug sat a small mug next to him before cramming herself into the group, two others broke off from the group and set about camp tasks.

The aroma of his favored tea drifted from the mug, he hadn't drank it in months. Sven lifted it. The tea was the perfect temperature for drinking. He took a sip.

"In case you're wondering, Sven. This is only slightly informal from their perspective, like belching or scratching. You're equivalent to a trusted guest or family friend. If we didn't have a visitor, they'd be licking your dessert off me right now.", said Pietro blandly, without looking up from his reading. Sven sprayed tea everywhere.

Damnit, he clearly means that, thought Sven. The flustered Spy sat down the mug, and wiped the excess tea from his face with his forearm.

Without missing a beat the Strategist continued. "The White Flame pervades the Pool. Stay energetically relaxed. Balance the Pool poised between action and inaction. I know the Inquisition has been haunted by the perceptions of the rockier parts of our history. Have you ever actually met an Inquisitor, Sven, or just *heard* about them?", said Pietro.

After rechecking his meditation. Sven considered what he knew of the Inquisition, in this current Enlightened Era, where no one would ever consider burning at the stake to be reasonable. The few Inquisitors he knew about were highly public figures. No matter where they fell on the moderate to extreme spectrum, they seemed to do little else but argue and debate Order policy on Monsterkind.

The end result was that the Order basically ignored them, and defaulted to a pragmatic moderate position. Technically, the Inquisition had massive power over the Order as it was the internal policing branch. Thankfully, rank and file Agents seldom had to deal with them. They were always too busy debating and infighting to do anything.

"Well no. I can ignore those weirdos, my rank wasn't high enough to have to deal with them. I've built my career on ignoring impractical policy and instead focused on mission goals.", said Sven. It was true and his pride in this buoyed his nerves enough that he picked up the bowl. Sven glanced at the Strategist. The dark skinned man was somewhat cloudy to his intuition, probably always had been -- Sven simply hadn't realized it until his Pool developed.

Frankly, Sven wanted to eat the dessert, or drink the tea without Pietro flustering him with an odd statement. This little game of startling Sven was reminiscent of some of Sven's early Spy training in informal interrogation. No doubt the similarity was deliberate, and for his benefit. Sven had passed this sort of Spy training ages ago. He'd be able to manage still, even if his internal landscape had changed radically.

"Y'know Pietro, I honestly am sorry about how much strain I've added to you on this journey. I didn't realize, just after the cave, you must be handling a massive task already --", said Sven. He had intended to use the truth as early Spy training dictated. The obvious truth would mask the other truth of Sven's intentions to eat and drink during Pietro's response.

Instead he had told the truth in a fit of fumbling ineptitude. A mere day or two ago, Sven would have pulled it off without a thought.

Frustrated with his performance, Sven dug into the dessert anyway. Pietro cleared his throat deliberately. Sven braced himself.

"That dessert was quite difficult to make. The ganache emulsion was difficult. Making it today without you noticing was hard.", said Pietro. Sensing his sincerity, Sven accepted the complement, and ate more slowly, allowing himself to savor the rare dessert. The Spy then set the bowl aside for a moment intending to finish the last bit after clearing his palate with the tea.

He took a strong mouthful of the lukewarm tea.

"Your Handler, Jourgahna is an Inquisitor. Strange that you've never met her. I was told that she's usually very hands-on, and protective of her Agents.", said Pietro, honestly.

Sven's gulp at swallowing the mouthful of tea was too loud. His eyes watered, because a good portion of the mouthful had gone down the wrong pipe. Sven sat there refusing to let his body wheeze, hunch or cough, by force of will. A few long seconds passed.

Pietro sighed, and turned around retrieving a sheet of paper from behind himself. The portion of the swarm around him turned away from Sven's direction as well. The background chirps of the swarm became a loud chorus. Through his watering eyes Sven saw that even the Bugs doing tasks around the camp were facing away from him, seemingly occupied with their tasks.

The coughing, wheezing fit that no one saw was at least a minute long. Sven wiped his eyes and recovered his poise. Ironically, he still wanted to drink the tea. He looked around, everyone was still looking in the other direction. The moment he picked up the mug, the loud chorus diminished to its usual slight volume. Everyone was now facing him. Sven placed the mug back down without drinking from it.

Nonchalantly Sven picked up the ganache, and savored a spoonful. Certain that his basic poise still operated as well as it ever did, Sven continued the conversation.

"Jourghana's a good Handler, Pietro. Even if she does drink like a fish and steal pencils. She's been loyal and gotten me out of more scrapes than I can name. And I'm not the only Agent who feels that way.", said Sven. He meant it, and the bit about her drinking and stealing pencils didn't even count as gossip at this point.

The workaholic Order Oni was apparently moderately well known in the Order. She was also totally unapologetic about drinking and pencil theft. Rumor had it that she actually commissioned the circulating sketches of her engaged in the two tasks with a caption below it. The caption read, "The Oni way to deal with paperwork.". The fact that Sven had seen the sketches in several Order locations had implications that he only now considered.

Sven's curiosity was piqued. Jourghana was not what he'd expected an Inquisitor to be. She was as unobtrusive or pushy as a situation called for, and essential for the smooth functioning of 2 entire Spy Cells. Sven looked at Pietro, for tacit approval, the man had all but stated that he expected Sven to treat this set of information like a set of intel to analyze.

"Give me a list of what you think you should screen for first.", said Pietro, when Sven did, the other nodded and coached him on how to produce and control the feedback between his Spy procedures and the Pool. Then Sven set the whole in motion.

"Jourghana periodically cycles through several locations, the widespread circulation of the sketches is a cover that allows her to manage several Spy Cells. This would give her plenty of intel for internal policing, yet neither I nor my Spy colleagues spend much time gathering information on Order Agents. There must be another branch for that. The Inquisition is a Spymaster ring.", Sven said. The Strategist held up a hand to stop him, he was once more cloudy to Sven's intuition.

"That other branch probably isn't what you're thinking. Further information information is not available at this time. You keep leaving yourself out of the picture, but otherwise, you're doing quite well.", said Pietro, he continued, "We were both basically raised by the Order. Intuiting what the plans, likely hiding places, honesty, and contacts of a person is what you're used to. Widen your scope, Sven. For now thought, I'll just tell you the basics."

Pietro continued, "I guess you've never put much thought into how a mediocre Order Spy could live forever on blackmail, extortion, and confidence schemes without getting caught. Goddess only knows what you'd do if you slipped into some form of insanity that didn't interfere with your training. Unlike me, your training gives you a Theory of Mind. Strategy is basically logistics, and reactions. I've a Theory of Behavior, my wives and I could cripple a city in a weekend -- even if 3/4ths of them stayed home."

Though the other man was still cloudy to Sven's intuition, his Pool churned of its own accord, and light blossomed within. Then Sven remembered the man right after the cave, bubbling with murder. Pietro's voice was rough as spoke, "I might have decided to mercilessly slaughter a hundred or so Corrupted Monsters, just to make this campaign easier. If someone hadn't been there to tip the situation."

Pietro's grateful smile froze Sven's body even as the Spy's mind spun in confusion.

"I didn't really do anything. I didn't stop you, or convince you.", said Sven feeling uncomfortably pressured by the other's gratitude.

Pietro was oddly, deliberately, transparent to Sven's intuition as he responded, "Oh no. You couldn't have done that. I was pretty far out of it for a minute there. I could tell you were going to attack me, normally not a good plan. In that state, I was going to kill you in self-defense. Then continue with my plan to whittle down the Corruption forces like a war criminal. Even if you hadn't noticed, I may not have snapped out of it in time."

"You'd planned it right before I spoke. And after I spoke you decided to let me attack you, and then slay me. You would've won.", said Sven, taking advantage of Pietro's deliberate transparency. He found himself simultaneously disturbed and astonished by the other's candor.

"A Theory of Behavior beats a Theory of Mind in a fistfight, Sven. To be fair, you would've beat me into a bloody mess if you were able. Also probably something involving horses.", said Pietro. Sven snorted at how his mind's earlier crazed urging had placed "keeping Pietro from driving anything ever again" at the top of the list. Fair enough, Sven supposed, deciding to forgive and put it behind them. The other Agent obviously had.

"Actually that's reasonably accurate for a model that doesn't examine motivation or cognition. Wait a moment. How exactly did I change the situation?", asked Sven. As he recalled, Agent Dora, of Pietro's swarm had stopped the other man.

"In that moment, you couldn't have convinced *me*. You convinced the girls. *They* convinced me.", said Pietro. The background chirping shifted subtly. After a second's glance at the swarm coiled around him, Pietro continued, "According to them, you positively reeked of love, friendship, loyalty, and murder. Quite the odd duck, aren't you? That is what kept them from simply backing my play. Trust me, you're a born Inquisitor, they're not witch-hunters anymore. The actual Inquisition -- not the public spectacle -- keeps the Order on the straight and narrow. Prediction, analysis, slight pushes, and nudges are the modern tools of the Inquisition. The amount of trouble either of us could cause is freakishly immense -- and neither of us is a front-line Agent with a lightning sword. The Order needs us usefully occupied and on an even keel. Thumb-screws and torches just won't cut it, and they never did."

Mind filling with questions, Sven decided to aim for the certainties first. Turning his head in a semi-circle as if to address them all. "Before anything else, I'd like to thank you all for keeping your husband from killing me.", said Sven. Pietro grinned broadly clearly proud of his swarm.

The shift in the background scent, rustles, and chirps was expected. Sven was however surprised by the sound of more than a dozen different female voices speaking in unison.

"You're welcome, Sven.", they said, in their odd halting way.

Slightly abashed at such a volume of attention, Sven nodded, picked up his tea and took a sip.

"What was that thing with me and horses about, Sven?", asked Pietro. The Spy managed to restrain the spit-take. At Sven's glare, Pietro called an official end to the old Spy training protocol and promised not to interrupt or get mad if Sven told him.

A larger bowl of the dessert and a full pot of tea, perfectly warm were placed beside him. For the next hour Sven consumed the entirety of both, while telling Pietro in exact detail what he thought of his driving, treatment of horses, pretensions as a tour guide, and sanity. With a patently false solemn face that didn't hide his amusement in the least, Pietro continued his normal routine with the swarm. He didn't interrupt Sven a single time.

The swarm had finished the survey of the Broken Valley, slightly earlier than expected. The valley was broken in more ways than one. Not only was the irregular ground distorted into odd shells and curves that could shatter under the coach's weight and draw them into a Goddess forsaken Abyss, it was also spatially fragmented as well. The Strategist had calculated that 4 days travel by coach could be compressed into a single day. As usual with Pietro, he wouldn't let Sven drive the treacherous or difficult passages. Sven saw that the man was sore when it came to the valley, due to the recent near altercation. So it was with only weak reluctance that he agreed to let one of the swarm drive them through.

Sven quashed his surge of happiness at the change of driver. His intuition wasn't nearly as reliable with the Devil Bugs, given their swarm nature. His experiences so far led him to suspect that all of their dealings with horses and driving were directly derived from Pietro -- who was clearly a madman once given reins. In retrospect, Sven needn't have worried about the quality of driving as much as Pietro's incessant tutoring along the way. The man drove him through drills continuously until Sven could make the Pool churn or still at a whim. The Spy was sweaty and fatigued by the time the man had called an end to the first set of drills. His intuition was unfortunately correct about where the Bugs gained their driving experience.

The Strategist took a bit too much pleasure in adjusting Sven's posture on the top of the coach so that he wouldn't be flung off the side as Agent Danielle took advantage of the impossible landscape and drove the coach on a single side of wheels. As the cart regained something like a normal orientation in space, Pietro released him from his grasp. The man cut off Sven's imminent reproach, "No, this isn't some sort of petty revenge about your hour long lecture about my driving nor my 'lack of skill as a tour guide'. I've grown used to others not appreciating my fine driving as much as my fine cuisine. However,", the man continued over the wind, "you certainly can't impugn my swarm's driving! Look at Danielle go! Her reflexes, spacial orientation and nerves are superior to mine. I may have taught them, but they've certainly surpassed me."

The man's face was turned towards their driver, his face smiling. Sven detected unadulterated love, and pride. Sweet Goddess he meant it. There was nothing in all the Purple and Green Hells that would make Sven say what he actually though.

"I certainly wouldn't say anything like that!", yelled Sven as evenly as possible as Danielle urged the horses even faster than Pietro at his most reckless, chirping happily all the while. Undoubtedly she'd heard Pietro's praise.

"Grab the right side of the roof, lay flat! We're going toroidal, Sven!" yelled Pietro as he followed his own advice. Sven immediately followed the instructions. It was only when the unnatural but now familiar sensation of his stomach floating occurred that he felt unnoticed enough to let his internal monologue run through as many curses towards his fellow Agents as he could think of.

Some parts of the journey through the Broken Valley were nearly scenic. Or perhaps Sven only thought so because they had little choice but to go slowly. Something about angular distortions. Sven had greater concerns than the odd mathematics which had driven a good portion of Miceus's philosophers and mathematicians incurably insane or sane.

Strangely, according to Minerva, there wasn't actually a consensus on which ones were insane or brilliant. Sven had ignored his Merrow friend's happy chatter on the subject, while smiling and pretending that knots, strings, peabrains and the like were interesting. Sven's sole interest in that set of oddities was that they made the other Miscean happy.

Now when Sven could potentially enjoy the fruits of the odd geometry, Pietro decided to waste the sacrifices of all those poor eccentrics. Pietro, probably irritated by the necessity of going at a pace that couldn't possibly result in maiming or screaming speedy death, filled the time with drills and theory. He was a firm believer in repetition ad nauseum, and Sven wasn't allowed to shirk. Otherwise, the trip was relatively routine, all things considered.



Yesterday's final dose of Cam's effect was running low, and so was Sven. His body felt heavy and tired, though his mind maintained the newfound focus Pietro had spent the last two days drilling into him. Sven felt some gratitude that Pietro had sprung the campaign while Sven could still stand and think. If he couldn't be fighting bait, then at least he could be thinking bait.

The coach carrying another unmarried male cut in front of the charging forces of Corruption and retreated at angle. The line of charging monsters now fragmenting and splitting awkwardly aiming for three separate targets with a single line. Sven may have felt better about this were he not one of the targets, or if he were not stationary. The Corruption forces aiming for Sven were scattering into a loose hook shape due to the inclined terrain where Pietro had stationed him. That loose hook formation would break the force of the middle portion of the charging forces of corrupted monsters. The opposing force would literally get tangled upon itself. Among the monsters, a high pitched voice was yelling angrily, futilely aware that the momentum of the rampaging force was going to strike itself.

A roaring voice joined the frustrated yells of the the Corruption forces, and a full size Dragon sprang up on the flank aiming for Sven. The fact that her transformation within the crowd was continuing to further scatter her own line was no comfort whatsoever.

Someone insipidly remarked, "That's a Dragon, Pietro."

"Yeah, I know, Sven.", said Pietro as he frantically scanned the treeline separating them from the Dragon, and ran towards it with pipe in hand. With a flap of its mighty wings, the Monster jumped over the treeline toward the side Sven was on. Pietro had placed himself in front and slightly to the left of where the Dragon was landing with an earth-rumbling thump. Both men fell at the force, and Sven lacking the strength to rise lay staring as Pietro, eyes fixated on the Dragon skipped to the left of the giant monster in front of him. Raising the pipe to his lips his fingers flew across its form. The familiar buzzing sound of flying Devil Bugs filled the air, two of them strafed past the Dragon's head drawing its attention and a barely missed snap towards the right. Pietro shifted the pipe once more, and a set of three Devil Bugs dove from above each landing a stunning airborne kick on the Monster, the literal cascade of kicks on its over-extended head were all aimed downward and to the left. That direction is exactly where the stunned Dragon fell, its huge head a mere body length in front of where Pietro stood waiting. "You almost bit Denise.", yelled Pietro angrily, as he kicked the Dragon quite hard *directly* in the eye just as it was fluttering open. The Dragon screeched and drew back its head as Pietro held his pipe up again. In moments, the thin Strategist and Sven were each seized by a pair of Devil Bug Agents flying them to another checkpoint Pietro had designated in this insane battle. Sven heard another Dragon-like screech of pain, and Pietro chuckled remarking that Denise kicked much harder than him.

Pietro looked around at his wives and the deeply sleeping Spy with some sense of pride. The younger Agent had gone above and beyond, trying to keep up with the battle even while nearly catatonic. Damned if he wouldn't make a fine Inquisitor. It was a hard thing to rise to such a skill level while deliberately avoid learning about the Order's magical theory. It took an odd sort of concentrated effort. Pietro sighed, well at least he was a sharp study when focused. The trip through the Broken Valley had proven that to Pietro's satisfaction. The Strategist would make certain the lad's superiors would recognize this as well. Something would have to be done about his obvious addiction to field work, though. High level non-combatant personnel like them had a tendency to get married in the field, so the Order preferred to limit such things to combat specialists or teams. Some people though, remarked Pietro internally, really wouldn't budge. Though they looked different on the outside, the Strategist could recognize a kindred spirit. There was a flash of memory as he recalled the misery in Sven's voice at the thought of giving up fieldwork. There was no way in hell Sven would fit the cushy Diplomatic assignment Jourghana had planned for him. The lad would go mad without something challenging to do. His swarm had brought writing utensils halfway through the thought. As he set the quill to paper, he wondered what angle to take with the Oni. Despite her rock hard exterior before the rank and file, higher ups well knew her preference for coddling her Agents.

"Sven Novus, though as skilled and obdurate as mentioned in his dossier, would languish at a diplomatic posting...", wrote Pietro, aiming at the Oni's weak spots.


An ancient Strategist had noted that battles are fought and won long before the lines are formed or swords drawn. By that reckoning, Pietro and his swarm had been the first and the last to leave. It had been hard fought, but had gone as well as such things could. Casualties were minimal and light, as was the want of the Gods. Just as importantly, the Order had routed the enemy forces -- the captured would be interrogated and integrated as far as possible. That same ancient sage had written that every element captured from the enemy multiplied your own strength when used on behalf of your army. This was a notion near to the Embedded Agent's heart, the 'enemy' of today's battle would be tomorrow's recruits. Still the loose ends nagged. That force hadn't been marshaled or directed at the Demon Lord's behest, nor did the hand of the Sabbath or Fallen God's cults seem to be involved. Though as large as an actual army, they'd been comprised of monsters who'd fallen to despair, desperation, and corruption.

Pietro found that he couldn't truly look upon them as the enemy. For a moment his mind flashed back to his mission to survey a cave network in the Demonlands. After a cave-in, he'd seen that kind of despair and resulting corruption in the eyes of the Devil Bugs who'd swarmed him. Literally tasting the ache of their need, the agony of desperation. Stewing in it for three days, alternately fighting and loving them, modulating his mana in every possible way to communicate -- feeling his own desperate agony as he clutched at the hope to escape with his sanity and humanity intact. Looking back, he and his swarm agreed that it had been a wonderful wedding. The girls didn't really understand why he treasured the moment they'd finally dug the way out and he'd stepped out into the sunlight with them. Still fully sane and human, his past self had nearly wept with relief. To be fair, he didn't understand why they unanimously thought Dogpile Configuration #06180 was clearly the high point of the marriage ceremony. The background pulses of his wives shifted, they'd already determined he was reminiscing about the wedding. After such a prolonged and demanding mission, they surely deserved some peace and fun. He couldn't begrudge them that, thought he'd end up exhausted. It was a good thing he'd stocked up on supplies in anticipation of their victory, Pietro thought as he noticed that the background pulses of scented mana they primarily used to communicate with each other had a very high instance of the terms 'pudding' and 'bathtub'. They were clearly in quite the nostalgic mood. Pietro was happy to indulge them, it'd be just like a second honeymoon. But this time, hopefully without being covered in the taste of butterscotch. The relatively old-fashioned Pietro didn't really care for the flavor.