This story was made using the solo RPG Last Dispatch, by Symbolic City.

CEO Kennly was sitting alone in his dark office, his finger aimlessly brushing a pen back and forth across his desk. The slow and steady movement of his arm added to the uncanny stillness of the rest of his body gave him an air of focus. It turned what Yoli would have thought was the listlessness of despair into an air of deep thought.

Yoli stepped forward. The office was remarkably well kept, compared to the rest of the station; the former citizens of Tethys Megastation had not bothered keeping things orderly for their exodus.

Kennly looked up, his eyes sagging with exhaustion. “Ah,” he said at last. “I should have known.”

Yoli rubbed their arm. They didn’t know what to say. They knew how to ask questions, not express sympathy or urge action. After so many years of asking questions, they had lost the skill.

After a moment, Kennly leaned forward over his desk. “I suppose you want a quote.”

“Navin of House Bithrakai.” The gentle voice that drifted across Navin’s ears was rimmed with steel. It was half a question, half a command.

Navin turned to see a woman dressed in a simple green dress of silk and lace. Sparkles of silver and gold glittered across the fabric, and bright gems of purple and yellow danced on the top of thin tassels all along the sleeves. Her eyes, framed by silken locks of sable-black hair, were the only part of the woman’s face that weren’t covered by her ornate fan.

When their eyes met, the woman extended a white-gloved hand, palm down. It was a simple command, one Navin couldn’t help but obey. Navin curtsied and took the lady’s hand, smelling the strong perfume drifting lazily from the woman’s powdered face.

Deep in Navin’s mind, a thousand clues were collected and analyzed. The colors and style of the dress, the image on the fan, even the shape of the woman’s brow was useful information. Even before Navin had gripped the fragrant glove, the hidden face had a name.

“My dear Lady Vach,” Navin smiled, “what a delight to see you. House Bithrakai is grateful that you could come.”

This story was made using the solo RPG Last Dispatch, by Symbolic City.

Yoli crouched down behind the bulkhead, listening to the gunfire echo down the thin hallways. The fighting was getting closer.

Taking a deep breath, Yoli turned their attention back to their hand-comp. The dispatch was simple enough — there wasn’t much to say — but as with every report, it was the details and context that mattered the most.

It had been a hellish month, filled with shouting, threats, and ultimately violence. The peace-talks had failed, with a coalition of Xenoethicists resisting all efforts to reach an accord. A series of trades and excuses had left everyone feeling betrayed, and at last a joint force of scientists and Homestation Defense had taken over the transit system from the station to the planet.

The Gleaners protested, of course, but no one cared about them much anymore. No, everyone paid attention to the Lifeboat Corp, who saw Homestation Defense’s seizure of planetary transit as a significant escalation. They retaliated in kind.

This story was made using the solo RPG Last Dispatch, by Symbolic City.

Yoli sat, staring at the four people sitting around the large conference table. The air was tense, even as the four settled, shuffling papers and positioning glasses of water. When Yoli had first entered the room, they thought the room felt big, compared to the familiar cozy to cramped design of the rest of the Megastation. Now, the whole space seemed tight, filled almost to bursting with people.

Yoli licked their lips as they looked back at their hand-comp for a seventh time. Their notes hadn’t changed. The facts were clear and unassailable; Tethys was being torn apart by infighting. The fact that the talks were even colloquially called “peace-talks” said it all. While no violence had occurred, the different factions in Tethys were bearing their teeth and flexing their muscles in ostentatious displays that could only lead to one place.

These talks were supposed to end all that, and Yoli was here to record it all.

The silver sash was fastened by gold chain-and-seal at the top of the left shoulder and then allowed to drape half-way down the waist. The remaining fabric was looped through the belt and tied properly at the right waist.

There was a proper way to do things. Navin knew this more than anyone. Even more so than the guards that could be stripped of their House name if they did not stand tall when the Viceroy was in residence, Navin knew this. There was, in the twenty years of Navin’s life, nothing more constant than that most primary lesson; to serve properly was to live properly.

The gallat was fixed to the right shoulder by a clasp and pinned to the edge of the collar. The tassels were allowed to dangle freely, the bells woven to them tinkling gently when brushed by the puffy sleeves of the blouse.

Navin wasn’t sure it understood propriety the same as others did. When other people talked about propriety, it sounded like they were describing the seasoning of a dish or the accents of a hem, not the meal or dress in itself. It was like listening to barbarian Kits when they first learned Imperial; they spoke the words, but the meaning was somehow still foreign.

This story was made using the solo RPG Last Dispatch, by Symbolic City.

Yoli pressed play on their hand-comp again, replaying the speech from the beginning. It was a bothersome chore, but Yoli had heard enough political speeches that they had learned how to quickly pick out the important clues from seas of platitudes.

And there were a lot of platitudes. The newly elected Chief of the Lifeboat Corp, Henne Loann, had used their victory speech to express their intended manifesto for the future of Tethys Station, and it had not gone over well.

Most of what she said had been the same banal assertions of maintaining the station and fulfilling their duties to all who lived on it, but some fool on her team had ignored the political situation. Any other year, the speech might have flown; this year, her constant reminders of the importance of the Lifeboat Corp read as condescending.

This story was made using the solo RPG Last Dispatch, by Symbolic City.

“Mr. Holss?”

The pepper-haired man looked up from his meal, setting down his knife and fork. “Yes, Ms…Yoli, was it? Have a seat.”

Yoli sat down, making sure their hand-comp was in full view of Mr. Holss. “I wondered if I could talk with you about —”

“Professor Morliss and her protests?” Holss nodded his head. “Certainly, certainly. I think she’s fear-mongering, of course. both myself personally and Fresh-Co officially denies her suppositions as baseless at best and absurd at worst.”

Yoli gave a weak smile. “Yes, I suppose you would. Actually, I’m here on a more recent matter. A source has informed me that you were officially replaced as Regional CEO of Fresh-Co at the last board-meeting. Any comments?”

It was said that across the Five Worlds of the Empire of Ever and Always, that there were over a Thousand Houses, each given their own sigil and dictum by the Ever Lord Himself. They each had their own ways, their own codes, and their own customs. Some ate large meals of meat and wine when the sun hung overhead. Others sat down at dusk to eat large stews of nuts and vegetable. Some devoured raw fish, others charred roots.

All who resided in the Ever Palace ate at the same time. It didn’t matter which House they belonged to or what customs they practiced, the largest meal of the day was always served at Eve’nBell. There was not a soul allowed out of doors while the evening meal was eaten, nor after, until the dawn broke the next day.

Lippothalus, personal Hand-servant to the Archduchen Belah Tharghem, knew better.

The law of the Ever Lord was universal, yes, but too did it need to be selective. While the curfew was strictly enforced, it was impossible for the nobility of the Empire to remain still and silent. Messages were slid under doors, meetings were held under cover of darkness, all with the security of honor and title.

The perfect irony of the Ever Lord’s curfew: those who had more reason to defy it had the least to fear from its enforcement. Night was not when the Empire slept, simply when it closed its eyes.

And what happened with eyes tightly shut, well…

This story was made using the solo RPG Last Dispatch, by Symbolic City.

Yoli’s head throbbed. Their eyelids struggled to remain open as they stared at the glowing comp-screen, the words blurring together in a mash of nouns and verbs. It was garbage, all of it. They wanted so desperately to trash the whole file and start again — properly, this time — but they had a deadline, and important things were happening. It didn’t take Yoli’s usual clever nose for news to smell that.

Tethys Station was one of the most important Megastations from the old era. Its history was fascinating, its culture complex, and its daily life a drudgery of monotonous ritual. There was good reason for that; Megastations were carefully balanced ecosystems. All stations were, but the Megastations were at a crucial tipping point: not so robust that they could withstand sustained damage, nor so fragile that they couldn’t support untrained personnel.

Gouli-Fen is one of the more difficult places to reach in Eddling, largely because of the regions’ steadfast resistance to infrastructure. Tourists would do best to find a train or bus to nearby Proosh, and then charter a carriage to Kch’lori’s Rest, a small outpost on the edge of Gouli-Fen. There, you will be able to find guides, carts, and Murkmuckers who will be willing to ferry you throughout the region.

Please beware! The locals know the region far better than any foreigner; it may be alluring to hike out into the wild to travel between some of the closer towns, but this is an incredibly risky choice to make. Even when paths are well signed and supported by wooden planks or even stone bridges, the swamps of Gouli-Fen are harsh and unforgiving to novices. Even people who have lived most of their lives in the swamps can fall prey to the shifting bogs.