"He is Rafu, the Daimyo of the Electron, and his approval is... flexible.  He has no love for the macro,"  She tells him.

"Wait, what? Are you saying he's-"

"He dances upon the quarks; the circuits are his cities.  He guards the smallest frontier.  His goblin hordes wage war upon the mindless."

"So he hates, say, logic gates that only mechanically resolve math equations?" Grunt asked in resignation, "How may we speak to him?"

"Haven't ye done so already?"  She asks, "Back there, upon yonder machine?  Thy hands spake with his minions, tho little of much was likely said.  For they understand much but little at the same time, and he has vast hordes of them, marching upon circuit and wire."

"Afraid the text was less than enlightening. We'll need a somewhat more explicit exchange," Grunt told their host, pulling the communication headset loose from his helmet, "This does rather little thinking if he's amenable, just electrons and magnets at the base."

"Thy attempt may work,"  She admits, "For he can travel through the waves of reality, surf upon the frequencies."

"Shit,"  Mastiff mutters into his comm, "So he's probably already- ARGHGGH!"
 Mastiff screams in pain as he starts clawing at his helmet.  "MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP!"

"He does not approve of your companion." TarotoraT tells him calmly, "He never did enjoy being observed."

There's a faint whine coming from over the comm in his helmet, nothing at all horrific sounding- but as an Earth Aspect Mastiff's senses are quite sharp.
This message was last updated by the GM at 21:28, Thu 26 Sept 2019.

"It is rude to intrude on someone else's system," Grunt said into the microphone, "Especially when you were invited by another. Please stop aggrieving my colleague."


He put his hand on Mastiff's helmet and let his anima flux slightly, just enough to send a weak wave of electricity along the system. Their equipment was well insulated enough to take the rough housing.

The short zap of electricity that goes through Mastiff's suit stops his screaming immediately.  He breathes hard, fogging up his helmet, his hands balled up into fists before he stands up.  The man is INFURIATED.  Grunt has seen him like this before, usually just before a barfight, usually just before some sort of action that leaves someone bleeding and in dire need of medical care.

He uses hand-signs to Grunt.

"MDK"

"Weak creatures of the large world," The soft, sibilant voice echoes through Grunt's comm, at once clear as crystal and scattered as static, "I am Rafu, the Daimyo of the Electron.  My fiefdom is supreme, and I only let you travel upon it because you have news of a distant... cousin.  Tell me about her."

"White Arc Lightning? Restore the needed systems and you can inquire directly," Grunt replied dryly, "Or calcify with no source of essence to draw upon as things wind down. Attack again and this story will become exceedingly boring."

"If we do so, we will be able to communicate with her?" The Daimyo of Electrons asks.

"Mine brother is being remarkably civil,"  The other Fae observes, twisting her arm to and fro with mild bemusement.

((Awareness or Politics check.  Higher the better.))

(Roll: 10, 10, 9, 6, 4, 3, 2 & 2
Float the 2s
Awareness: 20 + 10 + 10 = 40, yes I went lower for IT)

"If she feels like communicating with you," Grunt answered, "Obviously my oaths aren't binding on a dream eater who owes me nothing."

((Take a chivjoss))

Grunt, the Daimyo of Electrons is eager.  He wants to open communications, it seems, quite a bit.

"The paths may be opened,"  He grants in a grudging show, "If you can convince my brother to give me access to the engine room.  I am cut off from his fastness.  My goblins have fought a war with his for many eons.  Would you cut a way for me?"

"As a rule I do not intervene in sibling squables," Grunt told the Daimyo, "But I will see about securing a corridor of safe passage for a time."

He looked at TarotoraT.

"Unless, of course, you'd rather we used our own equipment, but that would require a working airlock."

"Who controls the airlocks, would it not be you, Brother?"  TarotoraT asks the Daimyo.

"They are tools needed for the Guests and so they belong to our Brother- Bavian, the Grand Host."

"Ah."  Tarotorat frowns, her gracile form twisting to see Grunt.  "My friend, my visitor, Bavian, the Grand Host was the first of us to land on this fertile ground.  He welcomed the Crew of the Royet into his court, where they live in His luxury.  He is the Lord of Doors and Oxygen, Beds and Food.  He is also jealous of his Guests.  We are not to touch them, or speak to them, or interfere with them."

Mastiff just keeps watching, glowering intently at the Fae.

"How many guests does he entertain at present, and how many hosts do we find ourselves in the company of?" Grunt asked, oddly hopefully almost in spite of himself. While this could blow up in their faces, the addition of more raksha nobles might give the entire race to exit this reality a significant boost.

Or if it came to it, they might just feed the troublesome ones to WAL.

"How many are in the Royet's crew, oh Brother?"

"Sixteen."

By their reports, they were expecting something like 48.

"There is only the one Host, good Sir, and all other hosts must bow to him."  The Daimyo hopefully tells him.

"We seem to be standing in the domains of several. How many of your clan are present on board?" Grunt tried again, "And where do I go to speak with this host?"

TarotoraT and the Daimyo pause.  TarotoraT even looks in the distance.  Grunt gets the distinct opinion they're talking to each other, or at least exchanging confused glances.

"There are three of us.  Total," TarotoraT tells him, "We each control..."

"Ten million."

"He has ten million picogoblins.  I control a few paltry hundred thousand,"  TarotoraT tells him, "The Grand Host has his billions, and his fifteen slave-nobles, and of course his honored Guests?"
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 22:59, Mon 04 Nov 2019.

Shit.

"Then it seems best to speak with the Grand Host," Grunt agrees, "What is his preferred interface?"

"Dinner party."
"Dinner party."

The two Fae respond in tandem, TarotoraT nodding vigorously and smiling.  The Damiyo chuckles in his earphone, clearly echoing her sentiment.

"We can direct you to his lands, but once you pass those doors it becomes guest-right.  We will not be able to assist you,"  TarotoraT continues, "You will need to be calm of mind and strong of heart, o Travelers."

Grunt gives Mastiff a look of mute inquiry, knowing how grating the other operative had found their hosts so far.

"We're showing up unprepared for such things, I hope your associate is fond of improvising," he says at length.

Dragon-Blooded handsign is old, practically impenetrable, and beaten in to every young Dragon-Blooded from the moment they take their First Breath.  Half sign language, half shared idiom, if there's any mode of communication proof against Fae magic it'd be this.

Mastiff makes the signs, roughly translating to:

"Strange-wrong - unfocused - lead us to doom"
"Kill all - God sort out - including us"
"Bet others - already taken"
"No return - compromised"

"It is a poor host who cannot accommodate his guests,"  TarotoraT says smoothly, looking at the hand signs.  Mastiff's caution is proven correct by her next statement, "... What does Alabaster Shards - Atalanta Apple - Caudine Forks mean?"

That would be his first sentence.

"That our communications are too information dense," Grunt replied, "He is objecting to the order of things."

"Not-right - too strange" Mastiff reiterates, "Quarantine".

"I know my brother has made him upset, but please, accept my apologies on his behalf." TarotoraT genuflects at him, "What little I can provide to smooth your turbulent soul, I will!"

"I think we need to meet the host more than anything for the moment," Grunt told TarotoraT simply, "No point in negotiating with only some of the required parties at the start."

"Yes, of course,"  She says with honest smoothness, "Please, follow me."

"Adapting - language"  Mastiff signs to Grunt, "Inconsistencies."

The two are led through TarotoraT's garden.  The swirling purples and pinks hide little fairies who watch the two as they move past, clutching little weapons made from toothbrushes and screwdrivers.  One of them takes to flying behind the two as a sort of curious guard; TarotoraT pays her no mind.

Eventually they reach a set of double doors, tall as a skyscraper and as intricate as a circuitboard designed by ancient vikings.  TarotoraT gestures at the knockers.